“Hey, guys.” He came to stand behind them, throwing his arms around their shoulders to hug them close. “Sorry I’m late to the party.”
Daphne said something polite, but Sam just gave her brother a playful shove. “I believe the party was last night. Technically this is the afterparty.”
“Or the after-afterparty. Sounds like you and Marshall had an afterparty of your own,” Jeff teased. Sam stiffened, and he glanced over. “Sorry. Too soon?”
“No, it’s okay. Your ability to make me laugh at my own mistakes is one of your greatest gifts.” Sam drained the rest of her coffee in a single sip, then reached up to ruffle Jeff’s hair, just to remind him which twin was boss. “I’m going to head out.”
He and Daphne both made a show of protesting, but Sam knew better than to crash their date.
Just as Sam reached the door, Caleb following dutifully in her steps, Daphne called out, “See you later, Samantha!”
Sam wondered what she’d gotten herself into, asking for Daphne Deighton’s help.
“It’s been way too long since we did this,” Daphne declared, reaching across the Marikos’ counter for another sugar cookie.
For years this had been the two friends’ most sacred tradition: Saturday-afternoon shopping, followed by dinner at Himari’s house. Sometimes Daphne would sleep over, and they would stay up far too late, talking about everything and nothing at once, the way only best friends can do.
Himari smiled. “Thanks for coming with me. I had a year of shopping to make up for.”
“You made a valiant effort,” Daphne teased, glancing at all the shopping bags jumbled behind Himari’s chair. Daphne herself had only bought a single sweater that was on sale. She did most of her shopping online, where she could stack up coupons or buy couture items secondhand.
“Speaking of which, I have something for you.” Himari leaned back in her chair to grab one of the shopping bags, then handed it over.
Daphne pulled off the tissue paper to reveal a supple leather handbag, the same emerald green as her eyes. Its gold chain was so soft that it slipped through her fingers like water.
“Himari—this is far too nice—”
“I saw you eyeing it at Halo,” Himari said brightly. “Consider it a thank-you for being such a good friend this year. It means a lot to me, that you came to see me at the hospital so often,” she added, more softly.
Somehow Daphne smiled through the wave of her guilt. “Thanks.”
“It’s nothing.” Himari sighed. “I just can’t believe you’re graduating in a few weeks. I don’t know how I’m going to survive all of next year without you.”
“Please. You’ll rule the school with an iron fist.”
“Of course I will,” Himari said impatiently. “But who’s going to help me make sure the freshmen all know their place? Who will help me steal the best spots in the senior parking lot? Who’ll sneak out of Madame Meynard’s French class with me to get sesame bagels when we’re supposed to be practicing our dialogue?”
There was a touch of sadness in Daphne’s smile, because she had spent a year doing all those things alone, too. “I won’t be far; King’s College is only fifteen minutes away,” she pointed out.
“You and Jeff are going to have so much fun,” Himari moaned. “I can’t wait to come visit you guys.”
Daphne smiled. “All the time, please.”
She and Jefferson had been texting ever since last weekend, when he’d arrived at the Patriot to find her deep in conversation with his sister. Daphne knew at once that she’d scored a huge point in her favor. Samantha’s disapproval of her had always been a source of unspoken tension.
Himari pushed her chair back from the counter. “Want to watch something? I have so much TV-bingeing to catch up on.”
Daphne’s phone buzzed in her purse; she saw that it was her mother and pushed Ignore. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with Rebecca’s endless supply of plots and schemes.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.” She made to turn upstairs, but Himari had already crossed the room toward the back door.
“Can we go outside, actually? My brothers have taken over the playroom.”
There was nothing Daphne could say without arousing suspicion. She followed Himari despite her sudden uneasiness.
When they pulled open the door of the pool house, Himari sighed. “It’s too hot in here,” she announced. “Let me get the AC.”
Daphne went to sit down, clicking through the TV menu without really registering what it said. The last time she’d been in here, the night of Himari’s birthday party last spring, this couch had been unfolded into a pull-out bed.
It was where she’d lost her virginity to Ethan.
Daphne braced her palms on the couch cushion beneath her, trying—and failing—not to think about that night. Of the way Ethan’s body had fit against hers, skin to skin.
There was a loud clattering sound from the doorway. Himari had stumbled, barely catching herself from falling to the floor.
Daphne rushed forward, grabbing her friend beneath her arms to steady her. “Are you okay? Should I call your doctor?”
Himari’s face had gone ashen, her eyes fluttering shut. “I just need a minute.”
Daphne helped her to the couch, then found a bottle of water in the mini-fridge and forced Himari to take a few sips. “You probably overexerted yourself today,” she babbled. “Let me help you upstairs. Or do you want me to get your parents?”
Himari’s breaths were quick and shallow. For a terrifying moment, Daphne thought she might have passed out or somehow relapsed into a coma.
Then Himari’s eyes shot open, and Daphne knew at once that something had changed.
“You were in here last year, weren’t you?” Himari asked, speaking very slowly. “With Ethan.”
The hair on Daphne’s arms prickled. She didn’t know how to answer. There was no way she could admit the truth, yet she couldn’t bear to lie to Himari, either. Not after everything her friend had been through.
The misery must have been written there on her face, because Himari drew in a breath.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “You and him—I remember now. I saw you!”
Daphne swallowed against the fear in her throat, sticky and hot like tar. “Let me explain,” she said weakly.
“Explain what? The fact that you cheated on your boyfriend—Jeff is my friend too, you know—in my house?”
“I’m sorry—”
“Sorry that you did it, or sorry you got caught?”
“I’m sorry for all of it!”
Something in her tone must have given her away, because she saw the moment of Himari’s comprehension, as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
“Oh my god. The night of the twins’ graduation party. That was you.”
Daphne leaned forward, but Himari lurched unsteadily from the couch. She stumbled back, to where a row of plastic folding chairs leaned against one wall, and held one before her so that its four legs were stretched out like weapons.
“You stay away from me.” Himari’s voice bristled with outrage, and even more heartbreaking, with fear. “You slept with Ethan, and when I confronted you about it, you tried to kill me to shut me up!”
Daphne’s mind was brutally silenced by those words.
“Of course I didn’t try to kill you,” she managed. “I mean, I guess it might seem that way, but you don’t know the whole story.”
“You’re the one who drugged me that night! Aren’t you?”
Daphne glanced down, unable to bear the hurt and disgust on Himari’s face, and gave a miserable nod.
Himari set down the chair, but didn’t move. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I never thought—I just wanted you to do something dumb that night,” Daphne stammered. “Something I could hold ov
er your head, the way you were holding Ethan over mine. I never, ever meant to hurt you. You’re my best friend.”
“I was your best friend, until I got between you and Jeff.” Himari shook her head. “That’s the thing about you, Daphne. You always put yourself first. You’re completely and utterly selfish.”
Daphne winced. It was one thing to know the ugly truth about her choices, another thing entirely to hear it from someone else. “I’m so sorry. Himari—it destroyed me, what happened to you.”
“Are you kidding? You don’t get to ask me to feel sorry for you,” the other girl hissed. “I could have died!”
“If I could take back what happened, I would! It’s the biggest regret of my life!”
Himari looked at Daphne for an interminable moment. “I wish I could believe you,” she said at last. “But you’re too much of a liar. You lie to me and to Jeff, and most of all you lie to yourself.”
Sometimes, when Daphne was asleep, she got trapped in a lucid dream—she had the panicked realization that she was asleep but still couldn’t wake up. She felt like that now, trapped in some warped, nightmarish version of reality.
“Please,” she begged. “Is there anything I can do to fix this?”
Himari shook her head. “Get out. Now.”
* * *
When Daphne got home, her mother was sitting in the living room. There was only one light on, a brass standing lamp that threw strange shadows over her, emphasizing her cruel beauty.
“Where were you?” she asked, without preamble.
Rebecca Deighton was invariably polite to strangers, especially strangers who might prove useful to her at some point in the future. But she never wasted the effort on her own family.
Daphne’s eyes burned. She felt a sudden urge to tell her mother everything that had happened—to let it all spill out and ask for advice, the way other girls did with their parents.
Of course, she couldn’t do anything of the sort.
“I was at Himari’s,” she said weakly.
“Not with Jefferson?” Rebecca gave a little tsk of criticism. “Has he asked you to the wedding?”
Daphne shifted her weight. “Not yet.”
“Why not?” her mother asked, cold as ice.
“I don’t know.”
Rebecca was on her feet in an instant, grabbing her daughter by the shoulders. Her nails dug into Daphne’s flesh so sharply that she bit back a cry of pain.
“ ‘I don’t know’ isn’t acceptable anymore! If you don’t have an answer, then go find it!” Rebecca released her hold on Daphne and stepped back. “Come on, Daphne. I raised you better than ‘I don’t know.’ ”
Daphne held back her tears, because she didn’t dare show fear before her mother. Fear was a weakness, and if a Deighton knew your weakness they would never stop exploiting it.
“I’ll handle it.” She headed up the stairs to her room, where she fell back onto her bed and closed her eyes. Her stomach churned with a hot, queasy anxiety.
But amid the tangle of her thoughts, one thing was utterly clear. If Daphne wanted Jefferson to invite her to the wedding, she couldn’t keep throwing herself in his path. She needed him to seek her out…and she saw a way to make him do exactly that.
Daphne hesitated a moment, but Himari’s words echoed cruelly in her mind. You always put yourself first. You’re completely and utterly selfish.
Fine, then. If Himari thought she was heartless and self-centered, Daphne would go ahead and prove her right. This plan would hurt people, but so what? Daphne cared about nothing and no one but herself.
She dialed Natasha, one of the editors at the Daily News. The journalist answered on the second ring.
“Daphne. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
When Daphne had explained what she wanted, Natasha let out a low whistle.
“You want me to call Prince Jefferson himself and ask for a quote? Do you realize how angry that will make the palace’s press secretary? They’ll bar me from royal photo calls for months. Not to mention they’ll keep asking how I got his number.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” Daphne said urgently. “Please, you know I’m good for it.”
Natasha laughed, a low, hoarse sound. There was a rustling on the other end as if she was writing this all down, her pencil frantically scratching over the paper.
“You will owe me—and I mean something big. Like engagement-announcement-big,” Natasha warned. “But okay, Daphne. For you, I’ll do it.”
Daphne hung up the phone and smiled, a bitter triumphant smile that was lost to the shadows.
Sometime in the last month, Beatrice had started thinking of this as her office, rather than her father’s.
Redecorating had helped. It was Teddy’s idea, actually; he’d stopped by one day and asked where all her things were, and Beatrice had realized, startled, that nothing in here belonged to her.
She’d traded the gold-braided drapes for wispy curtains, which she kept tied back, so she could look out over the lazy gray curve of the river below. And she’d exchanged the oil portrait of King George I that used to hang above the fireplace for one of her father.
Unsurprisingly, Lord Standish had been horrified by her changes. “Your Majesty, that portrait has hung in this room for centuries!” he’d protested when he saw the footmen removing it. “He’s the father of our nation!”
“I’d rather look at my own father for guidance,” Beatrice had insisted. She found it reassuring, as if her dad were silently watching over her, guiding her steps. Occasionally she caught herself talking to the picture aloud. Asking her dad for advice about her duties, about Teddy—and about her family.
Beatrice was relieved that Sam had moved on and was dating Marshall. Yet she couldn’t help worrying that the way Sam had let the world learn of their relationship, with those steamy pool photos, was a cry for attention. She wished she could talk to her sister…but Beatrice had given up trying.
Besides, if it helped Sam get over Teddy, Beatrice couldn’t really argue with it.
She stretched her arms overhead, giving herself a momentary break from the Royal Dispatch Box, which Robert filled each morning with her daily business. By now Beatrice had realized that he put the inconsequential documents at the top and tucked away the items he’d rather she didn’t get to, like policy briefings or updates from foreign offices, at the bottom.
The first thing she did when she got the Box was remove all its contents and flip over the entire stack so that she could work through them from bottom to top.
She set aside the Federal Reserve’s economic forecast and picked up the next document: an update from the Paymaster General about funding the government during Congress’s summer recess. It was a painful reminder that Congress’s closing session was in two weeks, and she still hadn’t been invited.
Were the members of Congress really going to let the closing session come and go without the monarch’s presence?
Yesterday, Beatrice had swallowed her misgivings and asked Robert what she should do. “Nothing,” he’d said silkily. “In moments such as these, the role of the queen is to do nothing and say nothing. Anything else would obstruct proper governance.”
Her phone buzzed, distracting her from her thoughts. Guess who sent this one, Teddy had written, with a photo of matching plaid shirts. Beatrice honestly couldn’t tell whether they were outerwear or pajamas.
She and Teddy had divided up the wedding gifts, so their respective secretaries could begin drafting the thousands of thank-you notes they would have to sign. They’d gotten in the habit of sending each other pictures of the most outrageous ones.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder with an impatient gesture and typed a response. The Prince of Wales. Only the British wear plaid that looks like a carpet.
Ouch, Teddy answered. Actually, these are from Lord S
hrewsborough.
My old etiquette master!
She could practically see Teddy’s smile as he replied. Etiquette, what a dying art.
Beatrice swiveled in her chair toward where Franklin was curled up in the corner. His eyes were closed, his legs twitching as he dreamed some delightful puppy dream. She took a picture and sent it. We miss you.
Things between her and Teddy had changed since Walthorpe. Now Beatrice caught herself relying on him, in ways she hadn’t foreseen. She would ask Teddy for advice on her problems, and together they’d talk out her various options. They went on walks together, Franklin running impatiently before them on a leash. Occasionally when they were both laughing at the puppy’s antics, Beatrice caught herself wondering if two people could fall in love this way—by loving the same thing so deeply that their excess love spilled over and drew them toward each other.
It was the oddest and sweetest and most unexpected sort of courtship, as if they had wiped away everything that had happened between them and met again as strangers.
Beatrice remembered what her father had told her the night before he died: that he and her mother hadn’t been in love when they were first married. But we fell in love, day by day, he’d said. Real love comes from facing life together, with all its messes and surprises and joys.
She glanced back down and sighed at the next paper in her stack. It was the guest list for her wedding.
Robert had compiled the list based on long-standing protocol. He’d added foreign kings and queens, ambassadors, chancellors of universities, members of Congress. I kept it to fourteen hundred guests, he’d told her; which means that you and Teddy each get a hundred personal friends. Beatrice hadn’t bothered protesting. She didn’t have a ton of friends, anyway. Plenty of people claimed to be her friend, but the only real one she’d ever had was Connor.
She froze. Surely she was seeing things, hallucinating Connor’s name because she’d just been thinking about him.
Majesty Page 17
