Nina couldn’t hold her tongue any longer. “Sorry I haven’t prioritized your feelings while my life was falling to pieces around me.”
Sam winced at her tone. “Right. It just … hasn’t been the easiest week for me, either. Teddy and Beatrice got engaged. They’re going to announce it at a press conference soon.” She sighed and glanced down. “I really liked him, you know? I still like him. I get that Beatrice has to marry someone, because she’s the future queen, and that her choices are limited. But couldn’t she have chosen someone else?”
Nina stared at her friend. “Seriously?”
“I know, isn’t it messed up?”
“I’m talking about you, Sam! That’s really why you came by?” Nina’s words came out quickly, fueled by an anger that surprised her. “I thought you wanted to talk to me about Jeff, or the fact that most of America apparently hates me. But instead of coming here to support me, you’re actually here because you wanted to vent about Beatrice and Teddy!”
Sam bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I just … needed a friend right now.”
“So do I,” Nina said meaningfully.
Sam’s eyes darted toward the blacked-out window. “The paparazzi will lose interest soon,” she promised, clearly trying to be helpful. “They’ll move on to another story and stop hanging out here. I mean, they’ll still take pictures of you at official events, but you’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to ‘get used to it’!” Nina clawed angrily at her bedspread, her fists closing around the printed fabric. “I just want things to go back to normal!”
“Normal meaning a world where you’ve conveniently erased me from the story of your life?” Sam nodded toward the photos on the wall.
Nina had been curious how long it would take Sam to ask about those.
“It’s just—no one at school knows I’m friends with you. It seemed easier not to tell everyone. Less complicated,” Nina said quickly, wondering why she felt the need to explain herself to Sam, anyway.
The princess flinched at her words. “I didn’t realize I was a complication.”
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Nina insisted, though her gaze followed Sam’s toward the collage.
What if this was an accurate depiction of Nina’s life? What if her mom had never interviewed for the chamberlain job, if Nina and Sam had never become such good friends? How would Nina’s life be different—or, more importantly, how would Nina be different?
Even as a child, Nina had instinctively known that she had to give way to Sam. Not necessarily because she was royal, though that was certainly part of it. But Sam had enough personality for two people—which always made Nina feel like she needed to back down a bit, to compensate. Sam was unpredictable and irrepressible and laughing and mischievous. She had always been the one to set their plans, come up with their schemes. And she expected Nina to follow her lead without question.
Nina thought of all the times she had quietly done whatever Sam wanted, without even stopping to consider what she might want. When they went shopping for new backpacks in fifth grade, Sam had demanded the bright blue one, even though she knew blue was Nina’s favorite color. Last year when they got their tattoos together, Sam had chosen the design, and only then had asked Nina whether she liked it. She begged Nina to come to events where she wouldn’t know many people, then ditched her to make out with some new guy in a closet.
Come to think of it, Sam was an unreliable and thoughtless friend. Selfish, even.
“Sam,” she said quietly. “It hasn’t always been easy, being your best friend.”
“Why?” Sam demanded, instantly on the defensive.
“Because. A friendship is supposed to be equal, and absolutely nothing about our friendship has ever been equal.” Nina let out a breath. “I know you never consciously tried to make me feel inferior. But traveling on all these vacations that your family pays for, driving your car around the capital because my parents wouldn’t buy me one, going to galas in your cast-off dresses, where everyone just looks right through me like I’m not even there. The only thing worse than feeling invisible is feeling like your charity case.”
She met Sam’s gaze. “It’s easier with the friends I’ve made at college. We’re all taking the same classes and going to the same parties. We’re just … equals.”
Sam’s face was dazed, almost incredulous, but beneath it Nina saw an unmistakable hurt. “I didn’t realize,” she said, stating the obvious. “But, Nina, none of those things matter to me, not the money or the titles or the vacations.”
“They only ‘don’t matter’ to you because you have them,” Nina replied. It came out more snappish than she’d meant it to. But really. Nina was the furthest thing in the world from a social climber, yet even she couldn’t help being constantly aware of those things. Money, titles, and her lack thereof.
It was hard not to resent Sam a little bit, for being so blissfully unaware of the struggles everyone else faced.
“Well, forget what the world thinks,” Sam replied, striving for an upbeat tone.
“Forget what the world thinks?” Nina asked, incredulous. “How am I supposed to do that when millions of people are currently trash-talking me? They don’t think I’m good enough for your brother.”
“Of course you’re good enough!”
“Do you really think that?” Nina wasn’t sure what instinct was urging her onward. Maybe it just felt good, pushing back at Sam for once, instead of letting the princess’s desires steamroll over her own.
“I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t think so,” Sam replied.
That comment sent Nina over the edge. Because in typical Sam fashion, she hadn’t really answered the question—hadn’t told Nina that she was smart and classy, and to ignore the internet trolls. She had just delivered her own opinion as if it were fact, and let that rest her case.
“Are we friends?” Nina heard herself ask, her voice terrifyingly even. “Because the way I see it, you show up here when it’s convenient for you—barging into my dorm room, summoning me to some party or theater performance, always wanting to talk about you and your problems. I’m not at your beck and call, Samantha. I’m supposed to be your friend. Not an assistant, not a secretary, not someone you can take for granted. A friend!”
The words bubbled up out of her like acid, years of frustration and bottled-up insecurities finally boiling over. And for once, Nina felt powerless to hold it all back.
Sam flushed a bright red. “I always thought of you like a sister, Nina, but I guess I’ve been wrong the whole time, since apparently I’ve been hurting your feelings throughout our years of friendship.”
“Like a sister?” Nina repeated. “That doesn’t count for much, based on the way you treat your real sister.”
The moment the comment left her mouth, Nina regretted it—but the damage had been done.
Her words were followed by complete and total silence.
I’m sorry, Nina wanted to say; I didn’t mean it—except that wasn’t entirely true. She had meant it, or at least some part of her had meant it.
Sam had pulled her lower lip into her teeth, the way she did when she was struggling not to cry. “I’ll get out of here. God forbid my presence ruins your perfect college life.”
“Sounds good to me.” Nina didn’t bother watching as Sam shut the door behind her.
She fell back onto her bed, pulling her hands up before her as she curled into the fetal position. The tattoo was mere inches from her face.
She remembered what she’d researched, when Sam had decided they would get that particular image. The Chinese character was more nuanced than the simple translation of friendship. It derived from an older symbol that combined the words for two and hands—meaning not just a friend, but a friend who helped you out in times of need. A friend you could lean on.
Nina tucked her tattooed wrist beneath her pillow and shut her eyes.
SAMANTHA
Samantha tapped frantically at her contr
oller, willing her lime-green animated car to go faster. She always beat Jeff at this game. That was her favorite part of playing it: the look of shocked dismay on her brother’s face when he lost.
Jeff was hunched over in the armchair next to her, his dark eyes gleaming with the reflected glow of the TV screen. Sam gritted her teeth, whipping her car around the curve of the track, only to collide with the wall in an explosion of cartoon flames.
She expected Jeff to jump to his feet, at the very least to give a low whoop of victory, but he just turned to her with an uneven shrug. “Neither of us is playing all that great,” he pointed out. “Maybe we should call it a day.”
Sam set aside the video-game controller and turned to her brother. “Still no word from Nina?” When he shook his head, she sighed. “She isn’t really talking to me, either.”
“Really? I figured you guys would have made up by now.”
Slowly, her throat nearly closing over the words, Sam related what Nina had said on campus yesterday. That it hadn’t been easy on her, spending so much time with the royal family through the years. How they’d inadvertently shuffled her aside, made her feel inferior. Treated her like an afterthought.
Her brother’s expression hardened, and he muttered a curse. “I can’t believe she felt that way and I didn’t realize ….”
“It’s my fault too. She was my best friend long before she became your secret girlfriend.”
Jeff glanced over, alerted by something in her tone. “Are you angry that I didn’t tell you?”
“Not angry,” Sam admitted. “Just … hurt, I guess. I thought you trusted me with this kind of thing.” Even as she said it, Sam squirmed at her own hypocrisy, because she hadn’t told Jeff about her and Teddy.
Well, she definitely wouldn’t tell him now, given that Teddy had just gotten engaged to their sister.
The overhead motion-detector lights flickered on as their mom strode into the media room.
“There you two are!” the queen proclaimed, her voice laced with impatience. “Samantha, I’ve been looking for you. I need you right now.”
“What for?” Sam asked cautiously.
“Wedding prep. Come on.” Adelaide turned on one heel and led her daughter along the hallway, then down multiple flights of stairs. Sam’s fishtail braid swung back and forth like a pendulum with their steps.
Wedding prep. Last night, Beatrice had announced the news of the engagement to the gathered family—with Teddy at her side, of course. There had been a lot of hugging and champagne and planning of a full-court engagement party, all of which had made Sam feel slightly ill.
When they stepped into the hallway that led beneath the palace, Sam almost halted in her tracks. “We’re going to the vault?”
The queen cast her a puzzled glance. “Is something wrong? Usually you can’t wait for an excuse to come down here.”
While the Crown Jewels technically belonged to the state, the right to borrow them was granted only at the discretion of the monarch, which meant that right now, the only people with access were the queen, the princesses, and the Queen Mother—and, occasionally, Aunt Margaret and Aunt Evelyn. They usually scheduled a visit before each black-tie event, to coordinate which jewels each of them would wear. Sometimes the queen would bring her favorite dress designer along, so that he could make a gown specifically to showcase a particular item of jewelry.
They were probably here to pick out their jewels for Beatrice and Teddy’s big party. Another occasion to celebrate Beatrice, Sam thought dully. What else was new.
She wondered what her mom thought about Beatrice’s lightning-fast engagement. Maybe she was the one who’d pressured Beatrice into it.
“I can’t believe the news about Teddy and Beatrice,” Sam began, testing the waters. “Don’t you think it feels a little fast?”
The queen shrugged. “When you know, you know. I knew that your father was the one by the end of our third date.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow skeptically, but her mom wasn’t finished. “Beatrice clearly felt certain enough in her choice that she didn’t need to wait any longer. She’s always been sure of what she wanted.” Unlike you was the silent implication.
“I guess so,” Sam muttered, unconvinced. It was easy to be decisive when all you did was obey your parents’ orders.
They stepped into a shadowed underground hallway. The air was especially cold down here; Sam hugged herself, trying not to shiver in her thin black sweater. A pair of security guards stood to either side of a heavy metal door.
The queen pressed her palm to a biosecurity panel and the door swung inward, revealing that it was almost a meter thick. Sam followed her mom inside, feeling her spirits lift a little in spite of everything.
The room blossomed to life as display tables lit up one by one. Behind the glass panes, against a backdrop of black velvet, gleamed gold and ivory and countless jewels. Sam knew for a fact that nothing down here was insured, because how could anyone begin to assign a financial value to these items? They were all utterly priceless.
This was far and away the most lucrative part of the palace’s tourism revenue: the “Crown Jewels Experience” cost an additional ten dollars per ticket, which almost everyone paid. In the crowded summer months, the entry line snaked around the hallway for hours.
Sam wandered past the first case, the one containing all the ceremonial regalia: the Great Scepter, the Orb of State, the Hand of Justice. Farther along was a collection of delicate porcelain wedding-cake boxes that, remarkably, still contained a slice of cake from every royal wedding. The fondant was solid as a brick by now.
She paused at the crowns and tiaras. There were almost a dozen of them, some heavy and masculine, others delicate and filigreed, including a few child-sized coronets for the Princes and Princesses Royal. Through the first hundred years of America’s history, the kings and queens had commissioned their own crowns for each coronation, until the expense was eventually deemed too great.
Grandest of all was the Imperial State Crown, the one that had been used for every coronation since that of King George III. It glittered all over with stones—at the center was a massive hundred-carat ruby called Heart’s Blood, stolen in the Spanish-American War—and a set of pearls that was said to be from Queen Martha’s necklace.
Sam’s memories of her father’s coronation were hazy; her grandfather King Edward III had died so suddenly. No one had expected George to assume the throne for another twenty years at least.
She remembered the look on her father’s face as he recited the words of the coronation oath: “I swear to you that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service, and to the service of this great nation to which we all belong.”
“Who is he talking to?” she’d whispered to ten-year-old Beatrice, who’d stood next to her, looking awed and maybe a little fearful. But then, Beatrice had known that she was up next.
“Everyone. America,” Beatrice answered.
Sam watched, breathless, as her father reached for the enormous gleaming crown and placed it upon his head.
In other countries, kings and queens were crowned in churches, by priests. But this was America, where the state was the state, with no involvement from any religious entity. Here the monarchs crowned themselves.
“Your Majesty. Thank you so much for making the time,” she heard Teddy say as he walked through the door and into the vault. He started to bow to the queen, who brushed the motion aside and pulled him in for a hug.
“We’re so thrilled for you both,” Queen Adelaide murmured. Sam rolled her eyes.
Teddy stopped short when he noticed Sam. “Samantha. I didn’t know—I mean, I hadn’t expected you to join us.”
The queen’s phone buzzed, and she glanced down at her screen with a frown. “I have to take this,” she said with a resigned sigh. “Why don’t you two get started without me?”
Get started? Sam felt her chest seize in panic. Were they really here to pick out Beatrice’s engag
ement ring?
Teddy blanched. “That’s all right, we can wait—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Adelaide assured him. “You’re in good hands. Samantha is the maid of honor, after all.”
“I’m not the maid of honor. I mean, Beatrice hasn’t asked me,” Sam muttered.
The queen exchanged a loaded glance with Teddy, as if seeking sympathy for Sam’s obstinacy. “She doesn’t need to ask. She’s your sister; it’s understood,” she said crisply. Before either of them could protest, she swept back out of the room, leaving the security guards at the door. “Go ahead; I’ll just be a minute!”
Samantha briefly considered making a run for it. But that was the cowardly thing to do, and the last thing Sam wanted was for Teddy to think he had rattled her. She squared her shoulders and started toward the final row of display cases, the ones that everyone really came here for—the jewelry. One of the security guards unlocked the glass cover before retreating with a nod.
Teddy came to stand next to her. He seemed oddly wary, as if he expected Sam to whirl on him with a barrage of insults any moment now, or maybe pummel him with her fists.
She just looked over the rings, ignoring him.
“I’m hopeless at this,” Teddy ventured, breaking the silence. “They all look beautiful. How am I supposed to choose?” He opened the display case to pull out one of the rings, an elegant platinum band circled with baguette-cut diamonds.
“My grandmother had that one made to celebrate her twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She wasn’t really sure why she told him that.
“In that case, maybe it has some good luck.” Teddy cast a quick glance at Sam, but she still refused to meet his gaze. Instead she moved sideways along the case, studying the various showstopping jewels nestled inside.
A few of them she slipped on her own finger: a massive thirteen-carat emerald, an oval diamond on a rose-gold band. They were all unquestionably beautiful, but to Sam, their appeal was so much more than the beauty.
They were living fragments of history. Each time she put one on, Sam felt the ghosts of her ancestors whispering to her across the fabric of centuries. The rings made her feel more confident, even majestic.
American Royals Page 24
