American Royals

by Katharine McGee

  Not that she would ever be a Your Majesty.

  Teddy cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask … are you just angry with me, or is something else going on?”

  “Oh, so you’ve decided that now is a good time to start caring about my feelings?”

  “Please, Sam. I’m trying here.”

  Sam felt the anger seeping from her, just a little. After everything that had happened between them, she didn’t exactly want to get into this with Teddy. But she had no one else to talk to. And he was a good listener.

  “Nina and I got into a fight. On top of everything else … it just feels like a lot.”

  “You miss her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “We used to talk constantly, and now all of a sudden we’ve gone radio silent. It feels like half my internal monologue has suddenly switched off.”

  “Have you apologized?”

  “What makes you think I’m the one who did something wrong?” Sam said automatically, then caught her breath at the wry expression on Teddy’s face. “I don’t know. The things we said to each other … I’m not sure we’ll be able to forgive and forget.”

  “Who said anything about forgetting? The point of forgiveness is to recognize that someone has hurt you, and to still love them in spite of it.” The way Teddy said it, Sam knew he wasn’t just talking about Nina anymore.

  He reached for one of the rings. It looked very small, centered there on his palm. He quickly put it back. “Which would you pick?”

  Her eyes darted to a cushion-cut pink diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds.

  Wordlessly, Teddy took the ring in his hand. He looked at her expectantly.

  A hushed spell seemed to have fallen over them. Samantha’s breath caught as she placed her hand in his. Slowly, neither of them daring to speak, he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

  Their faces were suddenly very close. Sam’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. She knew what Teddy’s old-fashioned gesture meant. He was silently willing her to understand that even though their love could never be, because of reasons much more powerful than either of them, he would always care about her.

  She swallowed and forced herself to step back. “You aren’t picking for me, though. And this ring doesn’t feel like Beatrice.”

  Teddy let go of her hand with visible reluctance. Sam hated herself for how lonely her palm felt without him touching it.

  She had never been any good at disguising her feelings. There was something too immediate about her face, the way all her emotions played themselves out over her features like the shadows of clouds on water. She turned away, because she knew that if she kept looking at him, he would see exactly what she was thinking.

  Teddy reached for a very old ring that had once belonged to Queen Thérèse, the only French-born queen America had ever had. It looked like Beatrice, classic and elegant: a simple solitaire diamond on a white-gold band. They both gasped as a ray of light hit the multifaceted stone, throwing up a glitter of dancing pinpoints that chased themselves over the walls of the vault.

  “Looks like you know Beatrice pretty well.” Sam managed to sound almost normal, though she could feel her heart breaking all over again.

  “Oh! That one is perfect,” cried out the queen, who had just reentered the vault. She hurried to pull Teddy into another hug, beaming, exclaiming her congratulations over and over.

  No one noticed as Samantha slid the pink diamond off her finger and set it quietly back against the black velvet of the display case.

  BEATRICE

  “I can’t believe we’re doing your engagement interview!” Dave Dunleavy exclaimed in his booming television voice. Beatrice managed a tight smile in reply.

  Dave had been the media’s senior royal correspondent since Beatrice was a child. He’d conducted all the major interviews in her life, from her very first one at age five—a joint interview with her father, when Dave had flashed silly cartoons on the teleprompter to make sure she smiled—to the very serious one she’d done on her eighteenth birthday. Beatrice had personally requested Dave for today’s live filming. Unsurprisingly, he’d jumped at the chance to introduce the world to America’s future king consort.

  A small group of staff bustled around them, preparing this room—one of the smaller salons on the first floor—for the interview. A few doors down was the Media Briefing Hall, where the palace’s press secretary spoke to reporters each morning from behind a podium, addressing questions of policy or budget. But for these intimate, personal conversations, the royal family preferred a sitting room.

  “Teddy, how are you feeling?” Dave glanced at Teddy, who was standing utterly still as an assistant pinned a small mic to his shirt.

  “Nervous,” Teddy admitted. “America is going to make up their minds about me right now. Whatever they think about me after the next twenty minutes, that’s what they’ll think about me for the rest of their lives. So, you know, no pressure.”

  “First impressions are important,” Dave agreed sagely, “but there’s no need to worry. Your relationship will speak for itself.”

  Robert Standish moved to the side of the room, a Bluetooth headset tucked into his ear. He caught Beatrice’s eye and nodded, all business. Next to him stood Beatrice’s stand-in security, a Guard named Jake, who normally worked the palace entrance.

  That was the only small blessing: Connor’s absence. Beatrice felt ashamed of her own cowardice, but she’d purposefully planned this interview on a Thursday because it was Connor’s day off. She didn’t want to see the look on his face as he watched her and Teddy playact this relationship in front of the entire world.

  She had tried, so many times, to tell Connor about her engagement. But whenever she braced herself to share the news, she would see the look on his face—and the words would die on her lips. I’ll tell him tomorrow, she assured herself. Just one more night where he smiles at me like this, before it all falls apart.

  This morning, Beatrice knew she couldn’t wait any longer; she had to tell him, or risk him finding out from the media. But when she’d reached across her bed for Connor, he was already gone.

  “All right. Are you both ready?” Dave asked, taking a seat in the armchair across from them.

  Beatrice settled next to Teddy on the couch, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from her pleated navy dress. Someone adjusted an overhead light, and she squinted into the sudden brightness. The room felt very warm. “I’m ready.”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Teddy echoed.

  “Rolling,” the cameraman said softly, a few feet away.

  Dave nodded. “What an honor it is, to get to speak to you both on such a joyous day. Princess Beatrice, would you like to be the one to personally share your news?”

  Like the professional she was, Beatrice lifted her eyes to the camera and smiled. “I’m delighted to announce that Theodore Eaton and I are engaged. I proposed to him last week, and thankfully, he said yes.”

  “I know I speak for America when I say how thrilled I am for you both,” Dave replied. “It’s clear from the looks on your faces that you’re very much in love.”

  In love. Right. Beatrice glanced over at Teddy with what she hoped was a dewy-eyed smile.

  At that very moment, the door at the back of the room opened, and a familiar tall figure stepped inside.

  Time ground to a momentary halt.

  No, Beatrice thought desperately. Connor wasn’t supposed to be here. This was all wrong.

  Connor’s eyes met hers, then drifted to the enormous diamond on Beatrice’s finger, which suddenly felt impossibly heavy. She saw the rapid shifts of his expression, from bewilderment, to comprehension, to the devastating pain that followed.

  She hated herself in that moment, for being the source of that pain.

  “Tell us about your relationship, Beatrice. It seems like it’s been a whirlwind,” Dave went on. “How did you decide that you were ready to propose?”

  Not for nothing had Beatric
e lived her entire life in the spotlight. Her smile never wavered.

  “As my mom always told me, when you know, you know,” she replied, without missing a beat. “I knew right away that Teddy was someone I could see myself marrying.” In a way, it was the truth. She had met Teddy for the specific purpose of finding a future husband.

  Teddy reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers on the couch between them.

  Connor took a sharp intake of breath at the gesture and slipped out of the room. Beatrice wished she could look over, but she didn’t dare. She just kept on smiling.

  Teddy must have sensed her sudden panic, because he leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially. The cameras obediently swiveled toward him.

  “My first impression was slightly different,” he confessed to Dave. “To be honest, I thought Beatrice didn’t like me, because she refused to dance with me. Not that I blamed her,” he added, with that disarming smile that revealed his twin dimples. “She’s so far out of my league, I assumed I didn’t stand a chance.”

  “She wouldn’t dance with you!” Dave seized eagerly on this tidbit. “Why not?”

  The attention of the room veered back toward Beatrice, but by now she had regained her composure. She let her eyes meet Teddy’s in a single instant of gratitude. He may not have known why she was upset, but he’d done his best to cover for her all the same.

  “I know, my mistake,” she said lightly. “Luckily for me, I have a lifetime of dancing with Teddy to make up for it.” She saw from Dave’s beaming expression that she’d said the right thing.

  She could do this, Beatrice reminded herself, squeezing Teddy’s hand for reassurance. She could sit before these cameras and spin her life into the fairy-tale romance America craved. She could smile until the bitter end, no matter what it cost, because she was a Washington and she had been trained to smile through anything. Even through her own heartbreak.

  After the interview, Robert asked Beatrice and Teddy if they wouldn’t mind doing a walkabout—stepping outside and greeting the waiting crowds. Apparently most of the capital had been watching their broadcast and had already flooded the streets to congratulate them.

  Teddy looked to Beatrice for confirmation. “All right,” she said, her throat hoarse. She kept glancing around in search of Connor, but didn’t see him.

  People jostled behind the palace’s iron gates, waving miniature American flags, shouting Beatrice’s and Teddy’s names. The moment they appeared on the front steps, the decibel level soared even higher.

  “You start on the left, and I’ll take the right?” Teddy offered. Beatrice nodded.

  She made her way methodically along the crowd, pausing to shake hands whenever she could, smiling at the phone screens that were thrust in her face. People threw flowers as she passed; Beatrice bent down to accept one of them, a handful of simple garden daisies from a little girl. “She looked at me!” more than one person cried out, elbowing a friend. Everyone seemed desperate to catch her gaze, to brush her coat, to feel in some way that they had claimed a piece of her. To her right, Beatrice saw Teddy graciously accepting congratulations, hugging people over the barrier. He really was a natural at this.

  It wasn’t until later, after Teddy had finally headed home and Beatrice started up the stairs to her room, that she looked out a window and caught sight of Connor.

  He was out in the Marble Courtyard: a lonely, solitary figure holding a cigarette in one hand.

  She had to force herself not to break into a run as she headed through the first-floor reception rooms and outside. Connor tensed, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge her arrival.

  There were a million things Beatrice wanted to say: that she was sorry and that she loved him and could he ever forgive her. All she blurted out was “I didn’t realize you smoked.”

  “In extreme situations only,” he said tersely, and turned away.

  Beatrice instinctively reached for him, to pull him back—then caught herself, lowering her arm slowly to her side. “Please. Will you take a walk with me?”

  She needed to talk to him in private, and had no idea where else they could go. The palace would be swarming with people right now: chamberlains and chambermaids, courtiers and tourists and ministers of state. The gardens were only open to group tours during the summer months. It was January, so everything looked drab and dead, but at least they could talk without fear of being overheard.

  Connor tossed his cigarette onto the black and white marble slabs, worn down from centuries of foot traffic. He ground it beneath his heel, daring Beatrice to remark upon it, but she was silent. “Okay,” he conceded.

  They started down the gravel path through the center of the gardens. Gray skies arced overhead, mirroring the gray waters of the Potomac in the distance. The air had a bite to it.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Beatrice’s words fell sharply into the silence. “I wanted to, so many times, but …”

  “You proposed to him, Beatrice. How do you think I felt, watching you do an engagement interview, and with someone like him?”

  “Teddy is actually a nice person,” she couldn’t help saying, which only made things worse.

  “Oh, so now you’re defending him?”

  The winter light filtered through the bare branches overhead, falling on the sculptures that lined the paths. The fountains were all empty, to keep them from icing over. They looked bare and lonely without their sparkling jets of water.

  “This is because of your dad, isn’t it?” Connor asked. “Because he’s sick?”

  Beatrice gave a miserable nod, unsurprised that he’d figured it out. “He wants me to get married before he dies. I think it will give him peace of mind, to know that he’s leaving the country in safe hands.”

  “He will be leaving the country in safe hands, with you. There’s no one smarter or more capable.”

  “I think he wants to ensure the succession,” she clarified, her voice bleak. “Make sure things are set up for the next generation of Washingtons.”

  At the mention of children, Connor halted his steps. For a moment Beatrice thought he was going to storm off, turn away from her and never look back.

  Instead he fell to one knee before her.

  Time went momentarily still. In some dazed part of her mind Beatrice remembered Teddy, kneeling stiffly at her feet as he swore to be her liege man. This felt utterly different.

  Even kneeling, Connor looked like a warrior, every line of his body radiating a tensed power and strength.

  “It kills me that I don’t have more to offer you,” he said roughly. “I have no lands, no fortune, no title. All I can give you is my honor, and my heart. Which already belongs to you.”

  She would have fallen in love with him right then, if she didn’t already love him so fiercely that every cell of her body burned with it.

  “I love you, Bee. I’ve loved you for so long I’ve forgotten what it felt like not to love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Her eyes stung with tears.

  “I get that you have to marry someone before your dad dies. But you can’t marry Teddy Eaton.”

  She watched as he fumbled in his jacket for something—had he bought a ring? she thought wildly—but what he pulled out instead was a black Sharpie.

  Still kneeling before her, he slid the diamond engagement ring off Beatrice’s finger and tucked it in the pocket of her jacket. Using the Sharpie, he traced a thin loop around the skin of Beatrice’s finger, where her ring had been.

  “I’m sorry it isn’t a real ring, but I’m improvising here.” There was a nervous catch to Connor’s voice that Beatrice hadn’t heard before. But when he looked up and spoke his next words, his face glowed with a fierce, fervent hope.

  “Marry me.”

  In that instant, Beatrice forgot who she was—the name she had been born to, the mantle of responsibility she would soon wear. She forgot her titles and her history and the promises she had made. She thought only of the young man who knelt before
her, and the fact that every last fiber of her being was screaming her answer at her—yes yes yes.

  When it all came rushing back, it weighed a thousand times more than it had before.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Beatrice closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see Connor’s face.

  He was on his feet in a swift, fluid motion, the space between them aching.

  “You’re really doing this,” he said heavily. “You’re really choosing him?”

  “No!” she cried out, shaking her head. “That’s not it. Just because I’m marrying him doesn’t mean I’m choosing him. But Connor, you know that you and me—it’s impossible.”

  “Is it,” he said dully.

  Beatrice’s skin prickled with the cold. “I don’t want this any more than you do. But we can figure something out. We’ll find a way to keep seeing each other—”

  “What are you saying?” Connor cut in.

  “I’m saying that I love you and don’t want to lose you!”

  “So you want me to … what? Just stay here as your Guard? Watch from the sidelines, alone, while you marry him, eventually have children with him? Stealing moments together when we can get away with it, whenever your husband is out of town? No,” he said bitterly. “I love you, but that doesn’t mean I want to live off the scraps of time you can spare from your real life.”

  “I’m sorry,” Beatrice whispered through her tears. “But Connor—you’ve always known the constraints on my position. You know who I am.”

  “I know what you are. But I’m not sure I know who you are at all. The Beatrice I know would never ask this of me.”

  Beatrice felt suddenly, terrifyingly lonely.

  She reached for his hand, but he retreated a step. Panic laced down her spine. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t give up on us.”

  “You’re the one who already gave up on us, Bee.” He let out a ponderous breath. “If this is really your choice, then of course I can’t do anything to stop you. All I can do is refuse to be part of it.”