He turned to follow her gaze, then gave a huff of laughter. “That’s Juan Carlos, the King of Spain’s youngest son. We used to vacation with their family, at their summer palace in Mallorca.” Jeff deftly led Nina farther from the Spanish prince. “He once asked Beatrice on a date—well, practically all the foreign princes did, at some point—but she said no.”
“Beatrice turned down a prince?”
“I don’t know why you’re acting surprised. As I seem to recall, you’ve done it yourself. Multiple times,” Jeff teased, an eyebrow lifted in challenge.
Nina flushed at the memory. “As I seem to recall, you deserved it,” she said lightly. “And unlike Beatrice, I’m not a princess. I don’t have to worry about issues of royal protocol or international relations if I say no to a date.”
Jeff laughed at that. “Well, he and Beatrice would never have worked out anyway. His family calls him Juan-for-the-Road Carlos.” Jeff lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Because he always brings a flask in his jacket pocket whenever he has to carry out official royal duties.”
Nina stole another glance at the Spanish prince, still dancing with the woman in velvet. Her arms instinctively tightened over Jeff’s shoulders. If Jeff and Sam weren’t careful—if they didn’t find something that mattered to them, some kind of purpose—they might end up like Juan Carlos: idle, world-weary, floating aimlessly from one royal function to the next.
It was just the constitutional danger of being the spare.
“You look amazing, you know,” Jeff murmured. The desire in his voice, low and rough, abruptly cut off Nina’s thoughts.
She bit her lip against a smile. “Sam helped. I wouldn’t have a dress without her.”
Nina’s smoke-colored gown was sewn all over with beads. They swished and settled around her body, giving her the curious sensation that she was dancing through water. Her dark hair was piled atop her head like an evening cloud, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.
“You don’t look so shabby yourself,” she added, with a nod toward Jeff’s blazer: the one she’d borrowed on the terrace all those months ago. He’d even put on the aiguillettes and shining crossbelt, though the belt was empty of a sword.
“I knew you had a thing for men in fringe.” Jeff gave a mischievous grin. “Though if I’d realized Prince Hans was coming, I would have worn my medallion for the Order of the Knights of Malta. It’s the only decoration I have that he doesn’t.”
“Prince Hans?” Nina followed Jeff’s gaze, to a spindly boy wearing square-framed glasses. “Is he … Danish?”
“Norwegian.”
Nina tried not to roll her eyes. “I’m sorry, how many foreign royalty are there at this party?”
“As many as could get here in time.” Jeff shrugged. “Hans’s dad is one of Beatrice’s godfathers.”
Of course he was. Nina remembered a book she’d shelved in the library one day, Minor Royal Families of Europe, filled with pages and pages of family trees. She’d stared at them goggle-eyed—all those lines and branches, knotting and weaving over each other—before closing the book in exasperation.
Her eyes drifted to where Beatrice stood next to Teddy, surrounded by a crowd of eager guests.
“I still can’t believe Beatrice is engaged. It all happened so quickly.” Nina was thinking of Samantha—of how hard it must be for her, seeing Teddy with Beatrice. It made her feel almost guilty for being so happy when her friend clearly wasn’t.
“I like Teddy,” Jeff said roundly. “He’s a great guy, and seems like a good fit for Beatrice, even if …”
“What?”
Jeff gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Clearly I’m wrong, but for a while there in Telluride, I kind of thought there was a vibe between him and Samantha.”
Nina pursed her lips and said nothing.
“Beatrice has never been indecisive. I’m not surprised that she made up her mind about Teddy so quickly.” Jeff’s voice was soft over the delicate strands of the jazz music. “I guess when you find the right person, nothing else matters.”
Nina nodded, understanding.
She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it all: the exposure, the unending public scrutiny. It was so much more intense now than it had been when she was just Samantha’s friend. She’d been on the sidelines, sure, had watched plenty of photo calls and walked past plenty of lines of photographers, but they’d never spared her a second glance.
Being Jeff’s girlfriend was entirely different. Nina still did a double take whenever she saw her own face on a tabloid, or heard her own name shouted in a crowd.
Though lately, Nina had noticed some of the coverage shifting its tone. She wasn’t sure why: whether people had grown tired of the social-climbing angle, or the tabloids had simply found another victim to make fun of. Maybe other ordinary, non-aristocratic girls wanted to believe in the fairy tale—that they, too, could find a Prince Charming.
Whatever the reason, there was less venom here tonight than Nina had expected. She’d come to Beatrice’s engagement ball thinking that it would be a nest of vipers: that her only real allies were Sam and Jeff, and everyone else would have firmly declared for Team Daphne. But she’d been pleasantly surprised by the number of familiar faces in the ballroom. Some were friends of her mom, some high school classmates of Sam and Jeff; others were people she’d never met, but who gave her smiling nods of approval.
Jeff’s hands drifted lower on her back. Nina stepped a bit closer, hooking her arm around him, to tuck her head over his shoulder. Her body felt tingling and alert, her blood humming with the words she hadn’t yet dared speak aloud.
Nina had been so afraid that she would lose sight of herself amid all the glamour and protocol, the inherently public nature of their relationship. But instead she’d found something much greater.
She loved Jeff.
And even though she had always known it—even though her love for Jeff went so far back that she could hardly remember a time before she loved him—Nina let herself learn it all over again.
BEATRICE
Beatrice felt like a mechanical wind-up doll, reciting the same few sentences over and over: We are so glad you could make it; Thank you for the warm wishes; We are both thrilled.
She couldn’t afford to think too closely about the import of her words, or she might actually faint. Already she felt sweat sliding down her back beneath the stiff fabric of her dress.
Somehow it managed to evoke bridal without actually looking like a wedding gown—its silk panels a shade of cream so dark that it verged on light gold, adorned with taffeta detail. Her hair was styled in an intricate updo, the Winslow tiara perched on her head. Diamonds blazed like teardrops in her ears.
Countless nobles stood before her in order of precedence, all of them waiting to congratulate her and Teddy on the engagement. They wound around the side of the ballroom in a near-interminable queue. Beatrice kept imagining them breaking into dance, like some kind of aristocratic conga line.
She glanced over at her sister, who’d planted herself resolutely to Beatrice’s left, as if Beatrice might suddenly need to lean on her for support. Ever since their conversation in the kitchens, Beatrice had noticed a new maturity to Samantha. She wasn’t the same princess who’d laughed her way blithely through high school. There was a new edge to her, a new weight to her words.
Sometime in the last year, while Beatrice hadn’t been paying attention, her little sister had grown up.
Beatrice had held it together through the dukes and marquesses, but they were still only halfway through the earls, and she felt herself beginning to fray. The line of courtiers seemed to stretch on and on forever.
Teddy—she still couldn’t think of him as her fiancé—rested a hand on her back in a silent gesture of support. Maybe he’d noticed her drooping a bit.
“Robert.” Beatrice turned to the chamberlain. “Could we take five?”
Robert’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Your Royal Highness, it is customary
for newly engaged members of the royal family to receive congratulation from all the gathered peers at the start of the celebratory ball.” One of Robert’s greatest skills was telling royalty no without actually saying the word.
To Beatrice’s relief, Teddy cut in, his voice firm. “It’s all right, Robert; we can pause. Or if you don’t think it’s inappropriate, I’m happy to accept congratulations on the princess’s behalf.”
“Thank you.” Beatrice shot Teddy a grateful look. Gathering her plentiful skirts with both hands, she slipped out of the ballroom.
The moment she turned in to the hallway, Beatrice began to run. She didn’t care where she was going as long as she kept moving, away from that room where everything was printed with an interlaced B and T. Beatrice didn’t even remember giving her approval for that wedding monogram, but she supposed she must have. Everything related to the wedding had become a blur.
She stumbled past one of the downstairs sitting rooms, where the guests had deposited their gifts at the start of the night, only to halt in her tracks.
“Connor?”
He stood near a wooden table that groaned beneath the weight of presents, most of them wrapped in ivory or silver paper. Although Beatrice and Teddy had insisted that all they wanted were charitable donations, everyone seemed determined to shower them with gifts.
“I know I wasn’t invited,” Connor hurried to say. He was out of uniform, wearing jeans and a sweater that brought out the blue-gray of his eyes. In his hand was a box tied with satin ribbon. “I just wanted to give you this, before …”
“Thank you,” Beatrice said, because she had to say something, and her mind was currently incapable of forming any other words.
The right thing to do was to walk onward, away from Connor. To return to the ballroom, where her fiancé—and all the rest of her predictable royal future—awaited her.
Instead Beatrice stepped inside, pulling the door soundlessly shut.
“There’s no need, Your Royal Highness,” Connor said, a sharpness to those last three words. “I know you have to get back to your party.”
“Please don’t Your Royal Highness me.”
He crossed his arms defensively. “What do you want from me, Beatrice? You made it perfectly clear how things stand between us. We’ve already said goodbye,” he reminded her. “I just hope you’re happy with the choices you’ve made.”
“Maybe I’m not.”
It came out barely a whisper.
Connor didn’t move. “What does that mean?”
Beatrice felt her controlled court persona slipping away as easily as if she were unzipping a dress.
“I mean that we aren’t over. Or at least, I’m not over you.” She took a heavy breath. “No matter what happens, I’ll never be over you.”
Slowly, she stepped forward and lifted a hand to his face: to trace over every freckle, every curve and shadow that had become so utterly familiar to her. More familiar even than her own reflection.
“Bee—” he said gruffly.
She grabbed his sweater with both hands and pulled him in to kiss him.
His mouth on hers was searing hot. Beatrice closed her eyes and clung tight to Connor. It felt like she’d been living in an oxygen-starved world and now could finally breathe—as if raw fire raced through her veins, and if she and Connor weren’t careful, they might burn down the world with it.
When they finally stepped apart, Connor kept his hands wrapped tight around hers, as if he couldn’t bear not to have some part of him that touched her. They both hurried to speak.
“I’m so sorry—”
“I never wanted to—”
“Beatrice,” Connor cut in, and she fell silent. “I’ll come back, if you’ll have me. Be your Guard again.”
The embroidery at the top of her gown stirred with her breath. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly. “These last couple of weeks have been torture. I realized that I can’t bear the thought of a life without you. I’m not saying that I’ll enjoy watching you marry him,” Connor added, stumbling a little over the words. “But I get it, Bee. You’re the heir to the throne and can’t make your own choices.”
He would come back to her. They would be together again. Beatrice tried to be pleased by this … but suddenly all she could see was Connor, kneeling before her in the garden, his heart in his eyes.
“I know better than to try to pick and choose which parts of you to love,” he was saying. “I love you, Beatrice. All of you, even the part of you that is sworn to the Crown. Even if it means we can’t really be together.”
“I love you, too.”
“All right, then. I’ll ask to be reassigned to you.” Connor smiled down at her. “At least this way we’ll have each other.”
Beatrice knew she couldn’t take him up on his offer.
This thing between her and Connor was real. She was his and he was hers—that was simply the truth, perhaps the most powerful truth in this entire court. And something that true was something worth fighting for.
“No.” Beatrice stepped back, shaking her head. “I can’t ask that of you. You deserve so much more than a half life.”
“What are you saying?”
Beatrice slid the diamond engagement ring off her finger, revealing the line of Sharpie inscribed beneath. For the first time in weeks, her smile wasn’t forced.
“It’s still there?” he asked, incredulous.
She hadn’t been able to stand the sight of her finger without it. “I touched it up myself,” she confessed, and took a breath. “Connor, I’m calling off the wedding.”
Seeing Connor again was a sharp reminder of everything that Teddy wasn’t. Beatrice liked Teddy, and understood him, and knew without a doubt that he would have been a great first king consort. If she’d never met Connor, maybe that would have been enough.
Except that she had met Connor. They’d managed to find each other in this messy, confusing, deeply flawed world. And now that she knew what it was like to truly love someone, Beatrice couldn’t accept anything less.
“Really?” The naked hope in Connor’s expression nearly undid her.
“Yes. I’ll talk to my dad tonight, tell him I can’t marry Teddy.” Her stomach knotted in dread at the thought of that conversation.
“What do you think he’ll say?”
Beatrice wished she could tell Connor that it would all be fine. But after everything they’d been through, he deserved the truth from her. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“He won’t approve of me,” Connor said quietly. “Neither will America. Look how much they freaked out about Jeff and Nina, and he’s not even the heir. They’ll never accept their future queen dating her bodyguard.”
“If they really feel that way, then maybe I don’t want to be their queen.”
Connor gave an exasperated huff. “Don’t be flippant.”
Beatrice stepped forward, folding her body into his. After a moment, Connor let his arms loop over her and pulled her closer. She pressed her face against his chest, inhaling the familiar warm scent of him. The whole world felt suddenly lighter.
“I already lost you once. I can’t bear to lose you again,” she murmured. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or how people will react, but we’ll figure something out. Whatever it is, we’ll do it together.”
A clock chimed in the hallway. Beatrice wondered, suddenly, how late it was. All those viscounts and barons were probably still lined up to congratulate her for an engagement she had every intention of breaking before the night was over.
“I’m sure they’re looking for you,” Connor said, as if reading her mind. He grinned. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can take that ring off your finger.”
Beatrice took a step toward the door and hesitated, torn. She hated the thought of walking away from Connor so soon, when she’d only just gotten him back. “Would you come with me? You could get in uniform, tell everyone you’re assigned to me again.”
“No offense, bu
t I’m not going anywhere near that party,” Connor said wryly.
“None taken.”
“I’ll be here for you when it’s over,” he assured her. “And, Bee—good luck with your dad.”
“Thank you.” She rose on tiptoe to brush her lips against Connor’s one more time.
As she started back down the hallway, the princess straightened her rumpled dress, tucked back a piece of hair that had come loose from her bun. Her eyes were very bright, her lips a vivid pink. And she was smiling to herself, a secret flickering smile that made her seem to glow from within.
She looked, to everyone who saw her, like a young woman in love.
NINA
Nina was in the first-floor ladies’ room when she heard the group of girls walk in. Their heels clicked in unison over the floor, their voices lilting and conspiratorial.
“Did you see what she’s wearing? She sure upgraded fast, once she got hold of the prince’s money.”
“You really think he bought her that gown?”
“Her mom sure didn’t, on a government salary.”
Nina froze.
“I heard that she’s so desperate for cash, she’s been selling photos of herself to the tabloids.”
A snort of disapproval. “You’d think she would have more style, having grown up around the palace.”
“Come on, Josephine, you know you can’t buy class if you weren’t born with it.” There was a chorus of snide giggles at that.
I dare them to say those things to my face, Nina thought, and swept furiously out of the bathroom stall. Her gown rattled with crystal beads like hail on pavement.
The trio of girls had clustered before the sink, which was made of an enormous slab of backlit pink quartz, its faucets shaped like swans’ necks. Nina washed her hands, coolly ignoring the others. They exchanged a glance among themselves before fleeing the bathroom in a voluminous rustle of skirts.
She refused to let their small-mindedness ruin her night, and yet … Nina swallowed. When it was just her and Jeff, everything felt so simple. But at times like this, the rest of the world came rushing back, in all its sordid ugliness.
American Royals Page 32
