He really is just . . . ridiculously good-looking, and when I glance over at the other side of the car, I see Sakshi already on the sidewalk, practically melting as she stares at him.
Perry is next to her, his face still red, his arms folded tightly over his chest. “So are we going in, or are we standing here while Google Earth grabs pictures?” he asks, nodding at Seb, and Sakshi elbows him hard in the ribs.
“Peregrine!” I hear her say, which is how I know it’s serious—she doesn’t use his full name except in cases of emergency.
Perry scowls, rubbing the spot, then shoots Seb another dark look.
But Seb only flashes me another smile. “Shall we, Roomie Quint?” he asks, offering me his arm, and after a beat, I take it.
CHAPTER 13
“My name is actually Millie,” I tell him as we walk toward the pub. “Flora just calls me by my last name because—”
“Because she’s trying to keep you at a distance,” he finishes. “Classic Flo. No one gets to be her friend until they’ve jumped through roughly a hundred rings, most of them on fire.”
“That is not . . . even remotely what I was going to say,” I tell him, glancing toward Flora.
She’s sashaying toward the pub. There really is no other word for the sway she puts into her hips, or the careless way she leads, knowing we’ll all follow.
And then I realize I’m basically staring at Flora, and shake myself out of it, focusing on the ornate wooden door in front of me.
The pub is basically everything I’ve ever imagined a Scottish pub would be—and believe me, I have spent a lot of time imagining Scottish pubs. I have a Pinterest board and everything.
There’s a dark carpet, pattern too faint to make out after so much time (and, I’m guessing, so many feet and spilled pints), cozy booths, and a bunch of mirrors that also act as whisky and beer ads, the brands painted around the frames in chipped paint. I also spot a few paintings of the Highlands, complete with stags and the occasional kilted dude.
But I barely have time to take it all in because Saks is already pushing me toward a circular booth in the corner while simultaneously pointing Perry toward the bar.
“Get the first round,” she hisses at him, and Perry scowls.
“Why do I have to do it?” he whispers back. “They’re the rich ones. Well, the richer ones.”
“Perry!”
I’m not sure exactly what it is about just saying his name like that that’s so effective on Perry, but he sighs and heads for the bar as instructed.
“I’ll have a soda!” I call after him, but I don’t think he’s listening.
The boys who accompanied Seb to Gregorstoun are already in the booth. Well, the blond guy is. The other two dark-haired guys, who look like twins, are playing darts, and Saks and I slide in. Flora and Seb sit on either side of all of us, like royal bookends.
Clearing her throat, Saks leans forward a little, tilting her head down. “So, Seb,” she says, “do you miss Gregorstoun?”
He grins at her. “Not particularly, but then, the scenery wasn’t as lovely when I was here.”
Sakshi smiles back, playing with her hair, and Perry chooses that moment to come back to the table, somehow managing to hold multiple glasses at once. Must be a skill they teach boys up here.
“Millie,” he says to me, and I take the glass of soda from his hands. Apparently he heard me, because everyone else has a beer. Well, everyone but Saks, who has a pear cider, the sweet smell wafting over to me as she spins her glass in her hands.
Seb takes a swallow of his beer and cringes. “Jesus, mate, what is this?” he asks.
Perry slumps into the booth. “Local specialty, they said.”
“Sheep piss?” Seb asks, then shakes his head, getting out of the booth. “Going to see if they have a Stella or something.”
As he walks off to the bar, I watch Saks watch him, a glint in her eye.
“He doesn’t seem like quite as much a mess as he once was?” she offers, and Flora snorts, picking up her own glass of dark beer.
“He’s just getting better at hiding it,” she says, and Saks gives a cheerful shrug.
“In any case, still worth a shot. And then,” she adds, patting my hand, “we’ll find you a cute local boy.” She winks, long eyelashes fluttering. “Haven’t you always wanted to learn what’s under a Scotsman’s kilt?”
I turn my glass of lukewarm soda around in my hands, giving Saks a weak smile. “Intriguing as solving that mystery might be, I am actually not interested in dating anyone right now.”
“She didn’t say dating,” Flora pipes up, leaning forward so that her jumper falls off her shoulder, revealing a hot pink bra strap. “But there’s no harm in sampling the local wares on a more casual basis, Quint. Live a little.”
I fight the urge to glare at Flora, because I feel like I do that so much, my face might get stuck that way. Instead, I say, “Not interested in sampling, either. I just broke up with someone.”
Technically, Jude and I didn’t break up, since we technically never “went out,” but it’s the easiest way to explain what happened between us.
Hi?
I can still see it sitting there on my laptop, but I push the thought away.
These people don’t need to know all about that sad story. I’m just hoping it’s an acceptable excuse for enjoying my soda in peace and quiet rather than playing Tumble in the Heather with some random local.
But Saks makes an exaggerated sad face at me, corners of her mouth turning down, lower lip poking out. On anyone else, I’d think she was making fun of me, but everything Saks does is a little outsized, so this seems sincere.
“Poor lamb,” she says, patting my hand again. “What was his name?”
Ah. Here we go. I did spend some time thinking of this moment before I ever left for Scotland. How I was going to talk to people about the whole bi thing. I wasn’t out or in in Texas, really. I mean, Lee and Darcy knew, Jude obviously knew, but it wasn’t a thing that had come up. Before the whole thing with Jude, I’d only dated a couple of boys before, Matt Lawrence freshman year (for a whole two months), and Diego Lopez my sophomore year (four whole months). But in Scotland, I decided that if it came up, I was going to honest about it. Casual, even. Like this was my chance to fully start being me, I guess.
So I just shrug. “Her name was Jude,” I say, and Flora’s gaze flicks over to me for a second before she goes back to studying the other patrons with that carefully schooled bored expression she’s so good at.
“Oh, so when you do decide to get back out there, we need to find you a lass instead of a lad, understood.” Saks is cheerful now, grinning as she sits up, and I can’t help but laugh a little as I shake my head.
“Lads are good, too,” I tell her. “I am pro both lads and lasses in the general sense, but not interested in either at the moment. I came here for school, not romance.”
“You can do both, you know.” Flora again. She’s leaning back against the booth, arms folded over her chest. “Last time I checked, Gregorstoun wasn’t a nunnery.”
“It might as well be,” Saks says, looking back over at Seb, who’s still standing by the bar. There’s a blond girl next to him now, and as we watch, Seb leans against the bar, giving her a grin so potent it should be classified as a weapon.
Flora follows her gaze and then snorts as she lifts her pint to her lips. “You can do far better than my brother,” she says once she’s drained about a third of the glass. Impressive, and also very unprincesslike.
“Better than a prince?” Saks scoffs, and Flora nods.
“Better than a prince who’s a git, yes. I adore Seb, obviously, but I wouldn’t wish him on any woman.”
Someone has turned on music in the pub now, and an old Kylie Minogue song drifts through the darkened pub.
I take a sip of my soda, wondering when
we can leave, when a boy suddenly appears at our booth.
Looking at me.
He’s cute enough, with dark hair flopping over his brow, and he offers a hand to me. “Wanna dance?”
I glance around.
Surely he can’t mean me? I’m sitting at a table with two goddesses, but me, the short brunette wearing a DON’T TAKE ME FOR GRANITE! T-shirt is the one he wants to dance with?
I give him an awkward smile, shaking my head. “No, thank you.”
But apparently they don’t give up easy up here, because he reaches out to take my arm. “You sure?”
“Fairly sure!” I reply, glancing around me. Saks and Perry are talking to each other in low voices, completely oblivious to what’s going on, and Flora is just watching, probably because she’s bored.
“C’mon, luv,” the boy cajoles, and I’m just about to get up because honestly, at this point, dancing with him might be easier than continuing to argue, but to my surprise, Flora leans across the table.
“Is ‘no’ some kind of foreign concept here in Sheep Shagger Land?”
She asks the question with wide eyes and a sort of feigned curiosity, but there’s a bite behind the words and a glint in her gaze that the boy clearly sees, too. His face flushes, red blotches suddenly springing up on his cheeks.
Taking his hand off my arm, he steps back. “Easy, darling,” he says, palms out. “I was only asking her for a dance.”
“Right, but you kept asking after she’d said no, which is, I suppose, where my confusion comes in.”
“Flora,” I say, but now Seb’s friends are looking over, both the dark-haired guys and the blond, Gilly, and there’s this . . . spark in their eyes I don’t like.
“I don’t want any trouble,” the boy says, and now he’s also seen Seb’s friends.
But it’s Flora I watch, her lips curling as she says, “Then you picked the wrong people to mess with, mate.”
With that, she puts two fingers in her mouth and makes the most piercing whistle I’ve ever heard. I wince, shoulders going up to my ears, and my eyes go to the door. Weird as it sounds, I’m almost wondering if some kind of Royal Guard Dogs are going to burst in, dragging this unfortunate boy away. Wolfhounds, maybe.
But the whistle isn’t summoning trouble of the canine variety. Instead, all three of Seb’s friends suddenly present themselves. They all have slightly flushed faces, and they’re all definitely a little more rumpled than they were when we first came in.
At the bar, I see Seb glance over, and his lips purse with distaste for just a second before he gives a shrug, tosses back the rest of his beer, and then . . . bops the blonde on the tip of her nose with his index finger.
Instead of snatching his finger off like she should so obviously do, the blonde actually giggles, shifting her weight and tilting her head so that her hair swings in front of her face just so.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Saks mutters, watching them, but then Seb is swaggering over, hands in his pockets.
“Seriously?” he asks, nodding at the boy. “Just one bloke?”
“He was bothering us,” Flora says, and I look back and forth between the two of them.
“He really wasn’t—” I start to say, but Gilly cuts me off.
“Four to one, it’s just not sporting, Flo.”
“Indeed,” one of the dark-haired boys says. “This seems beneath us.”
Thoroughly confused now, I look around the table. “Wait, what are we talking about?”
But again, I might as well not even be here. “Beneath you?” Flora echoes. “Dons, you’re banned from the Balmoral Hotel because you tried to fly your underwear from the flagpole.”
“I did not try,” Dons replies with all the solemnity he can muster. “I succeeded. Or came near enough. Spiffy was there, and—”
“I’m sorry, can I just go now?” the guy who started all this asks, jerking his thumb back toward his table. “Because I deeply regret coming over here.” He gestures at me. “No offense, but you’re not even that hot.”
“So much offense?” I reply, and both Flora and Sakshi scowl at the guy, Flora’s fingers tightening around her pint glass.
Almost as one, Spiffy, Dons, Gilly, and Seb look where the guy is pointing.
“Ah, you’ve got mates!” Gilly says happily, clapping his hands together. “Well, in that case . . .”
And with that, he throws a punch.
The guy staggers back, his drink crashing to the floor, and the other guys at his table all shoot to their feet while Seb and his friends grin.
Seb even throws me another wink. “Sorry about this, love,” he says, and then there is a full-on fight happening.
The dude has rallied from Gilly’s admittedly pretty weak punch, and he grabs Spiffy around the middle, pushing him into an empty table as the bartender squawks.
“Oh god,” Perry whimpers, while Sakshi starts pushing at me.
“Quick, we have to get out of here!” she cries. “Before someone gets their phone out!”
I feel like I just tipped straight into Crazytown, and I stare at Saks, baffled. “Someone should get their phone out,” I tell her, “and call the freaking cops.”
But Saks just keeps pushing at me. “No, they’re going to take pictures, you ninny!”
On the other side of the pub, Spiffy is trying to yank a set of decorative bagpipes off the wall while Seb may be the first man I’ve ever seen attempt to use a cardboard coaster as a weapon.
I turn to Sakshi, gaping. “That’s your major concern right now?”
“Quint!”
I twist in my seat to look at Flora on the other side of Saks, and she’s lifted her pint glass, grinning, her eyes nearly sparkling.
Then her arm goes back, empty pint glass cocked.
“Duck.”
Oh, look, another day, another mess from Prince Sebastian of Scotland. Honestly, why don’t they just keep him locked up in a tower room in one of their five billion castles? Isn’t that what these royal types do? Anyway, here are the blurry shots of Seb punching some poor pleb who probably made the mistake of lifting his eyes to the royal visage. Note Princess Flora over there on the right, throwing what looks like a pint glass. Maybe they should get adjoining tower rooms, only be taken out for special occasions. They can take Peregrine Fowler with them. He’s the ginger bloke in picture number three, cowering under the table. Second son of the Earl of WhoTheEffCares, Gregorstoun student, and wannabe Royal Wrecker, if you ask me. Pretty sure that’s the Duke of Alcott’s daughter with her hands over her face, but no idea who the other girl is.
(“Quelle Surprise,” from Off with Their Heads)
CHAPTER 14
The fact that we’re having the meeting in the chapel and not Dr. McKee’s office seems . . . less than great.
I haven’t been in Dr. McKee’s office on the ground floor, but the one time I passed it and the door was open, it looked . . . cozy. And the scent of strong tea had wafted out the door.
The chapel smells like snuffed candles and furniture polish, which, I’m learning, is much less soothing.
The fight at the pub hadn’t just been a local village scandal, but apparently made it into the papers as well. I haven’t bothered to look because the last thing I want to see is a blurry creeper shot of me cowering in the booth as punches and pint glasses were thrown. We’d made it back to the school okay, but the very next morning, Flora, Sakshi, Perry, and I had all had notices to meet Dr. McKee in the chapel.
Seb and his friends are long gone, of course, happily consequence-free, I bet.
Meanwhile, I’ve spent the entire morning trying not to throw up, visions of me being booted onto the next plane to Texas running through my head. How could I have been so stupid? I should’ve just stayed in my room.
Except, I remind myself, I did it for Saks. My folly was noble at
least.
I turn to her now and whisper, “Guess the whole ‘marry Seb’ thing is out the window now, huh?”
To my surprise, Sakshi shakes her head. “No, but I realize now my plan will need some recalibrating.”
“Right,” I reply faintly before turning my attention back to Dr. McKee.
She’s standing in front of the altar, her hands clasped, her shoulders straight, and next to me on the pew, Flora sighs.
“This is so dramatic,” she says in a low voice. “So very like Mummy.”
And that’s when I realize this little meeting that I thought would just be with us and Dr. McKee is much bigger than I’d understood.
“Wait, ‘Mummy’?” I ask Flora, my eyes going wide. “As in your mother? As in the queen of this freaking country?”
Turning to me, Flora raises an eyebrow. “Why do you think we’re in here?” she asks. “This is the only part of the school that can be accessed without going through the rest. My mother hardly wants to advertise her presence.”
Saks is sitting on the other side of me, and now she leans all the way across me to grab Flora’s shoulder. “We’re having a meeting with Her Majesty?”
Shrugging off her touch, Flora rolls her eyes. “She’ll be here in a Mum capacity, not a royal one.”
Sakshi’s eyes are huge, and she looks down at her lap. “This isn’t even my best uniform.”
“All our uniforms are the same,” Perry says, but Sakshi shakes her head.
“No, Perry, I have one for regular days and one that I had tailored to fit better. This isn’t the tailored one, Perry. This isn’t the tailored one!”
Before Sakshi can have a total breakdown, the side door to the chapel opens, and a woman walks in, trailed by two men in suits and sunglasses. Just behind them, there’s a woman in a bright red suit and the highest, thinnest heels I’ve ever seen, tapping away on a tablet.
Saks, Perry, and I all scramble to our feet, but Flora stays slumped in the pew, her arms crossed over her chest.
Her Royal Highness Page 8
