“No.” Sakshi’s hand comes down on mine, covering the back of it. “I mean . . . do you like her?”
Cutting her a look, I pull my hand back. “Isn’t this the kind of thing we should be asking in notes? The kind with boxes, check yes or no?”
She smiles at that, but there’s real concern in her face when she looks at me. The corners of her mouth turn down, her eyes narrowing just a little. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
It’s close to what Darcy said about Jude, that I was setting myself up for heartbreak, and I don’t like that comparison.
“Trust me, neither do I,” I reply.
We all hang out downstairs until the police car drives away and Dr. McKee comes in, briskly clapping her hands and telling us to disperse. Everyone follows her order, but I hang back, waiting until the hall is mostly clear to approach the headmistress.
“Dr. McKee?” I ask, and she turns, eyebrows raised like she’s surprised to see me there.
“Yes, Miss Quint?”
“What’s going to happen with that guy?” I ask, nodding out toward the front doors.
Dr. McKee turns to follow my gaze, reaching up to pat at her chignon. “Oh, I assume they’ll take him to the station in the village, put the fear of god into him, and send him back to Edinburgh or Glasgow or wherever he came from.”
“Is the queen going to hear about it?” I ask, and Dr. McKee pivots on her heels to face me fully.
“That’s none of your concern, Miss Quint,” she says, which I take as a yes. Will that mean more security people around? Flora will hate that.
But I don’t say anything, just nod and give Dr. McKee my best Humbled and Quailed face before jogging up the stairs.
I open the door to see Flora sitting on my bed.
Holding the magazine about her that I’d shoved under my pillow. And, stupidly, kept there ever since.
She looks up when I come in, and as I close the door behind me, she holds up the magazine.
“Bedtime reading?”
“Saks had it,” I say. “A-after Skye, I was curious about your life and the people in it, so I asked for help, and—”
“And then decided to get into the lucrative side business of spying on me for the tabloids?”
The words are so unexpected that I take a step back. “What?”
Flora tosses the magazine to my bed, standing up and folding her arms over her chest, one hip cocked slightly. She looks every inch the Mean Girl I’d tagged her as on my first day, and I realize that I’d forgotten just how cold she can be when she wants.
“That photographer was up here because someone has been leaking information. I just checked the various blogs dedicated to tracking every breath me or my brothers take, and what do you know?” She pulls her phone out of her pocket, wiggling it at me. “Story after story about me, about you, about us going to Skye, about what went wrong at the Challenge. And now I see you’ve been reading up on me.”
I’m still gaping at her. “Do you . . . honestly think I’m calling up Scottish tabloids and telling them things? Flora, I wouldn’t even know how to do that. American, remember? Also, unlike you, I don’t steal my phone back from the main office every five seconds. I only have it on the weekends, and you’re around me most of—”
“Then why were you reading about me?” she asks, her voice getting louder, and I don’t know if it’s shock that she’d actually think I’d do something like rat her out to the press, or if my head is still spinning from the fake Thanksgiving and finally understanding how I feel about her, but I hear myself shout back, “Because I like you!”
I have never seen a Shocked Flora, but that’s who’s standing in front of me now. Her mouth drops open slightly, and I throw up my hands, determined to let this now be as embarrassing as possible.
“I have a crush on you,” I go on. “A stupid and hopeless crush, and honestly, I am very disappointed in myself about it, but there it is. I like you. I wanted to read that magazine so I could learn more about you, and also look at pictures of you because you’re pretty, and this is the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me, so enjoy watching it, I guess.”
Only once all the words are out do I realize I didn’t do the nervous stuttering thing, that moment when all the words I want to say form a logjam of awkward in my mouth. I just spat it all out directly in her face, and oh my god, I just told her . . . everything.
She’s still staring at me, her arms still folded across her chest.
“You like me,” she repeats, and completely defeated by my humiliation, I shrug, both palms up.
“I do. It’s so dumb, but I do.”
Flora drops her arms, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “Why is it dumb?” she asks, and I look at her, my heart seeming to speed up and slow down all at once. I’m so aware of it thudding there in my chest, in my throat, in my ears.
“What?”
Stepping closer, Flora murmurs, “Why is it dumb, Quint?”
And then . . . holy crap, she’s kissing me.
Flora’s hands are cold on my cheeks, or maybe it’s just that my face is hot, but I can feel each of her fingertips on my skin, pressing in like a brand, and my own hands come up to catch her wrists. It shouldn’t be a big surprise that Flora is such a stellar kisser, but my knees didn’t get the message because they’re trembling like I just did four laps around the school.
And underneath my fingers, I can feel the steady pulse of Flora’s heartbeat, a reminder that I’m not the only one feeling shook here.
Smiling against her mouth, I pull back a little, and she grins at me, that real smile that probably shows too many teeth to be a Proper Princess Smile, but the one that is definitely my favorite.
Then it fades from her face, and a trio of wrinkles appears between her perfectly groomed eyebrows. “Oh god, is this too much?” she breathes. “Is it too soon, do you need more time? I can give you more time, if you want, I just . . . I just felt like I had to kiss you, so I did.”
Pulling back even more, I raise my eyebrows at her. “Are you, Princess Flora Ghislaine Mary Baird, actually saying you might have rushed into something? Like, you’re admitting that?”
She presses her forehead to mine briefly, and I wonder why the scent of the same soap we all use here smells so much different on her skin than it does on mine or anyone else’s. “Did I rush in?” she asks, and I take a deep breath before shaking my head.
“No. No, for the first time since I met you, I think you might have had perfect timing.”
CHAPTER 33
Somehow I’d forgotten what it feels like to be in deep smit for someone.
With Jude, there was that weirdness carrying over from how long we’d been friends, from keeping it kind of secret, from still trying to figure out what the whole thing meant. With Flora, there’s just . . .
Well, there’s just moments like right now as we do our laps around Gregorstoun, and she glances over at me with a bright smile, cheeks pink, hair sticking to her face even though it’s freaking freezing, and my heart feels so big in my chest I can hardly stand it.
“Are you going to sing this time, Quint?” Flora teases, turning to jog backward, and I nod at her.
“Maybe. If you fall and bust your ass, I’m definitely going to sing a song about that and the perils of hubris. Like an Oompa-Loompa.”
“What is it with you and the Willy Wonka references?” she asks, turning back to jog like a normal person, and I slow down a little, Flora falling into step with me.
“Maybe ‘Veruca Salt’ can be our always,” I joke, and she laughs.
Then, as we approach a rise in the path, she reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me behind a rock formation to press a quick but heated kiss to my mouth, and yeah.
Maybe I haven’t forgotten what this feels like, because I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything
like this.
Pulling back, she studies my face for a long moment, then runs her thumb over my lower lip, sending a shower of sparkles through my blood.
Then I lean in to kiss her, and this time, there’s nothing quick about it.
I happen to think Flora and I are being very discreet about this new thing between us, but I’m immediately disabused of that notion at lunch as Sakshi and Perry sit on either side of me, almost simultaneously. They’re good at that, so good that I sometimes wonder if they’ve practiced.
“Spiiiillll,” Saks sings out, opening her bottle of mineral water while Perry reaches over me to steal the roll off Sakshi’s tray.
“Or don’t,” he tells me, glaring over at Saks, “because it’s none of our business.”
Saks rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Perry, don’t be such an old lady. Millie is our friend, and we support her happiness, which means we need to learn all about it. So. Spill.”
Blushing, I roll my shoulders and continue pushing beans around my plate. “There’s not much to spill,” I say, and Saks heaves out a huge sigh, ruffling her hair.
“Not much to spill? Millicent—”
“It’s Amelia, and you know that.”
“You’re dating a princess,” Saks goes on like I didn’t even say anything, fluttering one hand by her face, and I’m surprised by how much hearing those words feels like a punch to the gut.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not what—”
“That’s absolutely what’s happening,” Sakshi argues, and even Perry nods, his mouth full of bread.
“It really is, Millie,” he says, and I look back and forth between them.
“I like Flora,” I say in a low voice. “And she likes me. But what that means is . . . still something we’re figuring out.”
Saks wrinkles her nose a little. “Oh, darling,” she says. “It doesn’t work like that. Not with this crowd.”
I see Flora walk into the dining room then, and there’s that silly little trip in my chest at just seeing her.
Saks follows my gaze, then giggles, nudging me with her elbow. “Oh, you smitten kitten, you,” she teases, and I shove back at her.
“Staaaahp.”
“She doesn’t deserve you,” Perry says, but he’s smiling, too, and Saks reaches across me to pat his arm.
“That’s so loyal, Peregrine,” she says, and he grins back at her, and I suddenly realize I’m not the only smitten kitten at this table.
But then Saks shifts in her chair, picking up her fork and adding, “You know they found out who was telling reporters about Flora, right? It was Elisabeth! My former roommate turned Flora’s roommate, can you believe it?” She shakes her head. “Of all the people it could’ve been, it was a horsey girl.”
She lowers her voice. “Apparently she found out the papers paid well for Flora tidbits, and she wanted some fancy new . . . what was it, Perry? A saddle?” She shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t like horses, much to my father’s horror.”
“Isn’t she, like, twelve?” I ask. “Some sixth grader was selling gossip?”
Picking at her own beans on toast, Saks glances at me. “I told you, darling,” she says. “Whole other world.”
Later that afternoon, I’m sitting in my room with Flora. Sakshi has cleared out to give us some privacy, and I’m on my bed while Flora sits at the desk, both of us working on our papers for Mrs. Collins’s lit class, but every once in a while, we peek up over our laptops at one another until finally, Flora puts her computer down with a thump and launches herself across the room to lie on my bed.
Giggling, I close my own laptop, leaning down to brush her hair back from her face. It’s still a weird feeling, just reaching out and touching her like that, but I like it.
Flora does, too, I think, as she rolls onto her back to look up at me, her lashes long around those golden eyes.
“You’re distracting me,” I tell her, and she shrugs, reaching up to tangle her fingers with mine there by her shoulder.
“What’s the fun of having a schoolmate you snog if you don’t distract her from schoolwork?”
The words are light, teasing, but they make some of that golden glow I was feeling dissipate.
Schoolmates who snog.
Friends who kiss.
But Flora isn’t Jude, I remind myself, and I lean down, still a little shy as I kiss her.
But Flora is definitely not shy, kissing me back with her hand at the back of my head, and soon it’s not so much kissing as it is making out, my paper and laptop and own name pretty much forgotten.
It’s not just the kissing (although I like that a lot) but all of it.
The way Flora’s fingers always dance over any piece of exposed skin, turning places I never thought of as all that sexy—the insides of my elbows, the spaces between my fingers, my forehead—into pulse points of want.
How her usually imperious “Quint” sounds so different when it’s whispered against the damp skin of my neck.
Or how she makes me so different. Bolder and braver, quicker to touch her in all the places where she wants to touch me.
This is one of those times when I feel like I can’t stop touching her, even with all our clothes on, and I probably would stay there wrapped up in her forever if my phone didn’t suddenly chime.
Lifting my face from Flora’s, I wrinkle my nose. “That’s my phone.”
Still draped across the bed, her face pink, Flora pushes her hair back. “So?”
“So it’s in the main office?” I say, and Flora gives me that smug smile.
“Is it?”
Groaning, I get off the bed as my phone beeps again, clearly coming from the top drawer of my desk.
“I just thought you’d want yours, too,” Flora says, pushing herself up on her elbows, and I open the drawer.
“Thank you for including me in your life of crime,” I say, but Flora is, not surprisingly, completely unapologetic.
I see now that the chimes are from my email, the personal one I still keep, not the one the school gave me, and they’re both from Lee.
Guilt hits me a little at that. I haven’t talked to Lee in a couple of weeks now, even though I’d been meaning to. It’s just things had gotten so—
And then I see the subject lines of the emails.
The first one: WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL MILLIE
And the second: YOU ARE DATING A PRINCESS WHAT
Opening the first email, I see Lee has left me a link to some blog called Off with Their Heads. Charming.
It’s got a picture from our “Thanksgiving”—guess Flora was right about the guy having taken it with his phone—but also, there’s my name.
My name right there.
And the second email has another blog post, this time with Lee adding his own commentary.
Millie, you have been HOLDING OUT. I knew you had a crush, BUT ON A PRINCESS? WHO IS YOUR ROOMMATE???? What is going on? Email me immediately. Email me YESTERDAY.
“Who’s Lee?”
I turn to see Flora right behind me, surprising me.
“My best friend,” I say, distracted as I mess with my hair. “How do people already know this stuff?”
Flora lifts one shoulder, heading back to my bed. “They always do,” she says before settling back down with her laptop. “And honestly, I’m glad this time. Maybe now Mummy will understand that I’m gay, not ‘going through a phase.’”
I look over at her, wondering if I can explain how weird this makes me feel, seeing my name on some random blog. I’m . . . nobody. I’ve never been mentioned on the internet in my life except for that time I came in second in my district’s geography bee in seventh grade.
But of course Flora wouldn’t get that at all since she’s been in the public eye since before she was born. Literally. There was a whole part in that tribute mag
azine full of pictures of a pregnant Queen Clara.
And I get what she means, about this maybe finally forcing the issue of her being publicly out.
So I just put my phone back in the desk drawer, promising myself I’ll email Lee later.
I sit back on my bed, pulling my computer over, and Flora turns to look at me.
“Okay?” she asks, and I nod.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s just . . . weird.”
Flora doesn’t say anything for a minute, then she sits up, placing both of her feet on the floor, her hands braced on the edge of the mattress.
“Do you want to come home with me this weekend?”
“What, to Edinburgh?” I ask, and when she nods, I add, “To the palace?”
“That is my home, yes. My mom’s throwing this little party for Alexander and his fiancée, and I just think . . . well, once you spend a little more time with my family, things like that”—she gestures to my phone—“might not seem so odd. We’re all frightfully boring, after all.”
“So I’d be your . . . date. To this party.”
“If you want to be,” Flora says evenly. “Or you can be my good friend and former roomie, Quint, come to keep me out of trouble.”
I snort at that. “Date would definitely be more believable than Person Who Keeps Flora Out of Trouble.”
Another smile and she crosses her legs at the ankles, swinging her feet. “Is that a yes?”
I think about Queen Clara and the last time I saw her—the only time I saw her—and Seb with the whole pub brawl thing. So far, my impressions of Flora’s family haven’t been great, but maybe she’s right. Maybe if I’m in and among them, this won’t all feel so . . . bizarre.
“It’s a yes.”
CHAPTER 34
The trip to Skye was one thing, but this—heading to the actual palace with Flora for a weekend—is a whole other deal. For one, we don’t drive down. A car takes us from Gregorstoun to Inverness, where we get on a train, but not just any train. The Baird family has their own train car, decked out with the family crest everywhere and seats that are comfier than any I’ve ever sat in. Flora sits next to me, our fingers intertwined as we watch the countryside rush by, and I’m thrilled and happy and pants-wettingly terrified all at the same time. When Flora and I went to Skye, it was just as friends.
Her Royal Highness Page 18
