Page 134 of Thrones We Steal

“Mum. I’m in the hospital. Pretty sure looking terrible is a requisite for admission.”

“Commoners are allowed to look terrible. You are the queen.” She holds up a bottle of foundation and a beauty blender. “Now, I’m no Daphne but I think I can manage to make my daughter look a little more like a human being.”

“And here I was kind of digging the zombie look.”

She shushes me and begins dabbing foundation over my face. “You need to call your sister when we’re done. She’s been worried sick.”

“I hope you told her I’m fine.”

“Of course I did. But she’s threatening to come home and check on you herself.”

“That’s nice of her.” Bea would rush into a burning building to save someone’s teddy bear. Her heart is huge. Her common sense isn’t always up to speed.

“It’s completely unnecessary. She needs to stay in England.”

“I’m sure her professors would understand—”

“I’m not worried about her studies.”

“Okay,” I say, dragging out the word. “Then what are you worried about?”

She swipes at my lashes with a mascara wand. “Men don’t wait forever, and if she leaves now …”

“What, she’ll become a spinster?”

“It’s not outside the bounds of possibility.”

“Good god, Mum. She’s twenty years old. And one of the most sought-after women in the world.” Beatrice is gorgeous enough to have been offered dozens of modeling gigs, famous enough to land a cover on every major publication in the world at least once, and the perfect mixture of feminine and flirty to ensure she never has to attend an event alone.

“The right men get snatched up much faster than women.”

“Is this about the prince of Denmark?”

“I won’t discuss the details of your sister’s love life. You can ask her about it when you call.” She carefully places all of the makeup back into the bag and stands. “And tell her to stay where she is.”

After she leaves, I tap Bea’s contact on my phone. Her face fills the screen almost immediately.

“Oh my god, Celia! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. A few bumps and bruises.” I adjust myself ever so slightly and cover my grimace with a smile.

The video swerves as she walks across the room and climbs onto her bed. “Mum can’t come to grips with the fact that we’re both adults now and can make our own decisions. I was checking on flights and it looks like—”

“You don’t need to leave England.”

“But I should be there for you!” she says.

“Bea, seriously. There’s no reason for you to come home.”

She pauses, staring at me through the phone like she’s looking for reassurance that I’m not on the brink of death. “I just want to do something helpful.”

“Then distract me by telling me about your latest fling.”

Her head drops. It’s hard to tell through the screen, but I could swear she blushes. “There isn’t much to tell. Yet.”

“Do I know him?”

“You might know of him.”

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