Page 67 of Her Royal Highness
She smiles at that, but there’s real concern in her face whenshe 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 andfinally 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 amverydisappointed 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 isthemost 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?”
