Page 112 of American Royals
“Nina …,” he said at last. “If it was just us, if I was a normal guy, would things be different?”
Of course they would, Nina wanted to say, except that the very notion was nonsense. The thought of him as a so-called normal guy, as one of the disheveled college kids who worked for his beer and pizza money, was ridiculous. Jeff could only ever be the Prince of America.
Just as Nina could only ever be a commoner.
“It won’t ever be just us, Jeff.”
He nodded. “I really am sorry.”
She turned a tear-streaked face to him. “Me too.”
They stood there, both of them leaning toward each other, but not touching.
“I guess this is it, then,” Jeff said at last. “See you around.”
He dropped a final kiss on her brow, more like a friend saying goodbye than a boyfriend. Then he walked back into the palace, the doors shutting behind him with a definitive click.
Nina leaned her elbows onto the railing. Her stomach had seized in an undeniable cramp, as if all the pain and sadness in her body were wringing her like a towel, twisting tears from her eyes.
She needed to get out of the palace, and this time, she wasn’t coming back.
SAMANTHA
I am not jealous, Samantha reminded herself, as she drifted around her sister’s party like a stray snowflake. It felt petty to be jealous at a time like this. Beatrice’s engagement was a matter of state, a dynastic decision, and their father was dying—and compared to that, it felt selfish for Samantha to be yearning for Teddy. There was so much more at stake here than her own teenage heartbreak.
Her rational brain knew and accepted all of this, but that didn’t make it any less painful.
At least Nina and Jeff seemed happy. They’d been attached to each other all evening, smiling goofy lovesick grins. Sam didn’t see them on the dance floor anymore, though. Probably they had slipped off to be alone.
The person she did keep seeing, no matter how consciously she tried not to, was Teddy.
Ever since their conversation in the Crown Jewels vault, she and Teddy had done an admirable job of avoiding each other. It seemed like he was traveling back and forth to Boston anyway. When she did see him, Sam murmured a polite greeting and quickly moved on.
But tonight Teddy seemed to be everywhere. Sam realized that some stupid part of her was tracking his movements, with a low hum of alertness that seemed to operate under the surface of her consciousness.
He looked gorgeous in his tuxedo, his blond hair slightly longer than it used to be—gorgeous, and utterly off-limits to her. Sam gripped the stem of the glass so tight that it left an indentation mark on her fingers. She had almost, almost come to terms with the fact that she was giving him up. That decision had been much easier when he wasn’t right in front of her.
There were plenty of other young men at this party, if she wanted to distract herself. Sam forced herself to whirl across the dance floor with them, one after the other: Alastair von Epstein, Darius Boyle, and the infamous Lord Michael Alden, who’d defied his family’s wishes and became a professional swimmer. He was even cuter in person, with that perfect white smile that was all over cereal boxes and toothpaste commercials.
Samantha was certainly dressed for flirtation. Her dramatic red trumpet gown matched her vivid lipstick, and her hair tumbled in curls down one shoulder, ruby studs glinting in her ears. It all had a glamorous, old-Hollywood feel.
She made a concerted effort for a while—looking up at Michael through lowered lashes, laughing at his jokes even when they weren’t funny—but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Sam, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Beatrice had come to stand behind her, uncharacteristically alone.
“Of course,” Sam replied, curious. She followed Beatrice to a corner of the colonnaded terrace, behind a towering spray of white peonies in a cut-glass vase. A young man in the uniform of the Revere Guard shadowed their movements, eventually settling along the edge of the ballroom.
“What happened to your other Guard? The tall, dreamy one?” Sam didn’t recognize Beatrice’s new security detail.
“Connor?” Her sister let out a strange breath that was almost a laugh, her voice higher-pitched than normal. “He’ll be back. He was just on temporary leave.”
Something was different about Beatrice tonight. The moonlight struck living sparks from the prongs of her tiara, cast a pale glow over her face. She looked softer and more beautiful than Sam had ever seen her.
Beatrice glanced around their surroundings, making sure no one could overhear. Then she leaned in close. “I’m calling off the engagement,” she said abruptly.
“What? But—why?”
