Page 47 of American Royals
To his credit, Jeff didn’t automatically dismiss her objections, or tell her that none of those things mattered to him, the way he had last time. He was silent for a while.
“I can’t pretend to know how everyone will react,” Jeff said at last. “But I don’t care about public opinion, and neither do you. For what it’s worth, I like the ways that you’re different. I like that you’re smart, and ambitious, and that you call me out when I’m wrong. That you talk to me, and not to my titles, the way everyone else does.”
“Wait a minute, you have titles? This changes everything.”
She made as if to push him away, but he circled his hands around her wrists and held her close. His eyes danced appreciatively. “You’re funny. I’ll take two of you, please.”
“As if you could handle two of me,” she scoffed.
Jeff laughed, a great hearty laugh that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest. “True,” he conceded. “I’m in enough trouble with just the one.”
She settled against him, her head tipped onto his shoulder. His hand curled around her waist, not in a demanding way, but simply because it seemed to belong there.
“I’m sorry,” Nina said at last, “but can’t I just … keep you to myself, for a little while longer?”
Jeff smiled. “No arguments here. I quite like when you keep me to yourself.”
The wind crooned as it brushed the snow against the windows. It felt like the rest of the world no longer existed: as if they had fallen under a temporary spell, and there was nothing but the two of them, and this moment.
Nina shifted. “You know, I seem to remember that we had some unfinished business from this afternoon.”
“Did we now?” Jeff’s voice was a low rumble.
Nina’s hair fell loose around them, curtaining their faces as she leaned forward to kiss him.
Out there was the world: cold and harsh, full of contradictions and judgment. Out there, he was His Highness Jefferson George Alexander Augustus, while Nina was a commoner whose mom worked for his family. But here, in this cocoon of golden warmth, they were safe.
Here they were just a boy and a girl, kissing in a cabin in the mountains.
DAPHNE
Daphne made slow, wide turns down the last fifty meters, drawing to a halt at the entrance to the Apex lift. There was still no sign of Jefferson.
The liftie, a guy in a Raiders beanie with a scruffy beard, gave her a puzzled smile, as if he knew that he should recognize her, but couldn’t remember what she was famous for. It needled Daphne a little, though she hated to admit it.
Or maybe he didn’t recognize her at all, and was looking at her with such confusion because he couldn’t understand why she was heading up yet again, repeating the same exact run she’d been skiing for the past hour and a half.
This was the first time in three years that Daphne hadn’t been invited to join the royal family for New Year’s, but she wasn’t about to let a small detail like that stop her. She and her parents had come to Telluride themselves, renting a hotel room for the week, so that Daphne could find an opportunity to oh-so-conveniently run into the prince.
Which was why she was here, lapping off of Apex, alone. She’d skied with Jefferson and Ethan enough to feel certain that they would end up on this run: it was their favorite place to ski on mornings like this, when it was warm enough to soften the top layer of snow.
Except that Jefferson was nowhere to be seen. Daphne cast another glance back over her shoulder—and caught sight of a figure in a nondescript gray parka, snowboarding over from Ophir Loop. She allowed herself a slow, dangerous smile. She would recognize that particular shade of gray anywhere.
There were a few other people here with Jefferson: his uncle Richard; his aunt Margaret and her husband, Nate; a protection officer. And, of course, Ethan.
Daphne poled to one side and bent over in a pretense of tightening her boots. When she heard them coasting toward the entrance to the lift, she turned around slowly, for maximum effect. She was well aware how amazing she looked, even in ski gear. Her all-black ensemble—a thin down parka with a hood trimmed in rabbit fur, ergonomic stretchy pants that belted at the waist—was surprisingly chic. No one would know that she’d spent months monitoring the luxury sports websites, ready to buy it all the instant it went on super sale.
“Jefferson!” she exclaimed, in a show of surprise, and turned brightly to the others. “And Your Highnesses, Ethan. It’s good to see you all.”
The twins’ uncle Richard smiled warmly at her, but Aunt Margaret, who was wearing a yellow one-piece ski suit that made her look curiously like a tall skiing banana, gave her a cool nod before deliberately turning aside. She was the only one who didn’t like Daphne.
Well, aside from Samantha. No matter how intensely Daphne had amped up her charm, Jefferson’s twin sister had never warmed to her. Eventually Daphne had given up trying, and treated the princess with the same pleasant cordiality that she did everyone else.
Jefferson pulled out one of his earbuds: he always listened to music while snowboarding, despite constant protests from the king and queen, who worried that it was somehow unsafe. “Hey, Daph. I didn’t know you were in town this weekend.”
She thrilled a little at his use of the old nickname. “My parents and I decided at the last minute. Were you about to head up?” she added, her eyes cutting toward the lift.
Jefferson nodded, and her chest seized in relief. She felt the weight of everyone’s gazes on them as they poled over to the loading station. Daphne was gratified by the flash of recognition on the liftie’s face when he realized that the other person on the chair was Prince Jefferson. Now, at least, he finally recognized her.
