Page 68 of American Royals II: Majesty
Eventually, when they were all friends again, Ethan would see that she’d done what was best for both of them. Things between her and Ethan would be just like before: the two of them scheming and social climbing in tandem, looking out for each other’s interests. Except this time, she would be a princess and Ethan an earl. This time, they would have real power to wield.
She looked up at Ethan, but he was staring at her with evident disgust. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said heavily. “Unlike you, Nina is a good person.”
“What are you saying?” Daphne demanded, over the strange twisting in her gut.
“I’m saying that I won’t hurt Nina just because you want me to.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “I realize this may come as a shock, given that the rest of America is always telling you how spectacular you are, but not everything is about you.”
Daphne stumbled back a step. Her heel caught on the gravel, sending pebbles flying every which way. Ethan instinctively held out a hand, steadying her.
She brushed him aside, trying to regain some semblance of her dignity.
“Of course it’s about me. I asked you to date her in the first place,” she reminded him.
They both flinched at the sound of a door opening, but it was just a custodian setting a bag of garbage outside the opposite door. Music blared from his headphones, and he didn’t even notice them.
When the door shut behind him again, Ethan sighed. “I can’t handle your games anymore, Daphne. You never play fair.”
“I play towin.” The words were a reflex, spoken with half a thought.
Ordinarily Ethan might have smiled at that. But now he just looked at her steadily, his dark eyes heavy with fatigue—and resentment.
“Whatever you’re planning, leave me out of it.”
They stood there for a long moment, their heartbeats chasing each other.
“Fine, then. You can get your title from someone else,” Daphne declared.
Her head held high, she walked away from Ethan as serenely as if she were leaving a palace reception. It wasn’t until she was back in the parking lot that Daphne let her steps slow, then slumped wearily against her car door.
It didn’t matter; she could do this on her own. She didn’t need Ethan.
She was Daphne Deighton, and she had never needed anyone except herself.
“Jeff?” Sam called out, as she walked around the palace’s garage. She’d checked her brother’s bedroom first, but when he wasn’t there, she’d asked Caleb to radio Jeff’s Guard, Matt, and find out where he’d gone. She’d been surprised to learn he was shooting hoops at the old basketball net their dad had installed when they were kids.
The sky was a cloudless blue, the air bright with the promise of summer. Sam pulled her sunglasses lower over her face. Up ahead, she heard the steady thump of the ball against the pavement. She turned the corner, and paused when she saw that Jeff wasn’t playing against Matt, as she’d thought.
Marshallwas with him.
Oblivious to her presence, the two of them kept good-naturedly heckling each other. It seemed like they’d known each other for most of their lives, instead of a matter of weeks.
Sam watched as Marshall feinted to his left, then broke away past Jeff. He sprinted forward, hurling the ball toward the basket—just as he noticed her, standing in the shade of the garage.
Ever since their pool photos, Sam and Marshall had followed the palace’s decree and escalated their relationship: going out on public dates, attending a series of cocktail parties and receptions. Sam was desperate to know what he really thought about all this, but he treated her with the same easygoing irreverence as ever. He made her laugh, held her hand when reporters took photos of them—and that was it.
He hadn’t kissed her since the night of the party. His grandfather had probably given him the same mandate that Robert had told her: to keep things chaste from now on. So why did Sam keep fixating on it?
Sam strode behind the basket to grab the ball, her eyes meeting Marshall’s. “Looks like you missed that one,” she observed, and began dribbling between her legs.
His glance strayed to her mouth, and he smiled. “I had a pretty girl distracting me.”
Sam rolled her eyes and tossed the ball to Jeff, who took it back to the free-throw line. “Hey,” Marshall cried out in protest, “if you’re going to join mid-game, then you’re onmyteam!”
“I can’t go against my twin. It violates the laws of nature,” Sam said brightly as Jeff threw a perfect three-pointer. He ran over to give her a high five.
A ringtone sounded from the stone bench where the boys had thrown their stuff. “Sorry, can we take a break?” Marshall asked, jogging over. He picked up the phone and tucked it into his shoulder.
“Hey,” he answered, in a low, tender voice. Sam strained her ears, trying to catch the rest of the conversation. Was he talking toKelsey? Marshall hadn’t mentioned her since themorning after the twins’ party. But—wasn’t he going to see her, when he and Sam went to Orange for Accession Day later this month?
