Page 95 of American Royals II: Majesty
“I meant the media attention,” Nina cut in clumsily. “Marshall—I know how it feels, being put through the wringer for dating a Washington. I’m here if you ever want to talk about it. There aren’t many people who really understand, you know?”
Hearing her own words, she remembered the day Daphne had told her the exact same thing—Trust me when I say that I understand. I’m probably theonlyperson who understands.But unlike Daphne, Nina thought adamantly, she meant it.
Marshall shifted his weight. Suddenly, Nina caught a glimpse of what Sam saw in him: that behind his swagger—which was more an endearing, boyish charm than actual arrogance—he was startlingly vulnerable.
“I’d be lying if I said it’s all been smooth sailing, but Sam is worth it. I really care about her, you know.”
“I know.” When she’d first heard about this whole fake-relationship stunt, Nina had been so certain it was a terrible idea. She was glad Marshall had proved her wrong.
“Besides,” he went on, and now that cheeky tone was back in his voice, “the media coverage has been getting better. I think the nation is starting to fall for me. And really, who could blame them?”
Nina huffed out a laugh, though Marshall was right. She’d seen the tone of the comments shifting in recent weeks. Of course, plenty of people still didn’t approve, but more and more Americans were rooting for him and Samantha. Perhaps because they saw the genuine happiness on both their faces, and realized that this was something real. Or perhaps because they, too, were people of color, and liked seeing a Washington with someone who looked like them.
“Speaking of Sam, I was going to find her before the ceremony starts,” Marshall added, glancing over his shoulder.
Nina nodded; Ethan was probably waiting for her in the throne room. “Right. See you later.”
The foyer had thinned out in the last few minutes. Nina picked up her steps, turning into the main central hallway—just as Prince Jefferson turned the corner.
He was wearing the most excruciatingly formal version of his ceremonial uniform, complete with gloves, and a saber and scabbard that positively glowed. Dressed in all that crimson fabric and gold braid, he seemed unfairly handsome, like the hero of some romance novel who’d stepped out of the pages and into real life.
When he saw her, Jeff sucked in a breath.
For a long moment the two of them just stood there. Nina imagined the silence flowing around them like a river, swirling with invisible eddies and currents as it grew ever deeper.
Looking at Jeff, Nina didn’t see him as her ex-boyfriend, or even the handsome prince of her adolescent daydreams. She saw the Jeff who had been her friend, the little boy she used to run around the palace with, hunting for secret passageways with Sam.
She remembered when the three of them had once locked themselves inside a maintenance room. Jeff and Nina had been terrified, but Sam had just held tight to their hands and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll never let anything hurt either of you.” Nina was too shy to voice it, but she remembered feeling that way, too: that she would go to war with anyone who tried to harm Jeff.
Except that washernow, wasn’t it? She hadn’t set out to hurt Jeff, yet shehadhurt him, maybe worse than anyone.
“Jeff. Hi,” she whispered, and took a hesitant step forward. He watched her but didn’t move. Nina held out a hand, as if to touch his arm in silent support.
His phone buzzed, and the trancelike thread between them snapped.
“I have to go,” he said stiffly, and turned away.
Nina swallowed back a protest and nodded, watching Jeff’s retreating form. He would forgive her, and Ethan, when he was ready, she told herself—and hoped desperately that it was true.
She could hear the slap of his saber against his polished boots long after he’d walked away.
Subdued, she headed down the hall to the throne room. At the doors the usher asked for her name, then showed her to her seat, which was in the same row as Ethan’s—they had both been placed in the back, along with other low-ranking friends of the family. Nina glanced around the vast space, wondering where her parents were. The normal wooden pews of the throne room had been removed, replaced with chairs covered in tufted velvet cushions and hung across the back with garlands of flowers. Nina could smell all those thousands of blossoms, light and crisp beneath the heavier scents of perfumes and dry cleaning and body heat.
“There you are.” Ethan grinned as she settled into her seat. “You know, I wish youhadgotten your face painted. A red ‘Beatrice + Teddy 4-ever’ would have gone fantastic with that dress.”
The anxious fluttering in Nina’s stomach settled a little. Right now, the important thing was that she and Ethan were here, together.
“If only we’d gotten matching ones,” she whispered in reply.
They were inside the palace, but still, Nina reached out for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it.
Samantha longed to collapse onto the love seat with her sister and close her eyes. But now that she was in her gown, she wasn’t allowed to sit down, for fear of wrinkling the fabric. Sam would have complained, except that even she was absolutely in love with this dress.
The form-fitting ivory satin was deceptively simple, with a crew neck and cap sleeves. No lace—as Sam’s mother always said, lace was exclusively for brides—but Wendy Tsu had added sixty organza-covered buttons down the back. To show them off, and in a nod to Sam’s typically casual style, Queen Adelaide had even let her sweep her hair into a chic bouncy ponytail.
Beatrice shifted on the love seat, still wearing her silken white robe. Her hair had been styled into glossy dark curls, and pinned half up beneath the Winslow tiara. In the center of the room, on a wheeled clothing rack, her wedding gown hung in all its glowing splendor.
Sam noticed an unmistakable flicker of sadness in her sister’s expression. “Bee, is everything okay?”
