Page 44 of Rivals
They headed downstairs; Jeff was still at her side, clearly determined to walk Nina back to her car. When they passed one of the sitting rooms, he paused. “Remember when we used to come in here to duel?”
“Of course I remember. We pretended that we were pirates.”
“Or revolutionaries fighting George III, or King Benjamin at war with the Spanish.”
Jeff walked over to the wall, where rows of épées, their points dulled with rubber tips for safety, hung on wooden plaques. He grabbed two and handed one to Nina. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”
“Right now?”
“Scared you’ve lost your touch?”
“Not a chance.”
Nina hung Sam’s dress over the back of a couch, then turned to face Jeff. It had been years since she’d done this, yet her body slid instinctively into fencing position: her left hand tucked behind her waist, her right foot forward.
Jeff lunged forward. “Take that, you British scoundrel!” he cried out, just as he used to when they were kids.
Their blades met with a resounding crack as Nina parried his blow. “Why am I the British in this scenario?”
“I figured you’d rather be British than a pirate,” Jeff breathed, whirling aside.
“You thought wrong!” Nina clambered onto an ottoman, then jumped off when it creaked dangerously beneath her weight. She and Jeff were still slashing at each other with unabashed enthusiasm. “I’ll show you, you plague sore, you moldy rogue!”
He stumbled at that. “Moldy what?”
“I’m in a class on Shakespearean dramas right now. No one knew how to insult like Shakespeare.”
She sliced her sword through the air, and Jeff lifted his to block it. “Can you blame me for assuming you wanted to be the British?”
Their steps grew faster as they danced around each other, jumping over the antique furniture. They advanced and retreated, twisted and sidestepped, laughing as their insults grew more and more ridiculous.
Suddenly, Nina fell back onto an armchair, the prince’s sword poised over the center of her chest. “Surrender or die!” he proclaimed in an overblown stage voice.
Nina laughed. “I concede!”
Jeff was laughing, too, as he reached out and pulled Nina to her feet.
She stumbled forward and fell still. The feel of his skinhad kindled something within her, something that Nina had thought was long since evaporated.
She tipped her face up and saw that Jeff was blinking down at her, his eyes wide with a confusion that matched her own. Surely he felt the longing that pulsed through her.
Nina gave a tug, and Jeff released her hand as if coming to his senses. Her heart thudded a frantic rhythm in her chest, but somehow her voice came out normal.
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.” In a fluid motion she grabbed Sam’s dress and started toward the front driveway.
It was nothing, she told herself, just a weird moment between old friends. They’d beenfencing,after all. It was practically the least romantic activity of all time.
It meant nothing, and itwasnothing, and Nina wouldn’t think about it again.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Beatrice told Teddy and Sam as they walked up the steps of Louise’s guest cottage. Her palms felt clammy, and she curled her hands into fists, wishing she didn’t always feel so nervous arriving at a party.
“Are you kidding? I’msoready for a night off,” Sam announced, pushing open the door.
A crowd of at least fifty royals spilled through the living room and onto Louise’s back terrace. They all wore jeans and silk tops, studded denim jackets or skintight leather pants, when just an hour ago they’d been decked out in full state attire. Music pulsed from the speakers. On a sideboard by the kitchen were platters of cheese and charcuterie, half-empty bottles of champagne on ice, and rows of red plastic cups, the kind Beatrice had seen at parties in college basements.
“Is Marshall coming?” she asked.
Sam shrugged as if she didn’t care, but Beatrice could tell from the set of Sam’s shoulders that she did care, very much. “I’m not sure.”
