Page 111 of Reign
He let out a breath. “Of course I’m happy to come. I will hold your purse during photos and bring you drinks and whatever else etiquette says royal dates are supposed to do. And if you need an escape route, I’ll be ready with the garbage truck,” he added, with a hint of the old teasing tone.
Sam smiled in relief. “So you and me…we’re okay?”
“We’re okay.” He reached for her bag and hoisted it over his shoulder. “Can I walk you out?”
As they headed past Sam’s room, she realized she’d left the door wide open. Liam sucked in a breath when he saw the deflated air mattress, everything folded as neatly as when she’d first arrived here, all those weeks ago.
“Looks like you’re moving out.”
“Jeff texted last night and asked if I wanted to stay at the palace for a while. Now that we’ve made up, it makes sense. At least until I figure out my next move.” Her eyes met Liam’s and she added, “Thank you for taking me in when I was…when I needed a friend.”
Liam nodded. “Sam, as much as I would’ve liked to date you, I love having you as a friend.”
She stepped forward and hugged him then, burying her face in his T-shirt to hide her tears. Liam had changed her in ways that she had never expected. He’d helped her put the pieces of her life back together—or, more accurately, he’d helped her find her way to anewlife, one where she felt stronger and more capable. The Samantha who’d stormed into Beatrice’s hospital room and fought with Jeff about her titles feltlike a distant and far-off person, someone who didn’t have a clue how to calculate sales tax or cook an omelet or switch lines on the metro.
Her whole life, Sam had been trained in being a princess. But no one until Liam had taught her, simply, how to be a person.
Later that morning, Sam was in one of the downstairs sitting rooms with Beatrice and their mom, fastening her strappy heels. They could have gotten ready with Daphne in the Brides’ Room, but it was such a cramped space, and Beatrice said Daphne would want to be alone with her own mother right now.Let them have this special time together,Beatrice insisted, though Sam suspected that Daphne’s mom wasn’t all that sentimental.
As promised, Sam’s bridesmaid dress—a gorgeous color somewhere between slate gray and smoke—fit perfectly. A few strands of her pixie cut had been pinned back, white flowers fastened to the bobby pins. It was excruciatingly girly and so very Daphne, but Sam had to admit, she liked the contrast of the ivory petals against her dark hair.
“You okay, Bee?” she asked, realizing that Beatrice had been very quiet this morning.
Beatrice shrugged, but Queen Adelaide looked over in surprise. “What do you mean, Sam?”
“You seem worried.” Sam directed her reply at Beatrice, ignoring their mom. “Is something wrong?”
Beatrice ran her hands over the skirts of her own bridesmaid dress. Since she was the reigning monarch, she wouldn’t stand at the altar, to keep from detracting attention from Daphne, but she’d still worn the dress out of solidarity.
“Oh. Well…I saw Louise last night. She gave me a lot to think about….”
“About Madison?” Sam guessed.
Queen Adelaide’s expression soured. “I still can’t believe the things he shouted before he was arrested! We’ll have to strip him of his position as Queen’s Champion, obviously, and name someone else in his place. Maybe Teddy’s father?” she added hopefully. “That way it could be Teddy himself someday?”
At the look on Beatrice’s face, Sam realized that Beatrice’s inner turmoil involved Teddy, far more than the Duke of Virginia.
A footman knocked at the door. “Miss Samantha? Miss Daphne has asked to see you.”
Sam hesitated, but Beatrice nudged her forward. “We’ll talk later, I promise,” she said under her breath.
Sam started down the hall, wondering what Daphne wanted. Maybe she was hoping Sam could deliver a note toJeff?
When she knocked at the Brides’ Room, she heard Daphne call out, “Come in,” and pushed open the door.
A swirl of people orbited Daphne, makeup artists and designers’ assistants and hairstylists all brandishing mascara wands or fabric tape or hot curlers, decorating her as if she were a human Christmas tree. Every inch of her was contoured or pinned or covered in lace or hairspray. And atop it all glittered a tiara: not the Winslow tiara, which Beatrice usually wore, but one that Sam didn’t recognize. Daphne must have pulled it from the depths of the Crown Jewels vault.
“Please, I need a moment with Samantha alone.” There was something eerily calm in Daphne’s voice. The various assistants all curtsied—a little ahead of schedule, since Daphne wasn’t actually a princess yet—and retreated.
When they were alone, Sam took a hesitant step forward. “Can I help with something?”
“You could explain why you hate me so much.”
Sam blinked. “What?”
“Why don’t you want me to marry your brother? You think I’m not good enough to be a Washington?” Hurt flashed in Daphne’s bright green eyes as she added, “I might have expected that from other members of your family, but not from you. I thought we grew close over the past year.”
“We did,” Sam replied, bewildered. She and Daphne would never be best friends, but they had spent a lot of time together after Sam’s father passed, working on etiquette, since Sam had become the heir. She’d grown quite fond of Daphne’s unique blend of wit and tough love.
