Page 41 of Reign
Well, it might have been true back then, but it wasn’t anymore.
Nina had clearly shared all this with Gabriella, who’d decided it was too juicy a secret not to make use of.
Ethan kicked a sneaker against the shredded rubber underfoot. “I talked with Nina once or twice while I was abroad. She never mentioned any of this.”
A strange annoyance prickled in Daphne’s chest at the thought of Ethan video-chatting with Nina. “She wouldn’t exactly have bragged about it, would she?”
“I just feel like I would have noticed if she’d changed that much.”
“We all changed while you were gone. Including you,” Daphne said pointedly. “Speaking of which, since when do you drive a motorcycle?”
“Since it was the easiest way to get around Malaysia.”
“You’ve come a long way from your blue beach cruiser.” Her words were surprisingly soft, almost nostalgic.
For most of high school, Daphne and Ethan had been the only ones in their group of friends without a car—because, of course, they were the only ones who came from families without massive bank accounts. Sometimes they rode their bikes home from school together, since their routes were the same until they parted ways on Wright Street.
Daphne was struck by the memory of a time they’d been caught in a downpour. Ethan had taken off his windbreaker and draped it over her head in a futile effort to keep her dry, and the two of them had ended up standing there in the rain, soaked through and laughing at how ridiculous it all was.
“I’m still not convinced that the emails came from Gabriella,” Ethan insisted. “We should track who sent the email.”
“How?” Daphne scoffed. “Do you have a hacker on staff I don’t know about?”
Ethan’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “Not on staff, exactly, but I know someone. We’ll figure this out.”
Thatweseemed to echo across the deserted playground, though Ethan had spoken it quietly. Daphne felt it then: the echo of their old friendship stirring between them.
“If we’re really going to work together, I have some ground rules,” she decided. “Neither of us does anything without the other’s approval, and we can both call this off at any time. And we only communicate in person. No texting. I can’t afford a paper trail.”
Ethan nodded. “Fair enough. But if you’re going to impose rules, I think I’m allowed a rule of my own.”
Daphne gestured for him to go ahead, and he planted hisfeet on the ground, abruptly stopping the movement of his swing.
“We can’t hook up again. It’s too risky.”
A tension stretched out between them, as if they were holding opposite ends of a rubber band and tugging it to its tautest point. Daphne was unnervingly aware of everything: her heart beating against her ribs, the distant rumble of traffic, the weight of Ethan’s gaze on hers.
She forced herself to laugh, breaking the strange moment. “In your dreams, Ethan.”
“In my dreams, or yours?” He was smiling his light, irreverent smile again. “After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Just take me home now, please.” Daphne started marching toward the motorcycle before Ethan realized that she was smiling, too.
“You live on the east side?” Sam asked as Liam exited the freeway onto Donovan Street. Walk-up apartments were wedged between neon-lit bars, tattoo parlors, and bodegas. Colorful murals sprawled over the walls, bright with messages likeLove Is All You NeedorDon’t Let the Crown Get You Down.Sam blinked, wondering if she’d misread that one, but it was already behind them.
“You could also say that I live in Tribedo. The triangle below Donovan,” Liam clarified. When Sam frowned in confusion, he added, “You know Donovan Street is the edge of the gentrified section, right? Above Donovan it’s all hipster boutiques and coffee shops with oat milk. Down here in Tribedo it’s…well, it’s not,” he finished.
Sam had never heard that nickname before; but she was realizing that there were many things about her city she didn’t know.
She pulled out her phone and shot Marshall a quick text:I’m not staying at the palace, long story. Call me later?
It was still early in Hawaii; surely she would catch Marshall after his morning surf lesson.
“Ah, here we are. Home sweet home.” Liam pulled up the driveway of a ramshackle old house, a Victorian wood-frame with a second story that drooped wearily above the first. The wooden railings were carved with whimsical scrollwork andpainted a color that had probably once been purple, or maybe blue, but was now a dingy and peeling gray.
Liam insisted on carrying her suitcase up the front steps. Sam followed, wondering how it had come to this—her family shuffling her aside as if she were a sordid secret, forcing her to couch-surf with people she hardly knew.
Well, she would show everyone that she could stand on her own two feet. She was still Samantha, and she was a force to be reckoned with, with or without a title.
