Page 67 of Reign
“I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t really talk about it,” Ethan said quietly. “I feel too guilty that she didn’t get to be a doctor because ofme.”
Daphne felt a hollow ache in her chest. “You can’t carry the blame for the fact that your mom isn’t a doctor.”
“Her entire life got derailed because of an unplanned pregnancy,” he pointed out.
“Your momlovesyou.” That much Daphne would stake her life on. She had only met Ethan’s mom—a high school biology teacher, which made more sense now that Daphne knew her backstory—a handful of times, but Daphne could always tell that Ms.Beckett was the nurturing type. She packed lunches with neatly trimmed carrot sticks; she helped with homework; she carved out time for her son despite being a single mom.
Daphne fumbled for the right phrasing. “What I’m trying to say is that your mom wouldn’t want you to follow her dream; she’d want you to followyours.”
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” Ethan shot back.
Daphne recoiled, and he sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, that was over the line. I just…I want to make sure that you’re going through all of this for the right reasons. That you want to marry Jeff for you, and not for your parents.”
It was dizzying and acutely unnerving, having someone see into her motives like that.
“I wasn’t actually one of those little girls who twirled around in tulle princess dresses,” Daphne admitted. “Believe it or not, I used to want to be a doctor, too.”
“Wait—what?”
“I had one of those plastic stethoscope sets.” Daphne wasn’t sure who had given it to her; it didn’t seem like the sort of thing her parents would have bought. “I wore it all the time, checking my teddy bear’s heartbeat. When I decided he was sick, I would feed him Goldfish and sips of water to recover.”
Ethan’s brow furrowed in concern. “It’s not too late. You could be a doctor, if you wanted.”
“Oh, definitely not! I would be a terrible doctor,” Daphne said quickly. “I just mean, dreams change. If you need to let go of yours, you should feel like you can.”
Still, Daphne couldn’t help wondering if a shred of her childhood dream still lived inside her. She had been drawn to the idea of healing people because it feltimportant.Doctors dealt in life and death—what stakes could possibly be higher?
Perhaps that explained the appeal of becoming a princess: she wanted to feel like the decisions she made had real impact.
“When I was a little kid, I wanted to be a pirate,” Ethan said into the silence.
Daphne recognized the statement for what it was—a peace offering.
“It’s not too late for you, either! I bet Enchanted Fiefdom is hiring,” Daphne teased.
“You just want to see me in a pirate costume, don’t you?” Ethan replied, shaking his head. “You’ve got to cool it with the dirty talk; this is a family-friendly place.”
Daphne burst out laughing. It felt nice, seeing Ethan likethis—not scheming or sneaking around but simply talking. She was glad to know that they could do more than bicker with each other. They could share things; could be earnest, and playful, andfun.The way friends would be.
When the carousel drew to a stop, Daphne slid off her elephant and gave its plastic side an affectionate pat. “Want to get a pretzel? I’m starving.”
“Should we try that café down the street?” Ethan suggested.
Daphne adjusted her cat mask, then glanced back over her shoulder with a provocative wink. “Race you there.”
She took off running before he could react. Moments later she heard his laughter behind her, but it only made her sprint even faster.
Daphne knew how this particular fairy tale would end: at midnight the spell would lift and she would face reality again. But she was determined to enjoy this magical interlude as long as it lasted.
The iron gates—which were simple and devoid of decoration, offering no clue as to the owner of this ranch—swung open, and Beatrice’s car began climbing uphill. She was at the Ramirez family property in the Texas hill country.
If Connor was the head of security, he had to know she was coming. What was he thinking? Did he want to see her, or was he hoping to avoid her?
These were not the types of questions one should be asking on the way to an important political meeting.
As Beatrice approached the main house, the front door swung open, and the Duchess of Texas hurried out. She was nearing sixty but looked much younger, with wisps of dark hair falling loose from her ponytail.
