Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(30)

I gape at her, the oars still in the water. “So the other day, when you asked if I was going to start crying or singing, that wasn’t personal?”

“I genuinely thought you might start crying or singing.” Another shrug, this one a lazy, barely-there lift of the shoulders.

“Saying you thought Saks took me on as a ‘charity case’?”

“She’s always finding someone who’s not exactly in her set to befriend. She’s practically famous for it. And while you’re not truly tragic, you’re not an aristocrat, so . . .”

I give the oars another yank.

“Okay, how about how you refuse to call me by my name?”

“Quint is your name, is it not?”

“It is, b-but—” I start to splutter, then, rolling my eyes, I heft the oars again. “Okay, fine. So none of those things are mean in your view. And I guess having your friends gang up on me in the hallway was also some kind of—”

“What friends?” Flora says, sitting up.

I nod across the lake to where Caroline and Ilse are lazily rowing their boat, clearly not interested in a dinner at the Bayview Inn.

Flora follows my gaze, squinting across the water. “Caro and Il?” She snorts. “Hardly friends, darling.”

“You hang out with them all the time,” I remind her, and she tosses her hair over her shoulders, fixing me with a look.

“Are you friends with everyone you hang out with?” she asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

I stare at her. “Yes?”

Another scoffing sound, and then she’s picking up the oars and sliding them into the water.

She pulls hard, and to my shock, the boat lurches in the water, shooting ahead of Saks and Elisabeth, who are next to us and starting to go in circles.

Actually, as I look across the lake, I see that . . . everyone is struggling. Saks and Elisabeth aren’t the only people spinning around aimlessly, and I can see Perry sort of slapping at the water with his oar while Dougal, slouched low in the boat, is clearly texting.

On the other side, there are three boats that aren’t moving at all, and when I glance over my shoulder at the shore, I can see Mr. McGregor with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting something unintelligible at all of us. Maybe encouragement, maybe insults, who can say? We can’t hear him over the wind.

Flora keeps rowing, leaning one way, then the other, her movements surprisingly graceful and fluid. Not to mention strong. We’re really moving through the water now.

Grimacing, she looks over the top of her sunglasses at me. “Want to lend a hand, Quint?”

“Right,” I reply, picking my oars back up. The sensation of facing backward makes my stomach lurch a bit, but I row and listen to Flora’s instructions, and soon we’re at Caroline and Ilse’s boat.

I hear Flora drop her oars as the boats bump into each other, sending both rocking on the choppy water, and I turn around to face her and the other girls.

Caroline and Ilse both smile brightly at Flora. “Hiiiii, Flo,” they singsong nearly in unison, and Flora smiles back just as cheerfully.

“Hiya, ladies!” she trills, and then, to my horror, she stands up.

“Flora!” I nearly shriek as the boat rocks again, harder this time, but she’s got her feet firmly planted, hands on her hips as she stares down at Caroline and Ilse.

“So quick question, my loves,” she says, still grinning, but I remember this look from the pub and know that nothing good is coming. “Did you two attempt to bully Quint here?”

The smiles fade from their faces, and Caroline looks over at me as I crouch lower in the boat, trying to tug at the hem of Flora’s sweater. “Sit! Down!” I hiss at her, but she just bats at my hand and stays right where she is.

“Hardly bullying, darling,” Ilse says. “Just a reminder that she’s taking the place of someone . . . more deserving, let’s say.”

I can’t see Flora’s eyes beneath her sunglasses, but I can imagine them narrowing. “Who—Rose?” she asks, then laughs. “Please. Rose Haddon-Waverly should be thanking her lucky stars she missed out on being sent here. And in any case, it’s not Quint’s fault she’s smarter than Rose. Granted, my mother’s dachshund is smarter than Rose, but the point stands.”

Both Ilse and Caro are frowning now, shooting looks between me and Flora, and I slouch more deeply into my life jacket, the sides rubbing my ears, the smell of slightly mildewed vinyl heavy in my nose.

“You don’t like Millie either,” Caroline blurts out. “You said she was boring and only cares about studying.”

That stings a bit, but Flora only shakes it off. “Those things are just true,” she replies. “They don’t mean I don’t like her.”

“Seriously, you can keep saying that all you want, but it still doesn’t make sense,” I tell her, but Flora ignores me, keeping her gaze on Caroline and Ilse.

“Apologize to her,” she says, and I’m not sure who looks more shocked, me or the other girls.

Ilse huffs out a laugh. “Darling, you can’t be—”

“I am,” Flora interrupts. “And don’t call me darling. Tell Quint you’re sorry you were nasty, and promise not to do it again.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Caroline says, shifting on her little wooden bench. “You’re being ridiculous, Flora. You can’t make us do anything, you know. Princess or not.”