Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(46)

I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it, the way things like “a trip to Greece” get the same amount of consideration I’d give to going camping for the weekend. What is it like not to have any sense of money or limitations or time? How does anyone live a life like that?

But then, as Sherbet guides us onto the landing, I remind myself that I’m spending a weekend in a castle, so hey, maybe that life isn’t as remote as it seems.

“Flora, I believe you know where your room is,” Sherbet says, and Flora slings her bag over her shoulder, grinning.

“The Fruit Punch Room, yes, thanks, Sherbs.” With that, she wiggles her fingers at me and says, “I’ll come by your room once I’ve unpacked and freshened up, okay?”

“Sure,” I reply, still wondering what “the Fruit Punch Room” might entail, but then Sherbet is opening a door to his left and ushering me into the bedroom.

It’s all done in shades of mint green with the occasional darker green accent and a few splashes of deep, rich purple. My bed has an honest-to-god canopy, plus little curtains held back against the massive posts with purple velvet ribbons.

A giant window dominates one wall, and when I walk over to it, I see I have a view of a little garden plus, in the distance, the ocean.

I glance back over my shoulder at Sherbet, who’s grinning, hands in his pockets. “It’s something, right?” he says, and I figure if a boy like this is impressed by this room, it really is something.

“I can’t . . .” I say, trailing off and shaking my head before laughing. “Something, yeah,” I finally say before turning back to look at the view again.

“It’s one of the prettiest rooms in the whole castle,” Sherbet tells me, “which I guess is why Flora always picks it.”

Turning back, I look at him, surprised, and he winks at me.

“She insisted you have it.”





CHAPTER 25





Flora is as good as her word, coming back to my room after about twenty minutes, wearing an entirely different outfit. I’m still in the black pants and sweater I wore here, but I actually put on some mascara and a little lip gloss, and Flora notices immediately.

“Look at you, Quint,” she says, teasing as she tugs me out the door and into the hallway.

“Figured I should bring it if I was going to hang out with lords and stuff,” I tell her. “But I still have no idea what I’m going to wear to dinner tonight.”

Flora waves that away. “I told you, I’m handling that.”

“That’s what scares me,” I mutter, and she flashes me a sly grin.

“Do you doubt my taste?”

“Not doubt so much as fear,” I say, and she gives a bright laugh.

We make our way down the hall, past portraits and little alcoves with small marble statues, and as we head for the stairs, I ask, “Why is your room called ‘the Fruit Punch Room’?”

Without answering, Flora walks to a door a little way down the hall and opens the door, gesturing for me to come over.

I look inside, then almost immediately take a step back. “Whoa.”

The walls of the bedroom are so red it almost hurts my eyes, and the bedding is covered with a pattern of fruit trees and grape vines.

“Makes sense now,” I say, and she nods.

“When Lord Henry was made Lord of the Isles, the former owners of this house had to hand it over to him. Allegedly they were so pissed that Lord Henry was taking over, they tried to redesign the entire thing before he could get here. But they only managed this one room, making it as ghastly as possible. Lord Henry thought it was funny, so he kept it as is.”

“Interior design as revenge,” I muse. “I like it.”

Smiling, Flora closes the door, and we continue along the hall and down the stairs into the main foyer again. Sherbet isn’t there, but there is a man standing in a tweed suit, a cane in one hand, tapping impatiently on the marble floor.

“Uncle Henry!” Flora calls, and the man turns to look at her, his wrinkled face splitting into a grin as he spots her.

“Ah, there’s trouble,” he says affectionately, and Flora steps off the stairs to give him a hug.

Lord Henry is in his seventies, but moves and stands like a much younger man, his shoulders back, his hair thick and white. And when he looks at Flora, there’s a twinkle in his blue eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” he says, bending down to kiss her cheek, and Flora squeezes both his shoulders before pulling back.

“I wouldn’t miss one of your dinners for anything, Uncle Henry,” she says, then waves at me. “And I brought my roommate, Amelia.” She lowers her voice to a stage whisper. “She’s American.”

“Ah,” Lord Henry says, taking my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “As are some of my grandchildren, so I have a lot of affection for your countrymen.”

“Lord Henry’s daughter, Maggie, married an investment banker from New York.”

“She did indeed,” Lord Henry confirms. “He’s terribly boring, but I won’t hold that against all Americans.”

With that, he winks at me, and I relax a little. So far, my first look into Flora’s World isn’t too scary. Sure, we’re in a castle, and yes, I’ve just met a lord, but he’s still just . . . a person. A nice person who likes Flora and is welcoming to random Americans in his house.