Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(47)

Then he asks Flora, “You haven’t seen Tamsin yet by any chance, have you?”

Flora’s smile dims a bit, and she straightens her shoulders, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “No,” she replies. “I actually didn’t know she’d be here. It’ll be nice to see her again, though.”

“Ellis wanted the house full of young people for the weekend,” he replies. “Says it keeps us young. In any case, if you see her, tell her my wife was looking for her, won’t you?”

Flora nods, her expression pleasant enough, but I can tell something is up as Lord Henry wishes us a good afternoon and heads up the stairs.

“Who’s Tamsin?” I ask once he’s out of sight, and Flora tosses her head, moving toward the front door.

“Lord Henry’s granddaughter,” she replies, and as two footmen open the heavy doors for us, I trudge after her onto the steps. “Not one of the American ones.”

“That wasn’t really what I was asking, and I feel like you know that?”

Turning to face me, Flora pulls her sunglasses over her eyes, giving me that appraising look she’s so good at.

“Playing Nancy Drew, Quint?”

“Just being nosy, actually,” I reply, and Flora’s cheeks dimple as she struggles against a smile.

“No one talks to me like you do,” she says, and I scoff.

“Honestly, Flora, I think that’s half your problem.”

Flora snorts at that, but when we move down the stairs, she reaches out and plucks a rose off a nearby bush, twisting it almost nervously.

“Tamsin is a girl I used to date,” she says finally. “Not that anyone really knew that. She’d been earmarked for Seb, but that was a no-go, obviously. But then,” she adds, pulling a few petals off the rose, “I suppose I was a no-go, too.”

She says it lightly, but I think there’s actual hurt behind the words, and I know how she feels.

So I step forward, almost laying a hand on her arm before I think better of it. Instead, I ask, “Flora, did she break whatever it is you have in place of a heart?”

Bursting into laughter, Flora swats at me with the mangled rose. “You’re the worst,” she says, but then she grabs my hand. “Come on, let’s go down to the beach.”



We spend most of the afternoon down there, just walking and talking. Not about anything all that serious, but still I’m kind of amazed at how easy it is just to . . . talk to Flora. Like a person. She actually listens, for one thing, and seems interested. Maybe that’s just a Royal Skill, being able to feign interest in anyone and anything, but it feels genuine.

We enjoy the beach so much that we’re nearly late getting back to the house, and then it’s a rush to get ready.

I take a bath, marveling at how big the tub is even if the hot water doesn’t last nearly long enough to fill up to the top, and when I get out, I discover someone has laid a black garment bag on my bed.

Crossing the thick carpet on bare feet, I tug down the zipper.

Thirty minutes later, I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to reconcile the Millie who likes jeans and boots and rocks with the girl in the gorgeous dress in front of me.

Flora wasn’t kidding when she said she could scare something up. The dress is a deep forest green, so dark that it almost looks black, and it fits like it was made for me. The green makes my brown eyes look deeper, bringing out flecks of gold, and my tan is pretty against the rich fabric. I even like the little plaid bow affixed to the waist.

Turning slightly, I hold both sides of the skirt out, unable to keep from grinning at myself. Who knew I liked dresses this much?

There’s a knock at the door, and I turn toward it, dropping my skirt before someone catches me posing like I’m about to go on Toddlers & Tiaras. “Come in!” I call.

It’s Flora, and if I thought my dress was nice, it’s nothing compared to hers.

She’s decked out in the full Baird tartan, which should look ridiculous, but on her, is almost absurdly beautiful. The purple, green, and black set off her creamy skin and her golden hair perfectly, the black velvet belt around her waist giving her an hourglass shape. There’s even a tiara of emeralds and diamonds nestled in her golden hair.

But it’s her smile as she looks at me that has my heart suddenly knocking against my ribs.

“Well, well, Quint,” she says. “You clean up even better than I’d hoped.”

Smoothing my hands down the front of the skirt, I shrug, awkward all of a sudden.

“I can’t believe you managed to find something that fits me this well,” I say now, turning back to the mirror, because if I’m looking at myself, I won’t be looking at her, and that seems like the best idea right now. “Who here is my size exactly?”

Flora is still standing in the doorway, her hand on the knob, and she lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “No one. I guessed and sent an email to Glynnis to have something sent up.”

I turn around again, mouth dropping open slightly. “You guessed?” That seems impossible. The dress fits too well and looks too good on me. Flora and I may know each other well by now, but I didn’t think we were at the “know your measurements on sight” level of friendship.

“What can I say? I have an eye for these things,” Flora replies, but her eyes don’t quite meet mine. Then she gestures out into the hall. “Well? Shall we?”