Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(48)

CHAPTER 26





People are gathering at the bottom of the stairs as we head down, and I see Sherbet, who waves cheerfully to us.

He’s talking to a blond girl in a blue dress, and I glance over at Flora, wondering if this is Tamsin.

But instead, Flora cries, “Oh, Baby Glynnis!”

The girl glares at both of us as we approach and steps away from Sherbet.

“It’s Nicola,” the girl says, and Flora waves that off.

“I know, but Baby Glynnis is so much more apt. Quint, Baby Glynnis. Baby Glynnis, Quint.”

“Nicola,” the girl says again through clenched teeth, and I reply, “Millie.”

She shakes my hand, and as she does, tilting her head down a little, I suddenly see the resemblance to the woman who accompanied the queen to Gregorstoun.

“Oh, you’re literally Baby Glynnis,” I say, and the girl’s hazel eyes shoot up toward the ceiling.

“Ni. Co. La,” she says. “But yes, Glynnis is my mother, which is why I’m stuck out here in the backwoods of Scotland instead of being at home.”

I wonder what kind of life she lives back “home” that a castle is the “backwoods,” but Flora leans in and says, “Baby Glynnis is usually in California with her dad, but I’d heard Glynnis brought her up for a bit.”

“Literally standing right here,” Nicola says. “Can hear everything you’re saying.”

“What are you doing on Skye?” Flora asks her, and Nicola jerks a thumb at Sherbet.

“Sherbet invited me, and since I was bored and Skye is far from my mother, I agreed.”

Sherbet, apparently hearing his name, waves Nicola back over to him, and as she walks away, Flora leans in close. “For a hot second two years ago, Nicola was the only girl Royal Wrecker,” she murmurs. “She and Seb were thick as thieves.”

“Thick as thieves in the sexy way or the friend way?” I ask, and Flora’s lips tilt up at the corners.

“Friends only, believe it or not. I think it might have been the first time Seb actually had a girl who was a friend. But even without any sexiness, it was quite the scandal. Glynnis nearly lost her job over it. Nicola went back to California, and we haven’t seen her since. But Glynnis has always wanted her here, learning the ropes. Glynnis’s mum worked for my granddad, her dad worked for his father. That family has acted as the right hand to the monarch since . . . lord, I don’t know, Mary, Queen of Scots, probably? Needless to say, Nicola is less than enthused about it.”

Before I can get any more gossip, there’s a loud gong, and I glance up to see Lord Henry standing in front of a set of double doors at the other end of the hall. “I’m sure there’s some fancy thing I’m supposed to say here,” he calls out, “but instead, I’ll just say dinner is served, so move your arses already.”

Everyone laughs at that, and we make our way to the dining room.

Lady Ellis is as elegant as her husband is charming, and I remember what Flora said about them being scandalous in the ’60s. It’s hard to imagine, looking at them now, but then, as Lady Ellis passes by her husband to lead us all into the dining room, I see his hand briefly pat her backside.

Okay, then, maybe scandal is not so hard to believe.

Flora must have seen it, too, because she leans in and murmurs, “They are such goals.”

I glance over at her. “Are your parents like that?”

She snorts, linking her arm through mine again. She keeps doing that, and it keeps making it harder to remember that I’m not Flora’s date this weekend, just her roommate she’s brought along as a charity case, more or less.

“My parents sleep in separate wings of the palace. Not just rooms. Wings.”

“Isn’t that how all royal people do?” I whisper back, and her eyes meet mine.

“It’s not how I would do,” she says, then she nods toward Lord Henry and Lady Ellis. “It’s definitely not what they do. They have seven kids.”

“Seven?”

Flora nods. “Seven. And they were basically an arranged marriage.”

I wouldn’t mind hearing more about that, but we’re in the dining room now, and Flora drops my arm, moving toward the head of the table. As a guest of honor, she’ll sit up there with Lord Henry, while I’m relegated to somewhere near the middle. Luckily, I’ve got Baby Glynnis—sorry, Nicola—next to me, so at least there’s a familiar face and accent.

“So how are you liking Scotland?” she asks me as a bunch of men in fancy suits bring us plates. I’m so distracted by the ceremony going on around us, I can barely answer her question.

“Um, it’s good,” I say as a tiny plate is placed in front of me. There’s a fish on it, staring up at me with its fishy eyeball, and I swallow hard. “It’s . . . you know. Scotland,” I say to Nicola, but she’s already smirking slightly, tapping one fingernail against the tiny silver fork to my left.

“That one. Also, you don’t have to eat it. Just poke it a few times while making conversation, no one will notice.”

I don’t even want to do that—poor fishie—but I pick up the fork Nicole pointed at and give the fish a few half-hearted stabs.

“See?” she says, smiling, and in that second, she really does look a lot like her mom. “You’re a pro.”