Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(50)

“You must’ve really sucked at hiding, then. Everyone would’ve known where to look for you.”

She shrugs, that Flora Shrug that’s both elegant and careless and seems to sum up Everything Flora. “I never worried about it all that much.”

That makes me laugh. “You never worried about hiding during hide-and-seek?” I shake my head. “That is . . . very you.”

That grin flashes. “Isn’t it just?”

And then she’s taking my hands, pulling me to the center of the room, right over that gigantic orange. “Now, enough stalling. Let’s dance.”

“So which one of us leads?” I ask, and Flora gives me that look I’m getting used to. That one where she lifts her chin while looking down at me at the same time.

Now it doesn’t seem haughty to me, though. Now I see it as the joke she means, and I smile when she says, “Me, naturally.”

We stand there in the conservatory in our poofy dresses, and I slowly place my hand in Flora’s. My other hand lands on her bare shoulder, her skin warm and silky.

I fight the urge to stroke my thumb over the delicate rise of her collarbone, reminding myself for what has to be the thousandth time that Flora is the least safe of crushes for more reasons than I can count, but that’s hard to remember when she puts her hand on my lower back, pulling me close.

There are acres of skirts between us, and it strikes me that whoever came up with the waltz prooooobably didn’t imagine two girls doing it together.

Flora looks down at all that silk and tulle and giggles. “Oh, dear.”

I go to step back, but her hand tightens on my waist, keeping me from going too far. “This is stupid,” I say, cheeks red. “You don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” she says, and her head comes up, her eyes meeting mine.

I wish I could say I got the hang of it immediately and that there were zero crushed toes or awkward spins, but that would not be the truth. I’m not a total disaster, but let’s just say that Dancing with the Stars is nowhere in my future.

Still, it’s nice, turning in circles in the conservatory with Flora, the smell of orange blossoms heavy in the air, her tiara winking in the soft glow of the lamps. And it’s nice being with her, as much as I hate to admit it.

“You’re a natural,” she says, and I look up, frowning.

“You’re messing up my count.” I’d been doing the whole one-two-three, one-two-three thing in my head, not that it had seemed to help all that much.

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t count. Just feel.”

“Okay, talk like that is for sexy dances, not the waltz,” I say, and one corner of her mouth lifts in that slinky, feline smile she does.

“Are you saying this isn’t sexy?”

I blink at her.

Is she flirting with me? And if she is, is it just because Such Is Flora, or is she feeling as intrigued by this whole thing as I am?

No, can’t let myself think that, can’t go there at all. One heartbreak per year should be more than enough for me. And that’s all Flora could be, really.

Heartbreak.

We come from entirely different worlds. I don’t even know how to dance, much less how to address a duke by his title or what fork to use. And I think of all those tall, glossy-haired girls surrounding Flora. Caroline. Ilse. Probably Tamsin.

Me? Definitely not tall. Or glossy.

Not to mention, I’m pretty sure that getting your heart broken by a princess is a whole new level of awful.

Maybe that’s why my feet suddenly trip us up, my heel coming down on the back of my skirt.

I think the Flora I first met would’ve made some rude remark about what a klutz I am, but this Flora—this new, dangerous Flora—just laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s enough waltzing.”

It’s enough everything. It’s too much everything.

I can’t do this.

Dropping her hand, I move away from her and look back to the orange trees. “So was it just oranges they grew in here or other things, too? Lemons? Limes? Was there some kind of vast citrus empire they were running out of fancy houses back in the day?”

I glance over my shoulder to see that Flora is watching me with a funny look on her face, head slightly tilted. “Quint, are you babbling?” she asks at last, and if I thought my face was hot before, it’s probably on fire now.

“Just trying to learn new and interesting Scottish facts!” I reply, smiling too big. “And speaking of, why don’t you show me some of the. Um. Paintings outside. In the hall.”

The hall is also dim, but it’s cold and intimidating, not romantic, so that is for sure where I want to be right now.

I don’t even wait for Flora to agree before I head for the doors, determined to put . . . whatever this was behind me.





CHAPTER 28





“Is this rock sufficiently magical?”

I’m standing on the top of a massive green hill, staring at a shard of stone thrusting up toward the sky. Wind is whipping my hair out from under my beanie, and my cheeks sting. It started raining on us about fifteen minutes into this hike and only just stopped, so I’m vaguely damp and clammy.

And I am also delighted. When Flora told me at breakfast that there was something she wanted to show me, I didn’t imagine anything like this.