Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(60)

It’s got a picture from our “Thanksgiving”—guess Flora was right about the guy having taken it with his phone—but also, there’s my name.

My name right there.

And the second email has another blog post, this time with Lee adding his own commentary.

Millie, you have been HOLDING OUT. I knew you had a crush, BUT ON A PRINCESS? WHO IS YOUR ROOMMATE???? What is going on? Email me immediately. Email me YESTERDAY.

“Who’s Lee?”

I turn to see Flora right behind me, surprising me.

“My best friend,” I say, distracted as I mess with my hair. “How do people already know this stuff?”

Flora lifts one shoulder, heading back to my bed. “They always do,” she says before settling back down with her laptop. “And honestly, I’m glad this time. Maybe now Mummy will understand that I’m gay, not ‘going through a phase.’”

I look over at her, wondering if I can explain how weird this makes me feel, seeing my name on some random blog. I’m . . . nobody. I’ve never been mentioned on the internet in my life except for that time I came in second in my district’s geography bee in seventh grade.

But of course Flora wouldn’t get that at all since she’s been in the public eye since before she was born. Literally. There was a whole part in that tribute magazine full of pictures of a pregnant Queen Clara.

And I get what she means, about this maybe finally forcing the issue of her being publicly out.

So I just put my phone back in the desk drawer, promising myself I’ll email Lee later.

I sit back on my bed, pulling my computer over, and Flora turns to look at me.

“Okay?” she asks, and I nod.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s just . . . weird.”

Flora doesn’t say anything for a minute, then she sits up, placing both of her feet on the floor, her hands braced on the edge of the mattress.

“Do you want to come home with me this weekend?”

“What, to Edinburgh?” I ask, and when she nods, I add, “To the palace?”

“That is my home, yes. My mom’s throwing this little party for Alexander and his fiancée, and I just think . . . well, once you spend a little more time with my family, things like that”—she gestures to my phone—“might not seem so odd. We’re all frightfully boring, after all.”

“So I’d be your . . . date. To this party.”

“If you want to be,” Flora says evenly. “Or you can be my good friend and former roomie, Quint, come to keep me out of trouble.”

I snort at that. “Date would definitely be more believable than Person Who Keeps Flora Out of Trouble.”

Another smile and she crosses her legs at the ankles, swinging her feet. “Is that a yes?”

I think about Queen Clara and the last time I saw her—the only time I saw her—and Seb with the whole pub brawl thing. So far, my impressions of Flora’s family haven’t been great, but maybe she’s right. Maybe if I’m in and among them, this won’t all feel so . . . bizarre.

“It’s a yes.”





CHAPTER 34





The trip to Skye was one thing, but this—heading to the actual palace with Flora for a weekend—is a whole other deal. For one, we don’t drive down. A car takes us from Gregorstoun to Inverness, where we get on a train, but not just any train. The Baird family has their own train car, decked out with the family crest everywhere and seats that are comfier than any I’ve ever sat in. Flora sits next to me, our fingers intertwined as we watch the countryside rush by, and I’m thrilled and happy and pants-wettingly terrified all at the same time. When Flora and I went to Skye, it was just as friends.



Now we’re definitely more-than, but is it maybe too soon to be this . . . official? This isn’t just some family visit, after all. It’s a party for the upcoming royal wedding. Will I go to the wedding with Flora as her date? And speaking of weddings, how will that work one day for Flora? I mean, it’s way too soon to be thinking about getting married, but is there a title for a girl who marries a princess? Is there— “You have your Thinky Quint Face on.”

I glance over to see Flora leaning on the armrest close to me, her lips slightly pursed, eyes narrowed.

“Because I am Quint, and I am thinky,” I tell her, but when she leans over to kiss me, it chases all those thinky thoughts away.



When the train pulls into Waverly Station, there’s a car waiting for us.

There’s also a handful of photographers. Not the sea of flashbulbs I was expecting, but still, I feel very aware of the fact that I’m wearing jeans, a sweater, and sneakers, and that I probably should’ve gone with something other than a ponytail for my hair.

Flora let me borrow a pair of her sunglasses, and they feel too big and too silly on my face, but I’m glad for them as we get into the back of the town car.

“Oof,” I say once the door has shut behind us and we’re winding our way through a narrow street, passing a sea of touristy shops. “I have never been so aware of people looking at me.”

“How dare you? They were looking at me,” Flora replies, but she’s smiling when she says it, and I laugh, fluffing out my bangs and attempting to smooth back my hair.