Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(64)

I really wish I didn’t have one of those faces where everything I’m thinking is immediately obvious, but such is my curse. It was my mom’s, too, Dad tells me.

“Can we go somewhere and talk for just a sec?”

She looks over her shoulder back toward the ballroom, but then she nods, tugging me up from the bench and farther down the hall. “It’ll be a bit of a scandal if we’re late, but I for one am all right with that.” Flashing a smile at me that makes dimples appear in her cheeks, she adds, “You’ve clearly been a good influence on me, Quint—I haven’t caused a ruckus in ages.”

We pause at the end of the hall, and her smile turns into something like a smirk. “Should probably rectify that,” she murmurs, and then she leans over, kissing me softly. Even though my head is still reeling, I can’t help lifting my hand to her wrist, holding her hand against my face for just a little longer.

When Flora pulls back from the kiss, she laughs lightly, running her thumb over my lower lip, sending a shower of sparks through me. “Why such the serious face?” she asks, and I try to make myself smile back, but I’m not sure I do such a great job at it.

Still holding my hand, Flora opens a heavy door there at the end of the hallway, and a blast of cold air hits me. She’s taking me out onto the rooftop terrace I spotted before, so we can have this super-awkward conversation in a very romantic location.

Great.

We step outside, and I’m already shivering. Flora is, too, but she’s still grinning at me. “I know it’s not quite the season for this,” she says, “but it’s one of my favorite spots. Look how gorgeous Arthur’s Seat looks from here.”

I glance over to my right, and sure enough, the craggy hill reaches up to the stars, lit from the lamps in the park below, a darker shape against the navy sky.

“I knew you’d like this place,” Flora says, a little smug. “Volcanoes and all that. Advanced rocks, really.”

My throat feels tight as I look at Arthur’s Seat, and just for a moment, I think about forgetting the whole thing. Just kissing her again, telling her I love it here—and I do—then going back in to the dinner.

Turning around, I face Flora, my hands clasped in front of me, and she blinks, her shoulders stiffening a little bit. “Quint?” she asks. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Did you dump Tamsin?” I ask, and Flora blinks.

“What?”

I take a deep breath. “Tamsin,” I say. “You acted like she broke up with you. Like you got how I felt about the thing with Jude, but . . . is that not what happened?”

Flora wrinkles her nose. “Why does it matter?” she asks, and my heart sinks.

“So . . . that’s a yes, then. You broke up with her.”

“Only because she wanted to be almost absurdly secretive about us,” Flora counters. “Which made me feel slightly rejected, so to my mind—”

“That’s not the way the world works, Flora,” I tell her now, stepping closer. “You can’t just say, ‘Well, to me, it was like this,’ and have it actually be that.”

Flora waves a gloved hand. “Quint, this is ridiculous. Tamsin has nothing to do with us.”

“But she does,” I say, “because that was this . . . this thing we had in common. The thing that made it feel safe to like you.”

Flora looks as baffled as I’ve ever seen her, one hand on her hip, her head tilted to one side. “Safe? What does that even mean?” Sighing, I look up at the sky above us. It’s clear tonight and cold, stars twinkling in the inky black sky, Arthur’s Seat rising to my left, and I almost shake my head at all of it. Up here on the terrace at a palace with a princess under a starlit sky by an ancient volcano, like a fairy tale I never thought to imagine.

“I don’t want to be your distraction,” I say at last. “I can’t be that again. Someone fun to hang out with until the person you really want comes back.”

“Is this about Dastardly Jude?” Flora asks. She’s got her arms folded tightly around her middle, and I don’t think it’s from the cold. She’s so beautiful standing there in her golden dress, her diamonds and emeralds glittering, but just like the stars and the palace and the entire night, it’s a reminder of how different her life is from mine.

“Maybe?” I say. “And let’s get real here, Flora. The Tamsins and Carolines and Ilses of the world are much more your type,” I finally say. “I’m short, I say ‘y’all,’ I have no idea how anyone plays polo—”

Flora’s face is cold now, her shoulders back. “That’s what you think my type is, is it? You think I’m only interested in girls like Tamsin?”

“I think the princess and the scholarship kid looks good on paper, but is too hard in reality,” I reply, and Flora waves a hand again.

“You’re not even on scholarship anymore, for heaven’s sake, and honestly this is so—”

“Wait, what?”

I move closer to her, the night breeze tugging strands of hair from my updo. “What do you mean I’m not on scholarship anymore?”

Some of Flora’s coldness fades away, and she shifts her weight, her eyes sliding from mine. “I . . . may have paid your tuition for the rest of the year,” she says.