Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(65)

“You just . . . paid for school? And didn’t tell me? Didn’t ask me?”

Her gaze meets mine again, lower lip poking out just a little. “Oh, yes, so very sorry to have done something nice for you. What a villain I am.”

But I shake my head. “No, Flora, that’s not the point, the point is you did it without asking if I wanted you to. I earned that scholarship. I worked hard for it. It was important to me, but you just saw it as . . . what? Something embarrassing? Something a little grubby.”

“Yes,” she says now, turning to face me. “That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it? That I couldn’t bear to date someone not of my class.”

Shaking her head, she backs off in a swirl of skirts and perfume. “Honestly, Quint, if that’s what you think about me, then I’m not sure why you ever liked me in the first place.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Somehow this has all gotten so twisted and out of hand so fast that I’m not even sure what to be mad about anymore. But I am mad. And hurt and confused.

Flora, however, is just mad. “Anyway,” she says on a sigh. “This entire scene is unnecessary and, frankly, boring. Why don’t we go back inside, and you can run off and hide in your room or something? I’ll have a car take you back to Gregorstoun in the morning.”

“Flora, can we—” I start, but she’s already moving for the doors, her skirts swishing over the stone, her tiara glittering.

Just like that, she’s gone, back into the palace. Back into her life.

And I’m left outside.





CHAPTER 37





I wake up the next morning with gritty eyes and the beginnings of a massive headache. And that’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. The idea of going downstairs for breakfast and sitting across the table from Flora makes me want to hide under the covers. What even happened last night? Were we fighting about Tamsin or about the scholarship?



But then I remind myself that if our first fight can go that badly, maybe it was never meant to be. Maybe it was always going to end like this.

I finally manage to get up, but when I make my way to the family’s private dining room, it’s empty except for a few of Seb’s friends, Daisy, and her boyfriend. The boys just glance at me as I walk in, but I see Daisy give me a sympathetic smile, and I wiggle my fingers at her before going over to the buffet and grabbing some breakfast.

Scottish breakfast isn’t exactly my favorite at the best of times, but right now, when I can’t imagine ever wanting to eat again, it’s especially unappetizing. Still, I put some mushrooms, a grilled tomato, and a slice of toast on my plate before heading to the table.

When I sit down, I see Daisy nudge Miles—well, kick him under the table, seems like—and he clears his throat with a “Right,” before leaning over and saying, “Millie, I’m so sorry about mentioning the story last night. I just assumed you knew, or didn’t care, or that . . . Well, all of us have gotten very used to seeing things about ourselves in the press, true or not, over the years, and I forget that’s not the case for everyone.”

“And you’re a prat,” Daisy helpfully supplies, to which Miles sighs, closing his eyes briefly before adding, “And also, I am a prat.”

Smiling in spite of myself, I poke at my mushrooms. “You’re not,” I tell him. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It seems slightly biggish,” Daisy says, “because we heard you’re leaving this morning?”

“It isn’t about that,” I say, which is technically the truth. “It’s just . . .” I eat a mushroom to avoid talking for a second. “Not for me,” I finally say, waving my fork around. “This whole thing. Leaving it to the professionals.”

Daisy opens her mouth to say something to that, but now it’s Miles’s turn to kick her under the table, and glaring at him, she rubs her shin.

I shove some more toast in my mouth and make apologetic sounds before basically bolting from the dining room.

When I get back to the bedroom I was staying in, I see my things have already been packed. The royals are clearly very efficient at booting you out once your time is up.

This time, there’s no help with my bag, no one at all in fact until I step out the back door and see Glynnis waiting for me.

“There you are,” she says. “The car just pulled up.”

Sure enough, there’s a black car idling in the drive.

“When will Flora be leaving?” I ask, but Glynnis only gives me that tight smile, her lips crimson.

“Her Royal Highness will be returning to school here in Edinburgh. With the wedding coming up, it’s really best to have her closer to home now.”

The morning is cold and gray, and there’s a mizzle falling that suits my mood as I stand there in the portico, waiting for the car to come around. If I had known that last night might be the last time I’d get to talk to Flora . . .

The thought makes my throat go tight, but the last thing I want to do is start crying in front of Glynnis. I have a long trip back to the Highlands during which I can fully indulge in self-pity, after all.

To my surprise, Glynnis lays a manicured hand on my sleeve. “I’m sorry to see you go, Amelia,” she says, and weirdly enough, I think she might mean it. “I thought you might be a more permanent fixture.”