Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(66)

I don’t know what to say to that, so I just give an awkward shrug, trying to smile. “Not exactly cut out for the royal thing,” I tell her, but Glynnis only gives me a little pat, her smile turning just the slightest bit sad.

“Well, off you pop, then,” she says, gesturing to the car, and I shift my bag to my other shoulder, nodding. Off I pop indeed.

Back to Gregorstoun. Back to normalcy. Well, as normal as that place gets, I guess.

The car smells like expensive leather plus the faint burning scent of the heater on blast, and I’m already tugging off my scarf as I settle into the back seat when a movement catches my eye.

There are big windows looking out on this private drive from the second story, and I see Flora in one now, still wearing her robe, her hair loose and messy around her shoulders. Her face is a pale oval against the thick glass, but I’d know her anywhere, I’m pretty sure.

It’s so weird to look at her and know that I might never see her again—almost certainly won’t see her again—except in magazines or on TV sometimes. But isn’t that for the best? She was never really mine, and this whole thing was like a dream I stumbled into. A fairy tale where she was the princess in the tower and I was . . . Okay, I wasn’t the frog, exactly, but close enough. And one day, Flora will find her princess, too.

It just won’t be me.

Another flash of red from her robe, and she’s gone.

The train back up to the school is nowhere near as nice as the ride down was. This time, I’m in a regular carriage, sitting next to a stranger, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend most of the ride looking up stories about Flora on my phone.

I’m quickly realizing this is going to be the worst part of things—with Jude, I just had to deal with her at school and on Facebook. With Flora? I’ll have a lifetime of being able to pull up multiple pictures of a Girl I Used to Like.

Once the train gets to Inverness, I call the school to send Mr. McGregor to pick me up and bring me back to Gregorstoun.

I’m expecting another story about Killer Trout, or the McGregor Legacy, Cruelly Stolen, but all Mr. McGregor says as I climb into the car is “Chin up, lassie,” which nearly makes me cry all over again.

It’s raining now, and the school that once looked so beautiful and special to me just looks dismal as we pull up.

Once I’m inside, I make a beeline for Sakshi’s room. The door is cracked, so I don’t knock—I just push it open and call, “Hey, I’m back—”

Only to be confronted with the sight of Sakshi and Perry entwined on her bed, kissing.

I squawk, and they squawk, flying apart—both of them fully and completely dressed, thank god—and scrambling off the bed.

“Millie!” Saks cries. “We were just . . . Perry and I are—”

“I know what you were doing,” I reply, and then, as awful as this whole day has been, I clap my hand over my mouth, giggles erupting out of me.

And then they both start laughing, too, their clothes rumpled, their hair a mess.

“Are you shocked?” Sakshi asks, threading her arm through Perry’s. They should look so mismatched as to be ridiculous, Sakshi so glamorous and gorgeous, Perry so . . . neither of those things, but instead, they just look right. Perfect, really.

Laughing, I throw myself on both of them, wrapping them into a hug that’s made tougher by the fact that Saks is so much taller than me and Perry, but we manage it.

“No, not shocked, bloody well thrilled,” I say, and Perry guffaws, patting my back hard.

“Spoken like a true Scottish lass, now,” he teases, and I pull back, still smiling at both of them.

“Who would have thought?” Sakshi asks on a sigh. “All three of us finding love at Gregorstoun of all places.”

I try to smile. I really do.

But I can feel it wobbling on my face, my eyes stinging, and suddenly there are tears rolling down my face.

“Peregrine,” Saks says, pointing to the door. “Out.”



Fifteen minutes later, Saks and I are sitting on her floor, a tube of chocolate digestive biscuits half-destroyed between us.

“Oh, darling,” Saks says, breaking a cookie in half, “I am sorry.”

I want to protest and tell her no, everything is fine, I’m fine, it’s all deeply, deeply fine, but that would be a lie, so I let her pull me close to her, my head on her shoulder. “Flora always was a heartbreaker,” she says, stroking my hair, but I shake my head, pulling away.

“No, that’s the thing. She didn’t break my heart, Saks. I . . . I think I might have broken hers.”

Sakshi’s dark eyes go wide. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs. “That might be a first for Flora.”

Tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, I groan. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better,” I remind her, and she pats my arms again, all fluttery fingers.

“Of course, of course. I mean, how could you know Flora had a heart to break? And it’s probably her due. Like I said, she’s always had quite a reputation as the love-them-and-leave-them type.”

I think of Flora making me a fake Thanksgiving, of her picking out the perfect dress for me. Of how happy she seemed to have me at her side in Edinburgh.

My eyes are stinging again, and I wipe at them with the back of my hand. “She’s a lot more than anyone thinks she is,” I say at last. “She’s funny and smart and kind. Well, not always on that last one, but she tries, is the point. And she’s just got that hard shell because her insides are marshmallows, basically, so she has to have a protective coating, you know? But once you get past that, she’s just . . . she’s . . .”