Royals (Royals #1)(29)
The hats are honestly so ridiculous and over the top that I wonder if this is just another part of the fancy life. Do they wear stuff like this just to prove they can get away with it? Is this hazing via hats?
The girl in black and white with the slightly obscene hat approaches us, her shoulders stiff. Next to her is a redhead all in light purple, her hat small and actually hat-like. “Ellie!” the redhead says. There’s a glass of champagne in her hand, and some of it sloshes out as she hugs my sister.
The dark-haired girl is a little more reserved, her smile tight as she looks at me and my sister.
“Daisy,” Ellie says, pulling back from the hug, “I’d like you to meet Fliss and Poppy.”
I refrain from saying “Fliss” doesn’t seem like a real name and smile at both the girls, wondering if I’m supposed to shake their hands or curtsy. In the end, I just give a little wave. “Hi.”
“Are you enjoying your stay?” the redhead—Fliss—asks, and I give my best Ellie Smile.
“I am. It’s really lovely here.”
That part is sincere, at least. Everything I’ve seen of Scotland has been gorgeous, and this place is no exception. Rolling hills, green grass, blue sky . . . it’s a postcard of a day, made even prettier by all the ladies wandering around in bright colors.
“I’m sure Ellie is thrilled to have you,” Fliss replies, smiling. Poppy, the brunette, is watching me with a weird, almost-hostile look on her face, and I wonder what that’s all about.
Once the girls have drifted off, Ellie tugs me toward the stands and leans in to say in a low voice, “Lady Felicity and Lady Poppy Haddon-Smythe. Sisters. Fliss is wonderful, Poppy is . . . less so. She dated Seb last year, and it was all a bit messy.”
Ah, that explains it. If Seb assumed he and I were meant to be (or at least meant to bone), maybe Poppy did, too.
We make our way toward the royal box, flanked by the guards, and while most heads turn our way, there’s not the crush I was expecting. But maybe that’s because everyone here is fancy, so that would be tacky.
We’ve just reached the steps that will take us up to where we’re supposed to sit when I hear someone call my name.
Glynnis is approaching, dressed in bright red except for her hat, which is stark white. It’s a pretty contrast that weirdly doesn’t make her look like a candy cane, so extra points to Glynnis. That can’t be easy to pull off.
I wave, and then see Miles just behind her wearing the saddest gray suit I have ever seen in my life. I mean, I get that I’m wearing an actual sea creature on my head, and therefore have zero leg to stand on, but his jacket has tails, and there’s a cream-and-violet-striped tie at his throat, and it’s all just so . . . tragic. I’d feel sorry for him if he hadn’t been such a jackass last night.
“Your first big event!” Glynnis says happily, her teeth practically winking in the sun. “Are you excited?”
“Super pumped,” I reply, giving her a thumbs-up, and behind her back, Miles rolls his eyes, muttering something to himself.
What a fun outing this is going to be.
“Excellent,” Glynnis says, then steps back, sweeping an arm out. “In that case, I’m going to steal Ellie away, and I leave you in Miles’s capable hands.”
I really don’t want to be in Miles’s anything, much less his hands. “Wait, what?” I ask, but Ellie doesn’t even look, and Glynnis is already striding off. I watch the bobbing of the ribbon on her hat before turning back to Miles.
“Why am I in your hands?” I ask, and he looks just as horrified by that image as I feel.
“You’re not,” he tells me. “Glynnis just wanted to make sure you had someone around to prevent you from embarrassing yourself, and somehow, I was blessed enough to be chosen.”
“So I’m not going to be able to get up on the fence and sing ‘Yankee Doodle Dandy’ while waving six American flags and twirling a baton?” I snap my fingers. “Well, there’s today’s plans ruined.”
Miles looks at me like he’s wondering what sins he committed in a past life that have led him to this moment, and I decide today might actually be kind of fun after all.
“Would you like something to drink?” he finally asks, his tone frosty.
I brush a green tentacle from my face before responding. “Are you seriously going to hang out with me all day?” I ask. “And, like, teach me about horses and fetch me punch? Because you really don’t need to do that.”
“Sadly, I really do,” he replies, turning to look at me. He’s holding a top hat in his hands, and I nod at it.
“Why aren’t you wearing that? Is a silly hat just a bridge too far with that outfit?”
His green eyes go from my face to the top of my head, and he raises his eyebrows.
Sighing, I touch the monstrosity currently masquerading as a hat. “Touché, fair point, all that,” I concede, and Miles does that thing again where it looks like he might smile, but then he thinks better of it. He might actually be physically incapable of smiling.
I look around me, shading my eyes with my hand. There still aren’t any horses on the track, but I think this event is about showing off fancy hats and drinking champagne more than it’s about horse racing. I’m about to ask Miles about the horses—mostly which ones have the silliest names—when I catch sight of that girl glaring at me again. Poppy.