Royals (Royals #1)(49)
“He was there last night as well, so it’s a simple thing to make it clear that you were there with him, not Sebastian.”
“Oh,” I say, turning back around and crossing my ankles. “Yeah. I mean, that’s true, so—”
“And once people realize the two of you are dating, this entire mess with Sebastian will be a thing of the past,” Glynnis continues with a grin.
“Dating?” I don’t mean for the word to come out like a squeak, but it does, probably because my mouth, or brain, refuses to contemplate such an idea.
“Only for show, of course,” Glynnis says with a flick of her fingers. “A few pictures of the two of you together, a few hints dropped here and there, and we’re back in control of the narrative.”
Once again, I turn to Miles, waiting for him to protest, but he’s still staring straight ahead, his hands now clasped in front of him, and I realize he already knew about this.
They already talked to him, and he . . . agreed?
“This is insane,” I say. “I know that everyone here is breathing rarefied air and stuff, but in the real world, no one pretends to date someone. I mean, unless it’s making up a fake boyfriend so your friends at camp don’t think you’re a total loser, that’s a thing, but—”
It’s Mom’s turn to squeeze my hand now, and my words come to a stuttering stop as the queen continues to look at me.
“It’s an easy solution,” she says, “that would make me very happy. And I’m sure it would please your sister as well.”
The words are mild, but Ellie’s eyes are pleading, and then I get it.
She’s not threatening to call off the engagement. I’m not sure she even could. Alex is a grown man, and for all that they might be shoving Seb at whichever willing aristocratic lady crosses his path, it seems clear that the queen understands Alex is marrying the woman he loves.
But between insulting a duchess and being papped with Seb, I’ve now screwed up enough for this to be my penance, and if I don’t want to make things harder for Ellie, I’ll go along with it.
Mom and Dad seem to get it, too.
“It’s just a few pictures, love,” Mom says softly, and Dad sighs on my other side.
“Like I said, get on the train or be smashed on the tracks,” he mutters in a low voice.
Ellie is watching me, her knuckles white, and I can see the violet shadows underneath her eyes, the hollows in her cheeks. I may not get anything about this world she’s stepping into, but she wants to be here.
A few pictures.
Pretending to date a boy I don’t like very much who also doesn’t like me or my family.
Not exactly appealing, but not the hardest thing in the world, either. And once it’s done, Ellie will be happy and secure on the road to princessdom, and I can put this whole—everything—behind me.
“Fine,” I say. “Sure. Fake date me up.”
And from behind me, I think I can actually feel Miles grimace.
* * *
? ? ?
I’d been on lots of dates since Mom decided I was allowed to date (Dad said he didn’t deserve to have a say in when we started dating since his rock star past was so debauched, and none of us wanted to ask any more questions about that, Mom included).
My first date had been at the outdoor shopping center just outside of Perdido. I’d gone out with Matt Rivera and also seven of Matt’s friends, plus Isabel, so I’m not actually sure that counts as a date, but I definitely treated it like one in my head, and the roughly three seconds when his hand had brushed mine as he handed me some pennies to throw in the fountain had gotten a lot of ink in my diary. Then there had been the movies with Daniel Funderburke, the seventh grade formal with Heath Levy, a whole summer of hanging out in various parking lots with Aidan Beck, plus this thing with Emily Gould that I hadn’t thought was a date at the time but had seemed kind of date-y in retrospect.
And then, of course, Michael. So many dates with Michael. School dances, movies, driving around aimlessly . . .
Point is, I feel like I have a good handle on dates, but this? This is my first fake date, and I can already tell it’s not going to go well.
For one, it is early. I mean, like, insane-o early. The time when the only people awake are going fishing or possibly in the grips of an amphetamine addiction. As I follow Glynnis across the gravel courtyard, our footsteps loud and crunchy in the still morning air, I squint against the sun, shading my eyes.
“Is anyone believably romantic at this hour?” I call to Glynnis, and she throws a grin at me over her shoulder.
“The royal family always rides first thing,” she says, “so that’s when the photographers show up.”
I come to such a sudden stop that a little shower of rocks sprays around my sneakers. “Ride?” I repeat. “Please tell me you mean on bikes and not horses. Bikes don’t bite last time I checked.”
Glynnis just laughs, shaking her head. Her dark red hair glints in the sunshine. “I never imagined you’d be so funny, Daisy!”
“Super serious here,” I say while she keeps marching. It really seems a shame that Glynnis doesn’t wear a Fitbit because she’d nail her daily steps every day, probably a thousand times over.
Sighing, I follow her toward what I now realize are the stables. I hadn’t noticed because the building is so fancy—all heavy stone-and-slate roof—that I’d assumed it was a place where humans lived, not horses.