Royals (Royals #1)(56)
“Not people who would call the paparazzi on their daughter?” I finish for him, and finally he looks up.
“Not at all,” Miles confirms, which sort of surprises me. I thought for sure he’d give me some long-winded defense, making sure to point out how tacky we all are. So what was a landed gentleman such as himself supposed to think?
Instead, he just looks into my eyes and says, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Colossally wrong, really.”
I blink at him, feeling like I did that night in the club when I was suddenly confronted with Hot Miles. This is Contrite Miles, which is every bit as discombobulating, and it takes me a second before I shake my head and mutter, “It’s okay.”
Sighing, Miles picks up his fork and resumes pushing eggs around his plate. “It’s not, really. It was one of Seb’s valets, a bloke who’s worked at the palace for years. They sacked him, obviously.
“Anyway, truly, I’m sorry,” Miles says again. “I was an unmitigated ass about the entire thing, especially when the call was coming from inside the house, as it were.”
“To be fair, you’re an unmitigated ass about a lot of things,” I say, and Miles smiles at that, acknowledging it with a tilt of his head, which makes me laugh.
Aaaaand then I look up to see Ellie watching me, her brows drawn together, her big-sister sensors clearly on high alert, and I get up from the table, tucking my head so my hair swings over my face. And when she calls my name, quietly but urgently, I feign a sudden case of deafness.
* * *
? ? ?
I spend the rest of the day mostly holed up in my room, trying not to think too much about the night to come. The queen’s coming in this afternoon, and I was definitely trying to stay out of her way after our last meeting. I’d done what she’d asked, sure, but it seemed smartest to keep my head down.
The rain clears up by that afternoon, and when Glynnis comes in to help me get ready, I’m staring out the window, liking the way the light moves over the hills, how it is never the same from minute to minute, wishing I was good at painting or even photography so I could catch it somehow. Maybe that’s something I could try out next? The pictures on my phone aren’t doing it justice, so I finally decide to enjoy the view for what it is.
“Wool-gathering?” Glynnis asks, smiling at me as she hangs the garment bag on the door of my wardrobe.
“In the figurative or literal sense?” I ask, and when she frowns at me, I wave a hand.
“Sheep joke. I get it. What’s that?”
Glynnis smiles at me, those shiny teeth practically winking in the sunlight. “Your dress for tonight! Just arrived from the city.”
I assume the city means Edinburgh, and when Glynnis unzips the bag, I see that gorgeous tartan gown I’d drooled over in the catalog Glynnis had showed us, back when I was getting my new-and-improved Daisy look.
El remembered.
It feels silly to get choked up over a dress, but this is a really, really great dress, and also, it means that El still listens to me a little. Still sees me.
“It’s perfect,” I tell Glynnis.
* * *
? ? ?
A few hours later, I’m rethinking that statement. Yes, the dress is pretty. Yes, that riot of deep green and purple and black looks pretty with my hair and makes my skin glow. Yes, I feel a little bit like a princess, and okay, maybe, after I’ve first put it on, there is some twirling.
Just a little twirling.
But after an hour or so in it in a crowded ballroom, the tulle underneath the silk skirt is scratching my legs, and I keep surreptitiously tugging at the bodice, afraid my Facebook-famous boobs are about to steal the spotlight. Plus El let me borrow a tiara, and it is killing me. Too heavy, tight on my temples, and I’m very, very aware that I not only have several thousand dollars on my head but also several hundred years of history. This tiara had belonged to some ancestor of Alex’s, no one that important—Alex’s mom has a firm hand on all the stuff that actually matters, the famous jewels and all that, but this had been some king’s aunt’s or something like that, and I wonder if her picture is hanging up at Sherbourne Castle.
And if she’d wanted to toss this particular tiara from the tallest tower.
I’m out on the stone patio that overlooks the main patio downstairs, and I’m really considering tossing this heavy piece of silver, diamonds, and amethysts into the pond when I hear Dad say, “Good god, they’ve gotten to you, too.”
I turn around, smiling at my dad. “Actually, I was just thinking about throwing this priceless tiara in the duck pond,” I tell him, and he raises his champagne flute of club soda to me.
“There’s my girl.”
Dad ambles over to my side, and for a little bit, we stand in the soft-purple evening, looking down at the party.
Ellie is also in tartan tonight, although hers is the official Baird tartan. It’s pretty, and the diamonds in her hair sparkle. Once again, it’s clear to me that El was meant to be a princess.
“They’ll eat her up, these people,” Dad muses, waving his free hand to take in all the people milling around on the patio below us.
“I dunno, Dad,” I say, leaning close enough to him to bump his elbow. “They don’t really look much like cannibals to me.”
He glances down at me, that familiar smile tugging the corners of his lips. There are deep brackets on either side of his mouth, and the breeze blows his admittedly scraggly hair back from his face.