Majesty (American Royals, #2)(29)

She nodded, feeling slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry. Of course, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m sure you can find someone else who’d be interested in your…offer,” Marshall replied.

“Please, just forget I ever—”

“Then again, I’m not sure I want you to find someone else.”

Sam looked up. There was a fleeting glimpse of emotion on Marshall’s features, but it quickly vanished beneath his usual careless smile.

“Are you saying that you’re okay with this?” she pressed. “Even if it puts you under the microscope?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I’ve never dated a princess before. For real or for revenge. Or for…well, whatever this is.”

Sam held out a hand. “So…we have a deal?”

Marshall eyed the gesture with amusement. “Oh, no need to shake on it. I trust you, Sam. I can call you Sam, right?” he added cheekily. “Or would you prefer something else? Babe, or sweetheart, or what about Sammie?”

Sam made a choking noise. “Under no circumstances can you use any of those names.”

Marshall grinned, flipping his cape out behind him like a character in an old-fashioned play. “Okay, then. See you later, honeycakes.”

Sam grabbed a pillow from her couch and hurled it at his head, but he’d already shut the door behind him.





Beatrice hurried down the front steps of the palace, her Guard at her heels. “Sorry,” she exclaimed when she saw Teddy at the front drive, standing next to a red SUV. “I didn’t mean to be late for our meeting.”

His mouth quirked at the corner. “Beatrice, this isn’t a meeting. I asked Robert to block some time on your calendar because I wanted to hang out.”

“Oh—okay,” Beatrice breathed. She hadn’t just hung out with someone—no agenda, no stated purpose—since college, unless you counted all the hours she’d spent with Connor.

“No worries.” Teddy walked up to the passenger side and held open the door. He clearly planned on driving her himself.

To Beatrice’s surprise, her protection officer frowned but merely said, “I’ll tail you guys.”

Beatrice slid into the passenger seat and buckled her seat belt over her floral silk dress. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten to sit in the front of a car.

“Are you hungry?” Teddy asked, as he pulled out of the palace’s main drive. “I was thinking we could go to Spruce. You love their kale salad, right?”

Actually, Beatrice had never liked Spruce. It was too loud, full of media people and models all vying to be noticed. The last time she’d been there was for an interview she’d done last summer.

“Wait a second,” she said, as comprehension dawned. “Did you read my profile piece in Metropolitan magazine? Were you studying up on me?”

Teddy flushed, his eyes fixed on the road. “I don’t usually plan a date without doing a little recon.”

There was a funny silence as they both realized he’d used the word date.

“For the record, I only ordered the kale salad that day because I couldn’t get a burger,” Beatrice went on.

“Why not?”

“A burger isn’t interview food. Too messy,” she said regretfully.

Teddy glanced over, his eyes bright. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s burgers. But we’re not getting you the one at Spruce. I mean, they put brie on it.”

“What an abomination,” Beatrice agreed, smiling.

Teddy chuckled and turned up the music, some indie rock band that Beatrice didn’t recognize. “I’m so glad you see sense.”

It wasn’t until she saw the bright lights of the drive-through that she realized Teddy was taking her to Burger Haus.

“I grew up on these,” he admitted, before pulling up to the intercom and ordering two cheeseburgers. Beatrice was amazed by the efficiency of the system. Seeing her expression, Teddy chuckled.

“Beatrice. Have you ever eaten fast food?”

“Of course I have! Just not from a drive-through.” She glanced down, smoothing her dress over her thighs. “We ate at McDonald’s as a family at least once a year when I was a kid. Our press people alerted the tabloids ahead of time, so they could plant photographers at nearby tables. They always used them in that section, ‘Royals: They’re Just Like Us.’?”

“Then you haven’t really eaten fast food,” Teddy told her. “Everyone knows it’s impossible to enjoy a burger when paparazzi are watching you eat it.” He was trying to sound lighthearted, but it didn’t quite work. Beatrice wondered if she’d frightened him—if he was coming to realize what he’d signed on for, agreeing to marry her.

They reached the drive-through window, and a woman with a high ponytail looked up at them. Her eyes widened as she squealed in recognition.

“You’re Theodore Eaton! The Dreamboat Duke!” When she saw who was in the passenger seat, her face grew even redder. “Oh my god, Your Highness—I mean Majesty—” She sank into a startled curtsy, still holding a container of fries in one hand.

Normally Beatrice would have acknowledged the woman with a gracious smile. But she was out in a car without her Guard, about to eat a burger without worrying about how unflattering it might look in photos. Actually, no one was taking her photo at all. The prospect filled her with a childish excitement.