Majesty (American Royals, #2)(34)

The George who stared back at them from the portrait was grave and resolute and stern, the Imperial State Crown poised on his brow. No one could doubt that he was a monarch.

But Sam didn’t miss her monarch; she missed her dad.

“He always made that face when he put the crown on. Like the weight of it forced him to be more serious,” Beatrice mused.

“So do you. You have a constipated crown face,” Sam deadpanned. At her sister’s expression, she huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “I’m kidding!”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” Beatrice replied, though she ventured a smile.

Sam realized that this was the most they’d spoken in weeks. Ever since the Royal Potomac Races, she’d gone back to avoiding her sister, the way she had for so many years. Beatrice had made a few attempts at reconciliation—had knocked at the door to Sam’s room, texted asking if she could get lunch—but Sam had answered them all with silence.

She glanced over at Beatrice, suddenly hesitant. “Nice pitch at the Generals game, by the way.”

“You saw that?”

The surprise in her sister’s voice melted Sam’s animosity a little further. “Of course I saw. Didn’t you know it’s a meme now? It’s pretty badass.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice said. “I…I had some help.”

Sam started to answer, only to fall silent as Teddy turned the corner.

And just like that, the fragile moment of truce between the Washington sisters was shattered. Everything Sam wanted to say would have to remain unspoken. The way it always did in their family.

There was a moment of chagrin, or maybe regret, on Teddy’s face, but it quickly vanished. “Hey, Samantha,” he greeted her, as easily as if she had never been anything to him but his fiancée’s little sister.

Sam braced herself for a wave of longing and resentment, but all she felt was a dull sort of weariness.

They were saved from further conversation by the arrival of everyone else: Queen Adelaide and Jeff, followed by Robert. The chamberlain gestured for Beatrice to lead them all into the ballroom—as if it were crucial that they follow the order of precedence, even in a casual setting. This was precisely why Sam had always hated protocol.

“Thank you all for being here,” Robert began. “I know it might seem early to be rehearsing, but we can’t afford any mistakes. We’ll have two billion people watching the live coverage of the ceremony.”

The wedding of Sam’s parents had been the first royal wedding broadcast on international television, a decision that had been controversial among the Washington family. People watched it in bars, Sam’s grandmother always said, her voice hushed with disapproval.

“And I thought it best that we all meet before your weekend in Boston,” Robert added, with an ingratiating nod toward Beatrice. “That way you can review the schedule with His Lordship’s family and let me know if they have any preferred changes.”

Sam hardly heard her sister’s reply, hardly registered her mom chiming in, saying that she would be down in Canaveral this weekend and would they give the duchess her love. Sam had focused with relentless cruelty on those four words: your weekend in Boston.

Teddy was bringing Beatrice home to Walthorpe.

He’d moved on from Sam to her older sister. Which was fine by Sam, since he meant nothing to her, either. All it had been was a stupid flirtation, and now it was over.

Robert was still droning on about something—most likely etiquette—while Sam edged closer to her brother.

“It’s just us this weekend,” she whispered, with a nod toward Beatrice and Teddy. “Should we have people over?”

Back in high school, they had often thrown parties when their dad left town. It was as if, once the monarch had gone and the Royal Standard was lowered from the flagpole, the palace stopped feeling like an institution and started feeling like their house.

Jeff blinked. “You want to throw a party, after what happened last time?”

Sam winced at the memory. “Himari’s fall was an accident. And besides—she’s out of her coma!” Sam had seen the news; it was all over social media. “Come on, Jeff, we could all use some cheering up right now.”

Not to mention, it would show Teddy how little she cared that he and Beatrice were being all couple-y up in Boston.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” Jeff whispered.

“What are you two conspiring about?” their mother demanded.

“Nothing,” the twins chorused. It felt so much like old times again that Sam had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Robert cleared his throat, a pompous, grating sound. “As I was saying, today we will be practicing the opening moments of the reception. After their entrance, the newlyweds will begin the traditional first dance to ‘America, My Homeland.’?”

At his words, Beatrice and Teddy made their way onto the ballroom’s polished wooden floor.

“Following the first chorus, the family members will join in, as dictated by tradition.” Robert nodded at Queen Adelaide. “Your Majesty, His Grace the Duke of Boston will lead you onto the dance floor. As for His Highness Prince Jefferson…” Robert turned pointedly to Jeff. “You still haven’t told me the name of your date.”

Jeff flashed a blithe, careless smile. “I’m waiting until the last minute. It’s more fun to keep everyone guessing.”