Majesty (American Royals, #2)(36)

“I know this won’t come naturally to you, but you could try following my lead,” he offered.

“This is what I hate about ballroom dancing. Why should you be the one to lead, anyway?”

“Because I’m taller. Obviously.” Marshall’s lips twitched. “Also, I have more durable shoes. They’re built to be stepped on by even the sharpest of high heels.”

“It was your fault,” she insisted, though she was biting back a smile. “You were in my way.”

They danced for a few more minutes in silence. But when Marshall started to angle them on a diagonal, Sam shook her head. “What are you doing? This is the three-step turn!”

“That comes later. First it’s the chassé.”

She dug her heels in, her shoes squealing in protest on the hardwood floor.

“Samantha! The chassé comes first!” Robert shouted. Sam could hear his frustration from across the ballroom.

She started to shrug off the criticism the way she always did, but to her shock, Marshall drew to a halt, right there in the middle of the dance floor.

“Sorry, Lord Standish; it was my mistake. I led Samantha astray.”

Robert grumbled to himself, but waved aside the apology.

Marshall turned back to Samantha, a hand held out expectantly. Slowly, a bit startled, she placed her palm in his.

“Did you just take the fall for me?”

“That’s what fake boyfriends are for, isn’t it?”

“I…you didn’t have to do that.”

Marshall shrugged as if it was no big deal. Maybe to him, it wasn’t. “I did, actually. I know what it’s like to be someone’s punching bag.”

There was a note in his voice that made Sam want to ask what he meant. A real girlfriend would have—or, rather, a real girlfriend would have already known.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

They went through the rest of the dance without speaking. Sam tried to concentrate on the steps—the promenade; the standing turn; the full spin, when she twisted into Marshall’s arms and then uncurled slowly. She focused on that, to keep herself from wondering about him.

Suddenly the music was slowing down, the song reaching its final dramatic crescendo. Before Sam had quite registered what was happening, Marshall pulled her into a low, dramatic dip. Her entire weight was cradled on his right arm. Sam imagined she could hear his heartbeat echoing through her own body.

“That was a good start,” Robert called out, tapping away at his tablet. “But we have a bit of work to do. Let’s do the whole thing again, from the top.”

Then Marshall was lifting her back up—slowly, his eyes still fixed on hers. Sam struggled to breathe. She felt herself flush from her neck all the way to the roots of her hair.

“Not bad, my little ham Sam-wich,” Marshall murmured, effectively shattering the tension between them. Sam rolled her eyes and detangled herself from his arms.

As they resumed their places, she told herself that her elevated heart rate was from the physical exertion. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that, for a moment there, she’d thought Marshall was about to kiss her.





The gates of Washington Palace had been designed for maximum visual impact, carved with intricate scrollwork and interlocking Ws. As Daphne and Himari gave their names to the security guard and he waved their taxi through, Daphne felt that there was something gratifying about all the grandeur.

She loved an imposing door or gate, provided she was on the inside.

“How do you feel?” she asked, when they’d gotten out of the car. Himari was uncharacteristically quiet.

The girls had seen each other nearly every day since Himari had been discharged from the hospital. At first they’d remained at the Marikos’ house, flipping through magazines, making up for an entire year’s worth of lost conversation. Then, at the doctor’s recommendation, they’d slowly returned to their old activities: getting their nails done, or strolling down the sidewalks of Hanover Street, admiring the window displays.

“I’m a little nervous. But mostly excited.” Himari nodded at the stoic-looking footman who gestured them through the front doors and toward the back lawn.

Daphne nodded, though she felt uneasy. “I’m just surprised your parents agreed to let you come.”

“My doctor wants me to get back into my old routine, to help rebuild my neural recognition networks. The more I act like my old self, the better chance I might remember everything I’ve forgotten.” Himari saw Daphne’s concerned look, and sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I promised my parents that I’m not drinking, not even a sip. Since I still have no idea what happened last time.”

Whenever Himari made comments like this, Daphne worried her friend was baiting her, trying to trap her into saying something incriminating. So she said nothing. Then again…Himari wasn’t even glancing her way.

It was that enchanted twilight hour when the sun was just setting, and for an instant, the sky became as dazzling as noon. It illuminated the terraced flower beds, their white mountain laurels scattered over the ground like handfuls of snow. In the orchard beyond, Daphne could see that the cherry trees had exploded into bloom.

Their steps crunched over the gravel as they followed the other guests toward an enormous white tent. Daphne recognized it as the same tent that the palace erected for the monthly garden parties—dull afternoon affairs, with flat champagne and cherry tarts. Seeing that familiar setup at night was strangely exhilarating. It lent everything a touch of mischief, made them all feel like children who were sneaking out past curfew, and might get away with it.