Majesty (American Royals, #2)(39)
“You don’t think you’ll be sleeping in?”
“Who knows if I’ll sleep at all!” Jefferson pulled his phone from his pocket. “Look, I’m setting a ten a.m. alarm right now.”
“Then let’s do it,” she agreed, and shifted just a little closer to him.
Though he could be wildly adventurous, Jefferson also craved familiarity and routine. Which was why Daphne would win him in the end. She was the first, most public, and most addictive of all his habits. And she didn’t intend to let him forget it.
They talked for a while longer, but it was impossible not to lose someone at a party like this, so Daphne was unsurprised when Jefferson’s old rowing team interrupted them. They descended on him in a pack, rowdy and good-natured and already drunk, shouting that they needed him for a round of shots. Daphne smiled indulgently and let them drag him off.
When she found Himari again, her friend’s eyes flashed with concern. She pulled Daphne aside, lowering her voice. “Daphne—Nina Gonzalez is here.”
Daphne looked across the tent to where Nina stood uncertainly next to Sam and her new boy toy, or whatever he was. “I had a feeling she’d show up.” Now Daphne really needed to find Ethan and make sure he was sticking to their plan.
“She’d better stay far away from Jeff,” Himari exclaimed. “Honestly, I still don’t understand how they started dating in the first place. How could he have gone from you to her?”
“Exactly,” Daphne replied, feeling vindicated for the first time in months.
Himari grimaced. “I can’t decide which is worse: her black fingernails or those weird feather earrings. Do you think she made them herself?”
“Out of what, a pigeon?” Daphne replied, and her friend snorted.
“Are we sure Jeff didn’t fall and hit his head that night, too?”
It was such a transparent effort to cheer her up that Daphne’s chest swelled with gratitude. And she knew then that her friend wasn’t playing her—that Himari truly didn’t remember what happened the night she fell. Daphne knew it with an instinctive, bone-deep certainty, the way you know that you need to breathe in order to live. She just…knew.
At the realization, Daphne felt some long-missing piece of her click into place.
There are no second chances in life, her mom had always told her. You’d better do everything right the first time, grab hold of every opportunity, because you won’t get another one.
Yet through some extraordinary twist of fate, Daphne was actually getting a second chance. Time had rewound itself to a year ago, before she and Himari had their falling-out, before everything went so horribly wrong.
Daphne wasn’t accustomed to feeling grateful. In her mind, she was entitled to everything she had, because she’d worked so damned hard for it. She bargain-shopped and charmed people, clawed her way up the social ladder and defended every inch of gained ground. She came up with elaborate schemes, and when those fell through, she always had a backup plan.
Now, for the first time in her eighteen years, Daphne Deighton felt humbled, because she’d received a gift that she truly didn’t deserve.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said hoarsely, and pulled Himari in for a quick, fierce hug. “I really missed you.”
After all this time, she had her best friend back.
Beatrice unzipped her cocktail dress and fell back onto the four-poster bed of her guest room at Walthorpe, blinking up at its canopy. The red fabric was shot through with threads of gold, making her feel like she’d floated inside a sunset.
Their day in Boston had been a whirlwind. She and Teddy had done several official appearances—a photo op at city hall, a reception at Harvard Medical School—because of course, Beatrice never got an actual day off.
Yet she didn’t mind so much anymore, now that she wasn’t doing these events alone. It was such a relief to walk into a room and know that she only had to talk to half the guests, because Teddy would take the other half. Then, afterward, she and Teddy would spend the car ride comparing notes about the people they’d met, laughing at what someone had said.
When they’d gotten to Walthorpe, Beatrice had braced herself for a big, formal dinner, full of cousins and godparents and perhaps even neighbors. To her relief, the only other people at the table were Teddy’s parents and his two younger brothers; his little sister, Charlotte, was out of town.
Beatrice loved the way the Eatons teased each other, the sort of good-natured teasing that hit almost too close to home, before they rushed eagerly to each other’s defense. They told her about Teddy’s high school years and Charlotte’s softball league and the last time they’d hosted a royal visit, over twenty years ago, when Beatrice’s dad had run the Boston Marathon. “They brought you with them, did you know that?” Teddy’s mom stated, her eyes twinkling. “They refused to travel without you, so here you were, cradle and all.”
Beatrice hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to hear stories like that. Stories from before.
Forcing herself to sit up, she began tugging the various pins and clips from her updo, a low chignon that the palace hairdresser had styled that morning in the capital. She sighed in relief as her hair rippled over her shoulders in a wavy dark curtain.
As she rose to her feet, still wearing nothing but her cream-colored underwear and strapless bra, Beatrice realized that she didn’t know where the closet was. She’d hardly been in this room before dinner; one of the attendants had unpacked for her, and laid out her dress on the bed.