Majesty (American Royals, #2)(59)

Nina’s head was spinning. She wanted to call a quick time-out so that she could catalog everything she’d felt in the last few minutes: her anger at being attacked by a reporter yet again; her hurt at learning that Jeff and Daphne might get back together. And her guilt at the realization of how epically she’d hurt Jeff and Ethan.

Was Jeff right? She had worked so hard to distance herself from the royal world, to make people forget that she was someone they’d seen in the newsstand tabloids. By dating Ethan, was she letting herself fall into the same mess all over again?

She looked up at him with sudden uncertainty. “Jeff—”

“Whatever. Forget it,” he said, and his steps receded down the hallway.

Nina stood there for a moment in cold, shaky silence. Then she squared her shoulders and headed upstairs.

She found Samantha on the couch in her sitting room, her hair twisted back with a clip as she tapped viciously at her phone. There was a blurred shadow in her eyes that set Nina’s best-friend radar on high alert.

“What are we looking at?” she asked, sitting down next to Sam.

The princess gave an aggrieved sigh and handed over her phone. She’d been scrolling through Kelsey Brooke’s profile page.

“Can you believe this girl?” Sam snapped. “I mean, she’s nauseatingly fake. I don’t know what Marshall sees in her.”

Nina flicked through a few photos: Kelsey wearing a denim jacket and short-shorts, rollerblading on a boardwalk; Kelsey’s glittery dark nails curled around a green juice, with the caption Rise and shine, my witches!

Well, at least it was better than what Nina had assumed Sam was doing—flipping through the comments section of one of the articles about her and Marshall.

“Did I miss something? Why are we hate-stalking Kelsey?” she asked.

“No reason,” Sam said swiftly. “Just that I’ll see her when Marshall and I go to LA next month. And he’ll want to talk to her, since, you know, he’s trying to get her back.” Sam rolled her eyes. “God knows why.”

Nina pulled one of Sam’s pillows onto her lap and began playing with the fringe. “So…I ran into your brother on the way up here. He knows about me and Ethan.” At Sam’s concerned look, she let the whole story pour out, about how Jeff had learned the truth from a reporter.

“It’s not entirely your fault,” Sam hurried to assure her. “Ethan deserves at least half the blame. Maybe more, since he’s Jeff’s best friend.”

Nina flinched. “Exactly. I took Jeff’s best friend from him! I can’t imagine how I would feel, if you secretly dated my ex—”

“That would be slightly problematic, given that your ex is my brother.”

Nina choked out a laugh. “You know what I mean. I just…I would be devastated, if something like that ever came between us.”

“Nothing could ever come between us. I swear it,” Sam said fervently.

Sam’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. Nina didn’t mean to pry, but she instinctively glanced down at the screen—and bristled when she saw who it was.

“Why is Daphne texting you?”

Sam typed out a quick reply. “She’s actually on her way over.”

“Why?”

Nina had never told Sam the full story of her breakup with Jeff: how Daphne had confronted her in the ladies’ room at the palace, and threatened to ruin Nina’s life unless she broke up with the prince.

“I know I always complained about her,” Sam was saying, oblivious to Nina’s inner turmoil, “but—I don’t know, maybe she’s not as bad as I thought. She’s going to help train me for all the stuff I need to do as heir to the throne.”

“I thought Robert was training you?” Nina asked hoarsely.

“Robert is insufferable and irritating, and Daphne…” Sam shrugged. “Just give her a try, for my sake?”

No, Nina thought plaintively, she couldn’t just give Daphne a try. She didn’t want to be anywhere near that girl.

“If Daphne is coming, I should get going,” Nina said, rising awkwardly to her feet. “I—next time I come over, I’ll call first.”

“Please. You don’t need to call,” Sam scoffed, but Nina didn’t match her smile.

Sam had been wrong, when she said that nothing could come between them.

If anyone could, it would be Daphne Deighton.





Daphne waited for Samantha at the entrance to the Brides’ Room: a small room on the ground floor of the palace, near the ballroom. She glanced down at her phone, her pulse skipping when she saw she had a new text—but it wasn’t from Himari.

We need to talk, Ethan had written.

Tomorrow afternoon, meet me at the alley, Daphne typed back, and let her phone fall into her purse. Of course Ethan was upset about what she’d done—but Daphne knew she could handle him. Himari’s continued silence was a far more ominous problem.

She would just have to worry about Himari later. Right now Daphne was due to meet with Samantha, for…what, a class on likeability? A remedial princess lesson?

They’d been texting since that morning at the Patriot but hadn’t found a time to meet until now. Daphne wondered if Samantha felt oddly self-conscious about her request, if she’d been delaying the inevitable because part of her wanted to back out of the whole thing.