Majesty (American Royals, #2)(73)
“It’s way better than a crown,” Sam agreed. “I wonder if the Ramirezes have anything this cool.” As the Dukes of Texas, they were the only other family who had once been kings, but had accepted a demotion to dukedom so that their territory could join the United States.
“I’m sure they have Royal Rattlesnake Boots or something. I mean, it’s Texas,” Marshall replied. Sam bit back a laugh, aware that a few people, including Teddy, had glanced their way.
They fell silent as Beatrice started up the steps of the pavilion. Like everyone in the crowd, she was wearing orange, though her dress wasn’t quite as loud as her sister’s.
Sam felt a bit guilty that she still hadn’t talked to Beatrice about Connor. But how exactly was she supposed to bring it up? Every time she saw her sister, there was always someone hovering nearby. She’d thought she might get a chance this weekend, but of course Beatrice and Sam hadn’t been able to fly to Orange on the same plane.
As her sister reached the second-highest step, just below the Duke of Orange, she drew to a halt. Sam felt a sudden burst of pride at how commanding she looked.
“Good people of Orange,” Beatrice began. “I come to you on behalf of the United States of America, with admiration for your fortitude, your energy, and your spirit. I come bearing an invitation to join our most beloved union.”
Sam watched as Marshall’s grandfather reached up to unhook the bearskin cloak. With a dramatic flourish, he whipped it off and settled it over Beatrice’s shoulders. Then he pulled her up a step, to stand next to him—where he fell to his knees and kissed her ring.
“On behalf of Orange, I accept your gracious offer,” he proclaimed. “Be it known that we renounce our sovereignty; we are the nation of Orange no longer, but become one nation with you, under God…”
Sam stopped listening. “Talk about glamorizing history,” she muttered under her breath.
“I know. In reality they bickered over terms for weeks. Then, when they finally signed a treaty, they got roaring drunk.” Marshall grinned in a way that made Sam’s stomach do a funny flip-flop. “Which is really what this holiday is about, after all.”
“I know. That’s why I like Orange,” she replied, and he laughed.
* * *
The Accession Day official reception was held at the ducal mansion, an enormous house on Sunset.
Sam had murmured her excuses to Marshall and headed straight to the ladies’ room. She was standing at the sink, washing her hands, when Kelsey Brooke walked in.
Kelsey was beautiful, but in a fresh-faced, all-American way, not the bold, aggressive beauty that most actresses chased. With her honey-blond hair and pale blue eyes, she looked like a cheerleader from an eighties rom-com.
Sam hated her on sight.
“Samantha!” Kelsey cried out. “I’m so glad I ran into you. I mean, it’s amazing to finally meet in person.”
Sam had a strong urge to correct Kelsey for failing to address her as Your Royal Highness. It made her feel oddly like Beatrice.
“Mm-hmm.” She started to turn toward the door, but Kelsey didn’t take the hint.
“You’re here with Marshall, right?” she asked, though of course she already knew. “He’s such a great date at these things. He used to always hold my drink when I posed for photos, put his jacket over my shoulders when I got cold. You’re in fantastic hands,” Kelsey added, with an indulgent smile. She spoke as if she’d lent Samantha a pair of shoes, and wanted confirmation of how great they were—but expected Sam to return them soon enough.
“Yeah, he’s great,” Sam said noncommittally.
Kelsey gave a bright laugh, her eyes meeting Sam’s in the mirror. “So are you guys, like, serious?”
“It’s, like, none of your business,” Sam heard herself say.
She sailed out of the bathroom, wishing she hadn’t let that girl get under her skin—but her anxiety calmed when she saw that Marshall was waiting for her.
“I’ve been looking for you, Skittle. Come on.” He grabbed her hand to drag her up a staircase. “There’s something I want to show you.”
When they stepped out onto the third-floor balcony, Sam’s breath caught.
The city unfurled before them, all the way to the dark blur of the ocean. Orange-clad revelers still streamed through the streets, laughing and calling out to one another, stumbling into bars. The lights of the city glowed like the candles of a birthday cake. It made Sam want to make a wish.
“The party doesn’t look like it’s stopping anytime soon,” she observed.
“Oh yeah, people go totally wild on Accession Day.” Marshall dragged two Adirondack chairs forward and leaned back in one. “Everyone wears at least some item of orange clothing. If you’re caught without one, there’s a penalty.”
“What kind of penalty?” Sam asked, sitting down next to him.
“Well, you get a choice. You can either sweep the steps of your local post office, or buy a round of shots at your local bar,” Marshall explained. “Traditionally, it’s supposed to be a round of orange Jell-O shots, which I find absolutely horrifying.”
“Somehow I doubt Jell-O is all that traditional.”
In the streets, a group of revelers burst out laughing, then broke into drunken song. “Can we go down there?” Sam asked wistfully. “That party looks way more fun than the one in the ballroom. Jell-O shots and all.”