Majesty (American Royals, #2)(81)

The horses’ steps dwindled to a halt. Sam peered out the window; they had just stepped out of the arena. Queen Adelaide was complaining that she didn’t like the look of one of the horses: in the sunshine, its color was too light to match the others. A stable hand sprinted forward to switch it out.

“Your mom is benching one of the horses and putting in an alternate,” Marshall pointed out. “Poor guy. His career ended before it even began.”

When Sam said nothing, he lifted an eyebrow in concern. “Sam, are you okay?”

It wasn’t fair of him to act like he cared. He wasn’t her real boyfriend.

“I’m fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

He held out a hand, gesturing to her closed-off attitude. “This doesn’t seem fine. What’s going on?”

Sam wanted to grab him, kiss him, hurt him, everything at once. She wanted him to want her back—and since that wasn’t going to happen, she wanted to leave him before he got the chance to leave her first.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking,” she said, though every word cost her. “We should put an end to this, now that we’ve both gotten what we wanted out of the whole charade.”

She thought she saw Marshall tense at her words, but she couldn’t be sure. “Have we?”

“Kelsey was all over you last weekend. She clearly wants you back.” Sam shrugged, as if Marshall’s romantic dramas didn’t much interest her. “Isn’t it time we ended this farce of a relationship, so we can get together with the people we actually want to date?”

He stared at her for so long that her gaze wavered. She looked over at the door handle, wishing she could throw it open and run.

“Sure,” Marshall said at last. “We can break up.”

“Great.”

The silence that settled between them was denser than before. The carriage rumbled clumsily around a turn, and they were both rocked unceremoniously against the far wall. Sam blinked and sat up straight, trying to recover her dignity.

“So? Go ahead,” Marshall told her.

Sam blinked up at him. “What?”

“You want it to be public, right?” There was a cold glitter in his eyes as he jerked his chin toward the window. “If we’re going to break up, you should do it now. I’d recommend shouting, so Robert and your mom will hear.”

Sam dug her nails into the fabric of the seat cushion. “There’s no need to fake a breakup,” she snapped. “I’ll just tell Robert to make a press announcement tomorrow.”

“Come on, Sam, you love performing. End this farce of a relationship the way you started it. You owe me that much, at least.” Marshall was still speaking in his normal cool drawl, but beneath the words Sam detected a note of something else, fighting its way to the surface. “Then you can go to the wedding with your new boyfriend, or old boyfriend, or whoever the hell he is.”

“I’m not going with him,” Sam heard herself say. “He’s—he’s with someone else.”

Marshall scoffed. “In that case, I’m surprised you want to call this off.”

“Trust me, it’s for the best.”

“Come on, Sam.” Now Marshall sounded almost cruel. “You wanted to make him jealous; let’s really make him jealous. That’s all I’m good for, right? We can go to some more parties, take a new round of photos—really sexy ones this time, and—”

“Look, I don’t want him anymore, okay?” Sam cried out. “I don’t care about making him jealous!”

Marshall was very quiet as he asked, “What changed?”

Tell him how you feel, Beatrice had said. So Sam braced herself and did exactly that.

“I met you.”

When she dared a glance up, she saw that Marshall had gone utterly still.

“Samantha,” he said at last. Normally Sam hated her full name, but she loved it on his lips, loved the note of thrilling, territorial possessiveness underneath. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that it killed me, seeing you with Kelsey last weekend. I don’t want to use you to get someone else. You’re the one I want.” Her words tumbled hastily over one another. “I can’t keep acting like this means nothing to me, not when I—”

Marshall stood up in the moving carriage, bracing his hands on the wall behind Sam, and closed his mouth over hers.

Sam arched her back and leaned up into him, looping her hands around his neck as she pulled him down toward her. An eager hunger flared in her core. Marshall’s hands slid lower, to cradle her spine—

“Ouch!”

The carriage had hit a bump, slamming his head into the ceiling.

“Are you okay?” Sam cried out.

He slid back onto the opposite bench, rubbing at his skull. “Guess I should’ve been warned by the hat cord,” he said, grimacing.

Sam’s heartbeat was still uneven, the echo of an adrenaline rush pounding through her veins. She tucked her mussed hair behind her ears. “You know, I always figured my ancestors got up to some scandalous behavior in this carriage, but now I’m not so sure.”

Marshall made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a wince. “It’s too cramped for scandal. Your ancestors all sat here, staring longingly and broodingly at each other.” His expression softened, grew more serious. “Which, apparently, I’m about to do.”