Majesty (American Royals, #2)(89)
She remembered when the three of them had once locked themselves inside a maintenance room. Jeff and Nina had been terrified, but Sam had just held tight to their hands and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll never let anything hurt either of you.” Nina was too shy to voice it, but she remembered feeling that way, too: that she would go to war with anyone who tried to harm Jeff.
Except that was her now, wasn’t it? She hadn’t set out to hurt Jeff, yet she had hurt him, maybe worse than anyone.
“Jeff. Hi,” she whispered, and took a hesitant step forward. He watched her but didn’t move. Nina held out a hand, as if to touch his arm in silent support.
His phone buzzed, and the trancelike thread between them snapped.
“I have to go,” he said stiffly, and turned away.
Nina swallowed back a protest and nodded, watching Jeff’s retreating form. He would forgive her, and Ethan, when he was ready, she told herself—and hoped desperately that it was true.
She could hear the slap of his saber against his polished boots long after he’d walked away.
Subdued, she headed down the hall to the throne room. At the doors the usher asked for her name, then showed her to her seat, which was in the same row as Ethan’s—they had both been placed in the back, along with other low-ranking friends of the family. Nina glanced around the vast space, wondering where her parents were. The normal wooden pews of the throne room had been removed, replaced with chairs covered in tufted velvet cushions and hung across the back with garlands of flowers. Nina could smell all those thousands of blossoms, light and crisp beneath the heavier scents of perfumes and dry cleaning and body heat.
“There you are.” Ethan grinned as she settled into her seat. “You know, I wish you had gotten your face painted. A red ‘Beatrice + Teddy 4-ever’ would have gone fantastic with that dress.”
The anxious fluttering in Nina’s stomach settled a little. Right now, the important thing was that she and Ethan were here, together.
“If only we’d gotten matching ones,” she whispered in reply.
They were inside the palace, but still, Nina reached out for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it.
Samantha longed to collapse onto the love seat with her sister and close her eyes. But now that she was in her gown, she wasn’t allowed to sit down, for fear of wrinkling the fabric. Sam would have complained, except that even she was absolutely in love with this dress.
The form-fitting ivory satin was deceptively simple, with a crew neck and cap sleeves. No lace—as Sam’s mother always said, lace was exclusively for brides—but Wendy Tsu had added sixty organza-covered buttons down the back. To show them off, and in a nod to Sam’s typically casual style, Queen Adelaide had even let her sweep her hair into a chic bouncy ponytail.
Beatrice shifted on the love seat, still wearing her silken white robe. Her hair had been styled into glossy dark curls, and pinned half up beneath the Winslow tiara. In the center of the room, on a wheeled clothing rack, her wedding gown hung in all its glowing splendor.
Sam noticed an unmistakable flicker of sadness in her sister’s expression. “Bee, is everything okay?”
Beatrice let out a shaky breath. “I just…I wish Dad was here.”
Sam crossed the room in two strides, then pulled her sister into a fierce hug.
Neither of them spoke. But it was a soft, easy sort of silence, because Sam knew they were both thinking of their dad.
“It’s hard, doing all of this without him,” Beatrice went on. “There’s this hole where he should be—and no matter how happy I am about everything else, I can’t stop wishing he was here.”
Sam’s throat closed up. “He is here, Bee. He’s looking down on you and smiling.”
Sorrow glinted in Beatrice’s eyes. “I know. But I still miss him, so much. I love Uncle Richard, but he’s not the first person I would’ve picked to walk me down the aisle.”
Sam stood up a little straighter. “Do you want me to talk to Mom? She should have agreed to walk with you from the beginning.” Queen Adelaide was down the hall in the Blue Chamber, along with Teddy and his groomsmen; she’d chosen to let Jeff lead her down the aisle, rather than walk with Beatrice—as her husband would have, if he were still here.
“It’s fine.” Beatrice shook her head at Sam’s expression. “Don’t be hard on Mom. Today is supposed to be a joyful day, for all of us. I won’t ask her to do something that would cause her pain.”
Sam blinked. “Bee—what if you walk yourself?”
At her sister’s stunned look, she rushed to explain. “Hear me out. You’re the queen, the highest-ranking person in this country. The only person who can give you away is yourself. So why don’t you walk down the aisle alone?”
Beatrice glanced down, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robe. Her silver sequined heels glinted in the light.
“I…plenty of people will be angry,” she said nervously.
Sam hated that her sister was right. A young woman heading down the aisle by herself—it was a snub to convention, a blatant show of independence.
“Maybe they will,” she acknowledged. “But what better way to start changing their minds?”
Beatrice hesitated, then tipped her chin up, her expression stubborn and quietly resolute. Sam couldn’t help thinking that she looked startlingly like their father when he’d been on the brink of a decision.