Page 30 of Royals
“Would you like something to drink?” he finally asks, his tone frosty.
I brush a green tentacle from my face before responding. “Are you seriously going to hang out with me all day?” I ask. “And, like, teach me about horses and fetch me punch? Because you really don’t need to do that.”
“Sadly, I really do,” he replies, turning to look at me. He’s holding a top hat in his hands, and I nod at it.
“Why aren’t you wearing that? Is a silly hat just a bridge too far with that outfit?”
His green eyes go from my face to the top of my head, and he raises his eyebrows.
Sighing, I touch the monstrosity currently masquerading asa hat. “Touché, fair point, all that,” I concede, and Miles does that thing again where it looks like he might smile, but then he thinks better of it. He might actually be physically incapable of smiling.
I look around me, shading my eyes with my hand. There still aren’t any horses on the track, but I think this event is about showing off fancy hats and drinking champagne more than it’s about horse racing. I’m about to ask Miles about the horses—mostly which ones have the silliest names—when I catch sight of that girl glaring at me again. Poppy.
Dropping my hand, I scooch a little closer to Miles, and he follows my gaze.
“Ah. I see you’ve met Poppy.”
“Oh yeah,” I reply, picking a piece of lint off my skirt. “She isnota fan.”
“She’s not a fan of anyone save Seb and the words ‘Princess Poppy,’” Miles retorts, and I look up at him again. See,thisis the kind of info I need.
“Remember how you thought I was an evil seductress out to ensnare your innocent friend?”
“I literally used none of those words,” he says, and I wave him off.
“Gist is right, though. And my point is, do other people think that, too? That I’m after Seb?”
Miles looks down at me. He’s not that much taller than I am, especially since I’m in heels, but he’s mastered looking down his nose at people, I think. “Most girls are,” he says at last, and I wrinkle my nose.
“He’s going to be my brother-in-law,” I say. “I get that youpeople are into marrying your cousins and stuff, but that doesn’t really work for me.”
“I’d hoped to wait until at least week three of our acquaintance to start talking about incest,” Miles says in a low voice, still twisting his hat in his hands, and I narrow my eyes at him.
“Are you being funny?” I ask. “Because that was kind of funny, and I don’t like it.”
Miles snorts, then offers me his elbow. “I can take you up to the box if you want,” he says, and I follow his nod to the top of the stands, where my sister is already sitting next to Alex, looking out at the track through little binoculars. Fliss is there, too, but Poppy has vanished back into the sea of hats and champagne flutes, and I can see Seb sitting on Ellie’s other side, scanning the crowd through expensive sunglasses. The other Royal Wreckers are up there, too, and Sherbet waves to me and Miles, his handsome face split with a broad grin.
We both wave back, but then Sherbet turns to talk to another man in the box, a man wearing a bright-red-and-green kilt, a sash decorated with all kinds of medals draped across his barrel chest.
“Who’s that?” I ask, and Miles glances back toward the box.
“The Duke of Argyll,” he says. “The queen’s brother, Seb’s uncle.”
“Oh,” I say weakly. So technically a family member. Or a soon-to-be one. And once again, I totally forget how you’re supposed to greet a duke.Your Grace, I think? Or is that for the queen?
“Shall we go up?” Miles asks again, and I watch as Ellie bobs a quick curtsy to a blond woman in pale blue. Who is that?Clearly someone important, but no one I recognize. Ireallyshould’ve read that stupid folder.
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that,” I say to Miles, looking at the royal box, all draped with bunting and filled with the fanciest of the fancy people here. I’d really rejected the idea of needing a guide through this world, but suddenly milling around with Miles—a guy I don’t even like—is preferable to taking my chances up there.
“You mentioned drinks,” I say to him now, tilting my hat back as it starts to slide, and when Miles offers me his elbow again, I place a hand there.
Better the devil you know, I guess.
Chapter 15
We make our way through the sea of hats, and while I want to drop my hand from Miles’s elbow, I actually kind of need him for balance. My heels keep sinking into the grass, and I have horrifying visions of me on the front page of the paper, sprawled on the grass, skirt up over my head.
Holding on to Not-Hot Mr. Darcy isn’t as bad asthat.
