Page 55 of Royals
“I was making a joke,” I fire back at El, and I can sense Alex steeling himself for sisterly drama. But he’s a born diplomat, which I guess is a useful skill for him, because he just clears his throat and says, “Has Eleanor told you anything about where we’re going, Daisy?”
“North,” I reply, waving a hand. “Hinterlands. Mountains. Kilts. Special cows.”
El is still looking out the window, but one corner of her mouth lifts, and Alex chuckles. “Those are the highlights, yes. But the actual house we’re going to is rather special to our family, mostly because it’sours.”
I lower my book, raising my eyebrows at him. “Unlike Holyroodhouse, right?”
Alex nods. “Exactly. Things like Holyrood and Edinburgh Castle belong to the people of Scotland. We live in them, ofcourse, but we’re only stewards. Baird House is private property. My great-grandfather Alexander bought it back in the thirties so that he’d have a retreat for his family—somewhere they could go and feel like regular people.”
“The Petit Trianon,” I blurt out, and now it’s Alex’s turn to raise his eyebrows.
Ellie glances over at me, and I shrug. “I went through a Marie Antoinette phase,” I explain. “Not the ‘let them eat cake’ part—which she didn’t even say, by the way—but just... you know, the history of it all. The Petit Trianon was this little house Marie used near Versailles, and she could pretend to be a regular person there. Milk goats, feed sheep, do whatever it was she thought peasants did.”
Alex chokes on a laugh, turning it into the fakest cough I have ever heard. “Well, yes, but I promise you, we don’t go up there to pretend to be peasants.”
“Do you wear kilts?” I counter, and Alex nods.
“Wouldn’t be allowed into the Highlands if we didn’t.”
“Then I guess that’s good enough,” I say with a shrug, and Alex smiles at me. It’s a real smile, the kind I don’t get from him or El that often, and it’s nice. Another reminder that without all this weird royalty stuff, Alex is a good guy who makes my sister happy and seems to like me.
The car keeps heading north, and while I try to read my book, I can’t stop staring out the window as the landscape changes. For the first part of the drive, it is all fairly normal. Highways, road signs, fast food places. But eventually the rolling hills get higher, craggier. There’s even some snow on the peaks of the higher mountains, and before long, I’ve practicallygot my nose pressed to the glass. Nowthisis the Scotland I’ve been waiting for. Before, when we’d visited, we’d only been in the cities, really. Edinburgh, Glasgow... I’d never seen the actual Highlands.
Before long, the car is slowing down, bumping over a long gravel driveway, and as we round the corner, a house comes into view.
The car rolls to a stop, and I take in the building in front of me. I know Alex said it’s private property, but I still wasn’t expecting something this... homey.
That doesn’t mean it’s a normal house, of course. It’s huge, red brick and gravel drive and all that, but it’s not as imposing as Sherbourne Castle or Holyrood, not even as intimidating as the big hotel we all stayed in back in Edinburgh. And it feels a lot more isolated than either of those places, too, all tucked up here in the Highlands.
For the first time since I got here, I feel like I can breathe a little, and I take a deep breath. Yes, this is exactly what I need. What weallneed. A chance to get to know each other in less intimidating surroundings, and without distractions.
Then I step out of the car and see that other Land Rovers have pulled up, and Royal Wreckers are spilling out onto the gravel drive.
Okay, so afewdistractions, then.
I haven’t seen the Royal Wreckers since the bookstore and the club, and now there’s much slapping of shoulders as Seb and his boys make their way to the house.
Miles hangs back a little, glancing over at me.
I stare back, wondering if we’re supposed to fake thingshere, too. I know we have the ball later this week—as much as I’m trying not to think about that—but surely that doesn’t mean we have to, like, hold hands and stuff now?
To my relief, Miles follows the others inside, and I’m just about to head that way, too, when another car pulls up, this one nicer and sleeker than the Land Rovers that dropped off the boys. I know it’s not Mom and Dad—they’re spending a few more days in Edinburgh before coming up for the ball—but I’m still not prepared for the girls who pour themselves out of the back seat.
They are, without a doubt, the prettiest people I have ever seen in my life.
One is tall with dark hair that swings in a shiny sheet over her shoulders as she hefts a gorgeous leather bag, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. She’s just wearing jeans, boots, and a sweater—sorry, ajumper—but she could seriously be on a runway somewhere, all long legs and easy elegance.
The other girl?
Princess Flora.
I’ve seen her before, of course, online and in magazines, but that still doesn’t prepare me for how lovely she is in the flesh. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given how flummoxed I was with Seb, but still, I had no idea she wasthispretty. She’s shorter than the girl she’s with, and curvier, her dark gold hair just brushing her shoulders, and when she sees Alex, she drops her bag there in the gravel and gives a very unprincess-like shriek.
“Ali!” she yells, launching herself at her brother, who laughs and squeezes her back, swinging her around.
Ellie is standing next to me, her arms crossed. Her sunglassesare too big for me to really read her expression, but her body language is... stiff? Uncomfortable?
And when Alex releases Flora, I see why.
