Page 71 of Her Royal Highness
“So I’d be your... date. To this party.”
“If you want to be,” Flora says evenly. “Or you can be my good friend and former roomie, Quint, come to keep me out of trouble.”
I snort at that. “Date would definitely be more believable than Person Who Keeps Flora Out of Trouble.”
Another smile and she crosses her legs at the ankles, swinging her feet. “Is that a yes?”
I think about Queen Clara and the last time I saw her—the only time I saw her—and Seb with the whole pub brawl thing. So far, my impressions of Flora’s family haven’t been great, but maybe she’s right. Maybe if I’m in and among them, this won’t all feel so... bizarre.
“It’s a yes.”
CHAPTER34
The trip to Skye was one thing, but this—heading to the actual palace with Flora for a weekend—is a whole other deal. For one, we don’t drive down. A car takes us from Gregorstoun to Inverness, where we get on a train, but not just any train. The Baird family has their own train car, decked out with the family crest everywhere and seats that are comfier than any I’ve ever sat in. Flora sits next to me, our fingers intertwined as we watch the countryside rush by, and I’m thrilled and happy and pants-wettingly terrified all at the same time. When Flora and I went to Skye, it was just as friends.
Now we’re definitely more-than, but is it maybe too soon to be this... official? This isn’t just some family visit, after all. It’s a party for the upcoming royal wedding. Will I go to the wedding with Flora as her date? And speaking of weddings, how will that work one day for Flora? I mean, it’s way too soon to be thinking about gettingmarried, but is there a title for a girl who marries a princess? Is there—
“You have your Thinky Quint Face on.”
I glance over to see Flora leaning on the armrest close to me, her lips slightly pursed, eyes narrowed.
“Because I am Quint, and I am thinky,” I tell her, but when she leans over to kiss me, it chases all those thinky thoughts away.
When the train pulls into Waverly Station, there’s a car waiting for us.
There’s also a handful of photographers. Not the sea of flashbulbs I was expecting, but still, I feel very aware of the fact that I’m wearing jeans, a sweater, and sneakers, and that I probably should’ve gone with something other than a ponytail for my hair.
Flora let me borrow a pair of her sunglasses, and they feel too big and too silly on my face, but I’m glad for them as we get into the back of the town car.
“Oof,” I say once the door has shut behind us and we’re winding our way through a narrow street, passing a sea of touristy shops. “I have never been so aware of people looking at me.”
“How dare you? They were looking atme,” Flora replies, but she’s smiling when she says it, and I laugh, fluffing out my bangs and attempting to smooth back my hair.
“We are going to have a chance to look a little nicer before I meet the other royals, right?” I ask, and Flora nods, already typing away on her phone.
“Glynnis is in charge of this entire thing, so we might actually have hairdressers meeting us at Holyrood.”
She’s kidding.
At least I think she is.
But I don’t have time to ask because the car is suddenly pulling up to the palace, turning through big wrought-iron gates, and it’s all I can do not to press my nose against the window as Holyrood looms into view.
“Oh man,” I breathe, taking in the warm-colored stone under the afternoon light. “It’s so...”
“It is,” Flora says happily, and when she reaches out to squeeze my hand, I feel that same mix of giddiness and terror that accompanied me on the train ride down.
Glynnis is waiting for us in the drive, as shiny and polished as ever, and I notice Nicola standing a few feet away. She’s not quite as put together as her mom, but she still looks nice in a button-down shirt and cute skirt.
“Hi again,” I say to her, waving, and she waves back before walking over.
As Flora and Glynnis confer about something, Nicola leans close and says, “This is going to be a lot more intense than Skye, but I promise no one is as scary as they seem.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, but she just pats me on the shoulder with a sympathetic look before going back over to her mom.
“Amelia,” Glynnis says, gesturing me over and snapping at a footman lingering near the car.
“Ralph here will see you to your room,” she says before leaning in and saying to the footman, “the Darnley Suite. If the garment bag is not in there, call Charles and tell him to call me.”
