Page 105 of American Royals
“Jeff,” Nina whispered into the prince’s ear. “Who is that?”
He turned to follow her gaze, then gave a huff of laughter. “That’s Juan Carlos, the King of Spain’s youngest son. We used to vacation with their family, at their summer palace in Mallorca.” Jeff deftly led Nina farther from the Spanish prince. “He once asked Beatrice on a date—well, practically all the foreign princes did, at some point—but she said no.”
“Beatrice turned down a prince?”
“I don’t know why you’re acting surprised. As I seem to recall, you’ve done it yourself. Multiple times,” Jeff teased, an eyebrow lifted in challenge.
Nina flushed at the memory. “As I seem to recall, you deserved it,” she said lightly. “And unlike Beatrice, I’m not a princess. I don’t have to worry about issues of royal protocol or international relations if I say no to a date.”
Jeff laughed at that. “Well, he and Beatrice would never have worked out anyway. His family calls him Juan-for-the-Road Carlos.” Jeff lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Because he always brings a flask in his jacket pocket whenever he has to carry out official royal duties.”
Nina stole another glance at the Spanish prince, still dancing with the woman in velvet. Her arms instinctively tightened over Jeff’s shoulders. If Jeff and Sam weren’t careful—if they didn’t find something that mattered to them, some kind of purpose—they might end up like Juan Carlos: idle, world-weary, floating aimlessly from one royal function to the next.
It was just the constitutional danger of being the spare.
“You look amazing, you know,” Jeff murmured. The desire in his voice, low and rough, abruptly cut off Nina’s thoughts.
She bit her lip against a smile. “Sam helped. I wouldn’t have a dress without her.”
Nina’s smoke-colored gown was sewn all over with beads. They swished and settled around her body, giving her the curious sensation that she was dancing through water. Her dark hair was piled atop her head like an evening cloud, a few tendrils escaping to frame her face.
“You don’t look so shabby yourself,” she added, with a nod toward Jeff’s blazer: the one she’d borrowed on the terrace all those months ago. He’d even put on the aiguillettes and shining crossbelt, though the belt was empty of a sword.
“I knew you had a thing for men in fringe.” Jeff gave a mischievous grin. “Though if I’d realized Prince Hans was coming, I would have worn my medallion for the Order of the Knights of Malta. It’s the only decoration I have that he doesn’t.”
“Prince Hans?” Nina followed Jeff’s gaze, to a spindly boy wearing square-framed glasses. “Is he … Danish?”
“Norwegian.”
Nina tried not to roll her eyes. “I’m sorry, how many foreign royalty are there at this party?”
“As many as could get here in time.” Jeff shrugged. “Hans’s dad is one of Beatrice’s godfathers.”
Of course he was. Nina remembered a book she’d shelved in the library one day, Minor Royal Families of Europe, filled with pages and pages of family trees. She’d stared at them goggle-eyed—all those lines and branches, knotting and weaving over each other—before closing the book in exasperation.
Her eyes drifted to where Beatrice stood next to Teddy, surrounded by a crowd of eager guests.
“I still can’t believe Beatrice is engaged. It all happened so quickly.” Nina was thinking of Samantha—of how hard it must be for her, seeing Teddy with Beatrice. It made her feel almost guilty for being so happy when her friend clearly wasn’t.
“I like Teddy,” Jeff said roundly. “He’s a great guy, and seems like a good fit for Beatrice, even if …”
“What?”
Jeff gave an uncomfortable shrug. “Clearly I’m wrong, but for a while there in Telluride, I kind of thought there was a vibe between him and Samantha.”
Nina pursed her lips and said nothing.
“Beatrice has never been indecisive. I’m not surprised that she made up her mind about Teddy so quickly.” Jeff’s voice was soft over the delicate strands of the jazz music. “I guess when you find the right person, nothing else matters.”
Nina nodded, understanding.
She wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it all: the exposure, the unending public scrutiny. It was so much more intense now than it had been when she was just Samantha’s friend. She’d been on the sidelines, sure, had watched plenty of photo calls and walked past plenty of lines of photographers, but they’d never spared her a second glance.
Being Jeff’s girlfriend was entirely different. Nina still did a double take whenever she saw her own face on a tabloid, or heard her own name shouted in a crowd.
Though lately, Nina had noticed some of the coverage shifting its tone. She wasn’t sure why: whether people had grown tired of the social-climbing angle, or the tabloids had simply found another victim to make fun of. Maybe other ordinary, non-aristocratic girls wanted to believe in the fairy tale—that they, too, could find a Prince Charming.
Whatever the reason, there was less venom here tonight than Nina had expected. She’d come to Beatrice’s engagement ball thinking that it would be a nest of vipers: that her only real allies were Sam and Jeff, and everyone else would have firmly declared for Team Daphne. But she’d been pleasantly surprised by the number of familiar faces in the ballroom. Some were friends of her mom, some high school classmates of Sam and Jeff; others were people she’d never met, but who gave her smiling nods of approval.
