Page 46 of American Royals II: Majesty
“First of all, you don’t need anyone’s approval for your romantic relationships. Even mine,” Sam said emphatically. “But for the record, I’m fine with you and Ethan. Besides,” she added, “I’m not exactly in a position to judge.”
Nina let out a strangled laugh. “We make quite the pair. You’re faking a relationship, and I’m hiding from my ex-boyfriend, plus his best friend, who Ikissedlast weekend.”
“These are massive problems,” Sam agreed. “Clearly, the only solution is to sneak into the kitchens and eat Chef Greg’s raw cookie dough.”
Nina smiled. “You know, that does sound like a solution.”
They started to clamber up from the ground, but before they could move, Sam heard the soft creak of the gate being opened.
“There you are, snickerdoodle! Hey, Nina,” Marshall added. “You ladies look comfortable. Should I bring the party to you?”
“Actually, I’ll catch up with you guys later.” Nina stood. “There’s something I need to do.”
Sam would have argued, but she had a feeling that Nina was going to look for Ethan, so she just nodded. “See you later.”
When Nina had left, Marshall turned to Sam with a lifted eyebrow. “Did I scare her off?”
“She doesn’t like you,” Sam said blithely, and Marshall snorted. “I mean, she doesn’t like what we’re doing. She thinks it’s a bad idea, faking a relationship.”
His eyes widened. “Seriously? You told her?”
“Nina is like a sister to me!” Sam glared at him. “She wouldneverblow our cover. She’ll take my secrets to thegrave.”
Marshall threw up his hands, chuckling. “Okay, jeez. You’re talking like the characters fromPledged.”
Sam was oddly irritated by the reference to Kelsey’s show. “That’s insulting,” she said haughtily. “My vocabulary is leagues above their garbage dialogue.”
“Fair point. No one watchesPledgedfor the banter.” Marshall came to sit next to her, clasping his hands around his knees. “Nice pool,” he added. “It’s almost as big as the one at our Napa house.”
“A giant pool in a drought-prone region? Nowondereveryone in Orange likes you so much!”
He smiled appreciatively. From somewhere in the vicinity, a bird called out a few notes of song, then fell silent. Sam kicked listlessly at the water.
“Jeff and I used to come out here all the time when we were kids,” she went on, almost to herself. “We were always racing, or playing pirates, or whacking each other mercilessly with pool noodles.”
She wasn’t sure when the competitive streak between her and Jeff had begun. Maybe it came from being a twin, feeling that she and her brother were always jostling for attention, for space. Or maybe because the entire world kept reminding her that she mattered so much less than Beatrice. Whatever the reason, Sam was constantly challenging Jeff to something—bungee jumping or a ski race, beer chugging or even their childhood games of Candyland.
Marshall smiled. “My sister Rory used to make up these elaborate pool games that involved floating basketballs and relay races and more rules than anyone could keep track of. Sometimes I think she changed the rules mid-game just to ensure that she’d win.” His eyes lit on Sam. “You two would get along.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam agreed. “If I was playing pool games against a varsity swimmer, I would definitely cheat.”
“I play water polo, actually. That’s where my broken nose came from.”
She looked over at Marshall’s profile. His nose did have a slight bend, but in a serious, Roman way. “Your nose is distinguished,” she decided. “It has character.”
“Try telling my family that. My mom must have tried a thousand times to get me to quit. She said water polo is the sport of hooligans.”
“Has sheseenice hockey?” Sam quipped, and he barked out a laugh.
The heavy spring darkness closed around them, the only illumination coming from the lights embedded in the sides of the pool. Sam’s toes, painted a bright watermelon pink, glowed beneath the surface of the water.
“I don’t know why I thought you were a swimmer.” She cast him another sidelong glance, her voice ringing with amusement. “Didn’t you challenge the Duke of Sussex to a swim race in Vegas?”
“It was the Duke of Cambridge, actually, andhechallengedme.” Marshall’s eyes gleamed at the memory. “When the paparazzi got wind of it, his younger brother was the one who took the fall.”
“That’s what the spare is for, isn’t it?” Somehow the question came out with less bitterness than usual.
Marshall didn’t contradict her. “I guess the British didn’t want to hear about their future king betting on a late-night swim race, especially not against a notorious hedonist likeme.”
