Page 69 of American Royals II: Majesty
Sam tried to smile as if nothing was wrong. “I didn’t know you and Marshall were hanging out today,” she told her brother, and he nodded.
“I guess I should have told you. I asked Davis if he wanted to come by, since…”Since I’m not talking to Ethan right now,he didn’t need to add.
Sam felt partially responsible for all this mess. Hadn’t she encouraged Nina to go for it, then kept the truth from Jeff? And now her brother was hurting.
She remembered how excited she’d felt, back when she’d first learned that Nina and Jeff were dating. Her two favorite people in the world, ending up together—it seemed perfect. She hadn’t realized that when they broke up, she would be left in the middle, forced to keep their secrets from each other.
“Besides,” Jeff teased, “I needed to decide if I give you and Davis my blessing.”
“Your blessing?”
“You can’t date anyone I don’t like. As your twin, I have final veto power.”
A month ago Sam would have snorted and said something likeyou certainly ignored my veto when it came to Daphne.But now that she’d seen a more vulnerable side of Jeff’s ex, had asked for herhelp,the comment felt a little petty.
Jeff picked the basketball up off the ground and spun it idly on one finger. “It’s cool, though. I approve of Davis. He’s funny, and he seems really into you.”
No, he isn’t. He’s just using me to make his ex-girlfriend jealous—the way I’m supposedly using him,Sam thought dully.
Except…she wasn’t really dating Marshall to hurt Teddy anymore, and she didn’t know when that had changed.
“We’re not that serious,” she mumbled, and her brother laughed.
“Nope. Youlikehim; I see it on your face.” Jeff’s eyes danced. “Please, can you not scare him off the way you usually do? I like having him around.”
Of course, Sam thought. Of all the guys she’d been involved with through the years, her brother approved of the one who wasn’t actually hers. The one she didn’t get to keep.
Later that evening, Sam wandered down the palace hallway. She felt the telltale flush of sunburn on her shoulders; she’d stayed outside with the boys all afternoon, playing basketball and then sitting out on the lawn, soaking in the sunshine.
She knew she should be grateful that Marshall was making this whole charade so easy on her. So why did she feel a hollow ache pressing down on her sternum?
When she noticed the light creeping from beneath the door to the monarch’s study, she came to an uncertain halt. Beatrice must be in there, working late.
Sam realized, suddenly, that she wastiredof being angry with her sister.
For so long she’d held tight to that anger, lifted it before her like a shield, and now she was exhausted. She wanted to lay down her weapons and actually talk to Beatrice, for once.
“Bee?” Sam gave a soft knock. When no one answered, she pushed the door cautiously open, but the office was empty.
And it had changed. Sam could still see traces of her father—in the antique globe, the heavy stone bookends carved like giant chess pieces—yet this was unmistakably Beatrice’s space now.
She walked slowly around the desk, running her hands over its polished wooden surface, then plopped down in Beatrice’s chair, bracing her sneakers on the floor and wheeling herself idly forward and back.So,she thought, with something that might have been jealousy or might have been loneliness,this is what it feels like to be queen.
Curious, she pulled out the top drawer of the desk, revealing Beatrice’s personal stationery and a neat row of pens. The next few drawers contained stacks of manila folders, a package of dog treats, a series of notes from Robert.
When she was younger, Sam was always sneaking into Beatrice’s room: rifling through her drawers, trying on her dresses, rubbing her arms with Beatrice’s scented lotion. At the time, Sam hadn’t understood that impulse. But she knew now that when she was sifting through Beatrice’s things, she’d been trying to understand her sister, and all the differences between them.
Sam leaned farther down, remembering the hidden drawer built into the bottom of the desk. She wondered if Beatrice kept it full of lemon candies, the way their dad had. She found the latch and pressed it, releasing the drawer—only to frown in confusion.
Inside lay a heavy ecru envelope, printed with the swirling handwriting of the palace calligrapher. It was addressed to Mr. Connor Dean Markham and marked with a scrollingWPon the top right corner, where a stamp would normally go. One of the privileges of being the monarch, of course, was that you were exempt from paying postal fees.
Connor Markham—wasn’t he Beatrice’s former Guard, the one who’d been with her at Harvard? Why hadn’t his invitation gone out with the rest of them?
There was something else in the drawer, Sam realized: a thin box secured with an ivory ribbon. It looked like an engagement present.
She couldn’t help untying the ribbon and lifting the lid.
Inside lay an ink drawing, of snow-covered mountains seen through the frame of a window. On the far edge of the sketch was a fireplace, and next to it, a small figure that could only be Sam’s sister.
