Page 128 of Reign
Jamie slid closer on the bench, so that the entire left side of his body was pressed against hers. Nina resisted the urge to tip her head against his shoulder.
“Does this mean I get to woo you?”
“Woo me?”
Nina’s phone vibrated in her clutch, but she ignored it, eyes fixed on Jamie.
“The way I see it, I need to take a page from a Jane Austen novel and court you. I need to convince you that being with me is worth all the irritating complications and media attention. So I’m going to court you,” he told her. “I’m going to write you handwritten letters and send you flowers for no reason except that it’s a Monday, and I’m going to constantly tell you how much I value you. I’m going to woo you so well that you’ll decide our relationship is more than a secret affair, and you’ll agree to the whole nine yards—the Canadian police protection, the events, all of it.”
Nina blinked, a little dazed. There were a million things she wanted to say, but what came out of her mouth was “A secret affair sounds so…scandalous.”
“You decide how scandalous it is,” Jamie said evenly. “You set the pace, Nina. But as long as you’re okay with it, I’ll be here, wooing you the whole time.”
She couldn’t help but smile at that declaration. “I look forward to it.”
“Oh, you should.” Jamie grinned. “Just you wait. I’mexcellentat wooing. As I am, really, at everything.”
Her phone vibrated a second time, and Nina tore her attention from Jamie long enough to open her bag. When she saw the text from Samantha, her eyes widened.
SOS. Marshall is here! Are you still in the palace? Can you come meet me?
She blinked, the words swimming before her eyes. Marshall had come back from Hawaii? Was this some kind of big romantic gesture, or was he here to break up with Sam?
She kissed Jamie once, then stood. “Sorry, Sam texted me an SOS. I need to go find her. I’ll be back before the ceremony,” she added, as if she believed the wedding was still on track.
As if she hadn’t been the one to completely derail it.
It was only a matter of time, Daphne knew, before the hailstorm of her mother’s anger descended on her. So she wasn’t all that surprised to hear a shrill “What have you done?” from the doorway of the Brides’ Room.
Daphne looked up from the tote bag she’d been packing; she needed to clear out of the room so that Beatrice could come get dressed, and besides, she wanted a quick exit after the wedding. She sighed and turned around. “Hello, Mother.”
Rebecca Deighton swept into the room like an avenging goddess. Her eyes seemed to glow an even fiercer green than usual thanks to her emerald trumpet gown, which had been custom designed for what she’d thought would be her crowning social success.
“What’swrongwith you?” her mother exclaimed, glaring at Daphne’s slate-colored bridesmaid dress. The palace had bought two extras, in case Samantha or Beatrice damaged theirs, and it turned out the extras had been put to good use, since a seamstress had just frantically hemmed one to fit Daphne. The bodice was a tiny bit snug over Daphne’s cleavage, though no one would dare say so.
There was something deeply ironic about being forced to wear the bridesmaid dress that she had picked out, but Daphne wasn’t ready to laugh about it yet.
“This is between me and Jefferson,” she began, but her mother cut her off.
“When that chamberlain woman told me the wedding was off, I said she was mistaken. My daughter would never allow that to happen. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to throw away everything that she’s spent years working toward.” Rebecca took a step forward, almost menacing. “You need to go to Jefferson andbeghim to take you back!”
“Mother, it’s over,” Daphne said wearily.
“It’sneverover! You have years of history together; remind him of that! Do it now, before it’s too late.” When Daphne shook her head, Rebecca pressed her mouth into a thin line. “Do it, or I’ll…”
“You’ll slap me again?” Daphne asked, with an unmistakable—and uncharacteristic—bite of defiance.
Color rose to her mother’s cheeks, but she held her ground. “I won’t stand by and let you throw away this family’s entire future.”
“What aboutmyfuture?”
“Exactly! Whataboutyour future? You could have been a princess!” Rebecca crowed.
Daphne zipped her tote bag fiercely shut. Her anger felt like something primal, pulled from the very depths of her. “I’d rather be happy.”
“Happy?” her mother repeated incredulously. “What does that even mean? You could have titles and tiaras and a life of unimaginable privilege; you could be famous throughout the world. Your children could be raised in a palace! You’re trading that away for so-calledhappiness?” She spoke the word with skeptical uncertainty, as if it was in a foreign language and she wasn’t sure she’d gotten the pronunciation right.
“I’m sorry,” Daphne said heavily.
