Page 81 of Reign
Daphne’s phone trilled in her purse, but she ignored it. “That sounds lovely.”
They had been doing this for the better part of an hour, directing the seamstress as she painstakingly fixed small rosettes and snippets of lace to the sheer fabric. Even Daphne, who loved being made a fuss of, was losing her patience.
“What do you think, Rebecca?” the queen added.
“Absolutely.” Daphne’s mother reclined on a nearby couch, a half-empty champagne flute in her hand. If the queen had suggested that Daphne shave off all her hair, her mother would have nodded in fanatic agreement. She would never express an opinion to contradict royalty.
When Daphne’s phone buzzed a second time, the queen lifted an eyebrow. “Do you need to get that, Daphne?”
“I—yes. Please excuse me.” Daphne’s dress suddenly felt too tight, the silk scratching against her back.
She stepped down from the seamstress’s platform, her spiky heels clicking on the floor as she walked over to her purse. As she’d expected, the screen readUnknown Caller.
“Hello?” she answered coolly, heart pounding.
“Daphne.” It wasn’t Gabriella, Daphne noted with a mixture of relief and anger—it was Rei. “I need to talk to you. I found something important.”
“Thank you for your interest. I am always open to sponsoring more charities.” It was the only thing Daphne could think of to say.
Rei let out an exasperated sigh. “I get it, you can’t talk. Just meet me at Ethan’s house now, okay?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Daphne began, but the line was already dead.
She looked up to see everyone staring at her, and forced a smile. “Can we take a break? I just remembered that I’m supposed to meet a friend for lunch.”
Rebecca Deighton glanced up sharply, recognizing the lie.She knew perfectly well that her daughter didn’t have any friends—no real ones, anyway.
“Of course! You must be exhausted,” Queen Adelaide apologized. “We’ll do your final fitting next week, anyway!”
Daphne stepped behind the folded screen that they’d brought into the sitting room, where she changed into a blouson top and skinny jeans. She tapped out a rapid text to Ethan—Rei says she wants to meet at your house?? Pick me up at the back of the Monmouth Hotel asap.
“Daphne?” her mother called out, in a tone that should have sounded sweet, though Daphne heard the suspicious edge beneath. “Who are you meeting?”
“Gabriella Madison.” It was the best lie Daphne could come up with on short notice. At least her mother would understand this was part of a scheme.
Rebecca pursed her lips but didn’t argue.
The palace valet was happy to drop Daphne at the Monmouth, where she slipped discreetly through the lobby, past the massive Christmas tree and sprawling gingerbread house. She caught a few sidelong glances but kept moving, toward the staff entrance that fed into a narrow alley behind the hotel. She’d done this enough times with Jefferson that it was second nature by now.
By the time she got there, Ethan’s motorcycle was already purring in the alley. “Let’s go,” Daphne said, looping one leg over the back.
“I thought you didn’t want to ride my bike anymore.” Ethan sounded far too amused for her liking.
“Desperate times,” she snapped, and he dropped it.
They wound through the streets toward Ethan’s neighborhood—which was only fifteen minutes from the palace but more understated than Herald Oaks, full of single-story homes with tire swings or trampolines out front.Christmas trees winked cheerfully from living room windows; in one yard, an inflatable snowman fought for space next to an oversized cartoonish Santa. Inflatables weren’t evenallowedin Herald Oaks, per the homeowners association guidelines.
“I’ve never been to your house before,” Daphne pointed out as Ethan pulled into a circular driveway.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, then killed the engine. “I wasn’t exactly jumping to host parties in high school.”
“Of course not. We were always at the palace.”
They both knew the real reason neither of them invited anyone over: they were embarrassed. Daphne because her parents were trying to be something they were not—filling their narrow townhouse with fake antiques and anonymous portraits, as if they could fool anyone into thinking their low-ranking title actually mattered—Ethan because his family was so painfully ordinary.
It wasn’t easy trying to fit in when all your friends were titled, or obnoxiously wealthy, or both.
“My mom is at work. It’s just us,” Ethan explained, opening the side door into a cozy kitchen.
