Miles hangs back a little, glancing over at me.
I stare back, wondering if we’re supposed to fake things here, too. I know we have the ball later this week—as much as I’m trying not to think about that—but surely that doesn’t mean we have to, like, hold hands and stuff now?
To my relief, Miles follows the others inside, and I’m just about to head that way, too, when another car pulls up, this one nicer and sleeker than the Land Rovers that dropped off the boys. I know it’s not Mom and Dad—they’re spending a few more days in Edinburgh before coming up for the ball—but I’m still not prepared for the girls who pour themselves out of the back seat.
They are, without a doubt, the prettiest people I have ever seen in my life.
One is tall with dark hair that swings in a shiny sheet over her shoulders as she hefts a gorgeous leather bag, pushing her sunglasses up on top of her head. She’s just wearing jeans, boots, and a sweater—sorry, a jumper—but she could seriously be on a runway somewhere, all long legs and easy elegance.
The other girl?
Princess Flora.
I’ve seen her before, of course, online and in magazines, but that still doesn’t prepare me for how lovely she is in the flesh. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given how flummoxed I was with Seb, but still, I had no idea she was this pretty. She’s shorter than the girl she’s with, and curvier, her dark gold hair just brushing her shoulders, and when she sees Alex, she drops her bag there in the gravel and gives a very unprincess-like shriek.
“Ali!” she yells, launching herself at her brother, who laughs and squeezes her back, swinging her around.
Ellie is standing next to me, her arms crossed. Her sunglasses are too big for me to really read her expression, but her body language is . . . stiff? Uncomfortable?
And when Alex releases Flora, I see why.
The princess’s eyes just barely skim over me and my sister, and then she turns to call over her shoulder, “Tam! Let’s get in before the rain starts.”
The sky is perfectly clear, almost painfully blue, only a few white puffy clouds drifting by.
As Flora and “Tam”—who I realize with a jolt must be the Lady Tamsin the queen is so keen to throw at Seb—swan past us and into the house, I look over at El, my eyes wide.
“Oh my god, we just got the cut direct.”
“Daisy,” Ellie says, but I gesture to where the girls disappeared into the house.
“Haven’t you read enough Jane Austen to see what just happened?” I ask. “Does she always treat you like that?”
“Flora can be prickly,” Alex says, coming forward to slip an arm around Ellie’s waist. “But she’ll get there.”
Even though she’s still wearing her sunglasses, I feel like El is looking at me for a second before Alex guides her toward the stone steps into the house.
I stand there while the drivers start pulling our luggage out of the car. Seb a human trash fire, the queen a literal ice queen maneuvering her kids into political marriages, and Flora a total bitch. What else hasn’t Ellie told me about this family?
* * *
• • •
Thirty minutes later, I’m tucked up in a room that’s not unlike my room at Sherbourne—super fancy, full of old stuff, and also freezing cold. Oh, and fully tartaned up. My bedspread is plaid, the canopy is plaid, even the carpet seems to have a faded plaid pattern, and if I manage to sleep in here every night and not get a migraine, I’ll consider it a win.
In a few minutes, I’m supposed to go downstairs for tea, but before I do that, there’s something else I need to do.
Flopping on the bed, I pull my laptop out, firing up Skype.
After a few moments, Isabel’s face appears on the screen, and I think I actually sigh with relief.
“There you are!”
It’s not that I’d been worried that Isa might be mad at me about all that had happened while she was here, but there was a part of me that wondered if she might not want a little break from all things Scotland (and by extension, me). She’d seemed pretty eager to get home last week.
But no, she’s smiling there in her room, sitting on the floor by her bed. I can see the edge of her sheets, bright pink with little yellow flowers all over them. She bought them in the kids’ section at Target because “everything for adults is so boring.”
“Where else would I be?” she asks, bringing up a can of Diet Coke to take a sip.
“I don’t know. Away from all things royal? I know the trip wasn’t exactly what you’d thought it would be.”
She sighs, pushing her heavy dark hair back from her face. “Like, I thought it would be really fun and exciting, but instead it was just kind of a pain? The guards and the photographers, and obviously Sebastian.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah, I picked up on that one.”
Shrugging, Isa leans back against the side of her bed. “He was weird. I felt like he was acting like the person he thought he was supposed to be, not who he actually was, you know?”
I do. Ellie has started doing the same thing sometimes. I remember how she talked to people at the race, the fake-bright smile, the way she would tilt her head down whenever she was listening to someone, making this intense face I’d seen Alex do a bunch.
So I nod to Isa and say, “They’re all weird.”
“Even Miles?” she replies, a dimple appearing in one cheek as she smirks at me.
“Of course you saw that stuff,” I say on a sigh, and she reaches out and actually flicks the computer screen, like she’s hitting me in the head.
“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!” she says, and for a moment, I hesitate. Do I tell Isa it’s not real? That it’s actually because of everything that happened the night she went to Seb’s club with him?
I’d like to say it, but I don’t want Isabel to worry, and the truth is, I’m a little embarrassed. I’ve only been here a few weeks, and I’m already faking a relationship in order to please “the palace.” That’s . . . not a great look.
I shrug. “It’s nothing major, just a summer thing.” And then, because I need a change of subject stat, I ask, “Anything with Ben?”
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about him,” she groans, and while we’re definitely going to have to get more into all that at some point, for now, there’s another reason I called her.
“Okay, so if you’re not averse to looking at those royal blogs, do you think you could maybe do me a favor?”
“Oooh, reconnaissance?” Isabel asks, dark eyes going wide. “Into it.”
I lower my voice. “Princess Flora is here,” I tell her, “and she’s . . . not exactly mine or Ellie’s biggest fan. I don’t want to be busted searching for anything on her, so could you—”
“Find out what she’s like and report back via secure emails?” Isabel finishes, and I laugh.
“Settle down, Jason Bourne,” I reply. “Just . . . see what you can find out, and email it to me. I want your take on it, not just a bunch of links.”
Isa gives me a little salute. “On it,” she announces. “By the time I’m done, you’ll be more than prepared for her visit.”
I laugh, and we sign off, letting me go back to unpacking. And sure enough, within half an hour, Isa has sent me a rundown of all things Flora.