American Royals

“I can’t believe you would do this for me,” Sam managed at last.

“I’m doing this for us. There’s so much that you and I can’t control about our lives, being who we are, but there’s no reason we should have to make this kind of sacrifice.”

That was when Samantha knew.

“You’re seeing someone else,” she guessed.

The expression on Beatrice’s face—surprise and nervousness at being caught out, but most of all a bright, beaming excitement—was confirmation enough.

“Promise me you won’t say anything until I’ve talked to Dad.”

Sam wanted to take her sister’s hands and squeal in excitement. To think that careful, duty-bound Beatrice had been carrying on a clandestine love affair. “Who is it? Anyone I know?”

Beatrice’s smile faltered. “You’ve met him, yes,” she said slowly.

“Is he here tonight?”

When Beatrice nodded, Sam glanced breathlessly back toward the party, wondering which of the young men inside was her sister’s secret boyfriend.

“It’s not going to be easy,” Beatrice said hesitantly. “This guy … he isn’t as eminently suitable as Teddy.”

“Few people are.” Sam tried to make a joke of it.

“He’s a commoner.”

Sam blinked in shock. Now she understood why Beatrice had asked all those weird questions about Aunt Margaret. She wanted to know what would happen if she couldn’t stomach marriage to any of the young men on their parents’ list. If she followed her heart instead.

“I know,” Beatrice went on, reading Sam’s expression. “It’s less than ideal. What can I do?”

“You’ll figure it out. Just … one step at a time. Focus on getting out of your engagement with Teddy first, before you try to get into another one.” Sam tried to sound encouraging.

She had no idea how her sister was going to manage something as utterly unprecedented as marrying a commoner.

Beatrice sighed. “I’m not really looking forward to sharing the news with Dad. Or with the media. I wonder what the protocol is, for breaking off a royal engagement. Has that even happened before?”

“Oh, sure!” Sam exclaimed. “In the nineteenth century more weddings were called off than actually took place. It happened all the time when political alliances shifted.”

“Great. I’ll tell Dad we can look back at Edward I’s broken engagement as a precedent.” Beatrice gave a strangled laugh, then fell silent. “The people are going to hate me for a while.”

“Maybe,” Sam conceded. “Or maybe they’ll be proud of you for knowing your own mind, and being brave enough to put a stop to all of this.”

Beatrice nodded, though she didn’t seem convinced.

Sam’s eyes drifted back toward the ballroom. “Does Teddy know yet?”

She remembered Teddy’s remark when he told her that Beatrice had proposed: You can’t say no to the future queen. He would never have been able to break their engagement himself—not with the fate of his family, his entire community, on his shoulders.

But if Beatrice called it off, there was nothing the Eatons could say in protest.

Sam’s sister shook her head. The golden light from the party played over her profile, gleaming on one of her earrings, casting the other half of her face in shadow. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

She might be overstepping, but Sam had to ask. “Could I be the one to tell him?”

“I thought he deserved to hear it from me …,” Beatrice began, then seemed to change her mind at the expression on Sam’s face. She smiled with unmistakable relief. “Come to think of it, maybe you should be the one to tell him. Isn’t it the maid of honor’s job to handle wedding complications?” She said it lightly, as if calling off the wedding of the century was nothing more than a garden-variety complication.

Sam threw her arms around her sister. “Thank you.”

And despite her efforts to avoid Teddy all night, despite the fact that she’d just spent the last ten minutes out here on the terrace, Sam realized that she knew exactly where he was.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by a semicircle of well-wishers. Sam beelined toward him. She felt suddenly like she was floating, like an infectious fizzy joy had lifted her off this planet altogether and she would never come back down.

Teddy glanced up in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected Sam to seek him out tonight. Neither had she, until now.

“Beatrice wants to see you. I think to take more photos,” she announced loudly. Then she angled her head away from the crowd, so that only he could read her lips. Coatroom, five minutes, she mouthed, and sashayed away before he could question her.

He was there in four.

She’d been pacing back and forth in her anxiety—well, pacing wasn’t the right word given the confines of the space; she could only take one step in each direction. She kept thinking of the last time she’d been in here with Teddy: at the Queen’s Ball, back when she’d still been the heedless girl who chugged a beer in a coat closet. Back when all she’d known about him was his name and the warmth of his smile.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Teddy stood uncertainly in the doorway.