American Royals
The palace’s circle drive was always chaotic after a big party. A long queue of people twisted around the front porch, each of them waiting for one of the courtesy cars, which the palace provided free of charge after a night like this. Daphne allowed herself a sigh and started toward the back.
“Daphne? Can I give you a ride?”
She was somehow unsurprised to see Ethan at the front of the line, holding open the door of a town car.
Daphne paused in the moonlight, her coat dropping from her shoulders. There was something new and sharp in the air, something she should ignore. But she didn’t.
“That would be great. Thank you,” she murmured, and slid after him into the backseat. Ethan leaned forward to give the driver her address.
“We can drop you first. This was your car.”
“It’s okay,” Ethan said quickly, and smiled. “Chivalry, and all that.”
Daphne realized that she didn’t actually know where Ethan lived, had never been to his house, had never even met his mom. She wondered, fleetingly, why he’d never invited any of their friends over—if his mom didn’t approve of them, or if Ethan had reasons of his own.
“So? How did it go?” Ethan demanded. Through the tinted windows, the city was a gold-flecked blur. The skyscrapers of the financial district huddled against the horizon, honeycombed by scattered office windows that were still illuminated.
“Nina broke up with Jefferson.”
“Congratulations.” He gave a slow, quiet clap. “Though I have to say … I’m surprised you’re not still with Jeff, after a victory like that.”
She could have told Ethan that Jefferson was too drunk, that she’d done more than enough for one night. Instead all Daphne said was, “Well, I’m not.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m curious. How did you manage it?”
It suddenly felt like such a relief, sitting here with Ethan, not hiding anything. Throughout the conversation with Jefferson, Daphne had been on high alert, monitoring her every word and gesture. But with Ethan she could just be herself.
She told him everything she’d done to Nina, from the beginning.
The car took a sharp turn, and since neither of them was wearing a seat belt, the weight of Ethan’s body lurched against hers.
He quickly moved away, though with less distance between them than there had been.
“I’m impressed,” he declared, when Daphne had finished her story. “Sabotage and intimidation—you’ve outdone yourself. You really decimated that girl.”
Something about his phrasing needled her. “Did you ever doubt me?” she asked testily.
“Never.” Ethan paused, as if uncertain whether to say his next words, then went ahead and said them anyway. “It’s too bad that Jeff doesn’t appreciate the half of what you’re capable of.”
“That’s not true—”
He barked out a laugh. “Jeff doesn’t know you like I do. All he sees is what you look like, which is a damn shame, because your mind is the best thing about you. Your brilliant, stubborn, unscrupulous mind, and the sheer force of your willpower.”
Daphne wanted to protest, but Ethan was looking at her with an expression she had never seen before.
It was the look of someone who knows you, knows the best and worst parts of you, knows what you have done and what you are capable of doing, and who chooses you in spite of it all. It was a look Daphne had never seen from Jefferson in all the years they had been dating.
“Stop it,” she hissed, and then again, with greater volume: “Just stop, okay? I don’t know how to win with you!”
“Daphne. It isn’t always about winning.”
“Of course it is!”
She reached up to smooth her hair, feeling powerful and unsettled. Before she could lower her hand again, Ethan caught it in his own. His thumb traced small circles over the back of her wrist—intent, slow, lazy circles that made Daphne’s breath catch. She didn’t pull away, though Ethan’s face was suddenly close to her own. For once there was no sardonic tilt to his full, sensuous mouth.
“Ethan …” Daphne meant to sound reproving, but her voice came out dangerously uncertain.
When he finally lowered his mouth to hers, it seemed inevitable.
The kiss snapped down her body like a drug, coursing wildly along her nerve endings. Daphne pulled him closer. She knew this was a foolish mistake—that she was throwing away all her years of hard work. She didn’t care.
The choice should have been so simple: on the one hand was Jefferson, the prince. Everyone wanted them to be together: Daphne’s parents and Jefferson’s parents and all of America and, ostensibly, Daphne.
Yet here she was. It was as if the touch of Ethan’s lips on hers had short-circuited her brain, and nothing else mattered anymore.
Somehow she’d moved to sit atop him, straddling his lap. They both fumbled in the dark, shoving aside the frothy mountain of her skirts. His lips traveled down her neck, and she tipped her head back, letting her hands curl possessively over his shoulders. She felt as if she and Ethan had become a pair of blades striking to make fire, like sparking against like.
Ethan was right about one thing: Jefferson didn’t know the real her, and he never would.
BEATRICE