American Royals
“I’m sorry for running out like that, and for the way everyone was staring at us. I haven’t been on a lot of dates before,” she fumbled to say, “but I do know that they aren’t supposed to go like this.”
“Our first date was never going to be normal.”
Beatrice managed an uncertain smile. “Probably not, but we still could have gone somewhere without a literal audience.”
Teddy chuckled at that, then quieted.
“Beatrice. I want you to know that I …” He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “Respect you,” he decided at last.
That didn’t sound particularly romantic, but Beatrice realized that Teddy wasn’t striving for romance. He was just telling her the truth.
“Thank you,” she said cautiously.
“Before we met, I wasn’t sure what to expect of you. I didn’t realize how thoughtful, and smart, and dedicated you are. You’re going to be an amazing first queen. If this was a world where people could, I don’t know, vote for their monarch, I know that America would still pick you. I would pick you.”
Elect the king or queen—what a funny concept. Everyone knew that elections only worked for judges and Congress. Making the executive branch pander to the people, go out begging for votes—that could only end in disaster. That structure would attract the wrong sort of people: power-hungry people with twisted agendas.
Teddy gave an uncertain smile. “I realize this is all a setup, that your parents are the ones who asked you to go out with me.”
She stiffened. “Teddy …”
“I get it,” he said smoothly. “I’m under the same kind of pressure.”
“You only came here tonight because your parents asked you to?”
“No—I mean yes, they did—but I’m trying to tell you that I understand how it feels. Being the heir to a dukedom isn’t that different from being the heir to a kingdom, just on a smaller scale. I know what it’s like to have burdens and commitments that other people can’t understand. And even if they did understand them …”
They would run in the other direction, and leave the tangle of responsibilities with us, Beatrice silently finished.
Teddy shifted on the seat next to her. “I didn’t go into this thinking that I would like you, but I do. So I hope that our first date isn’t also our last.”
Beatrice gave a slow nod. He was right: among all the young men her parents had picked for her, Teddy was a pleasant surprise. “Me neither,” she admitted.
As they returned to the shadows of the royal box, her family cast her a few curious glances, but Beatrice ignored them. She settled back into her chair, smoothing her black cocktail dress around her legs so that it wouldn’t wrinkle.
She told herself that Teddy was right. They might not be in love with each other, in a passionate, head-over-heels, romance-novel sort of way, but at the very least they understood each other.
Maybe she was watching for him, or maybe her nerves were just on high alert, but Beatrice noticed the moment Connor slipped into the box. He planted himself just inside the door, standing in the typical Revere Guard manner, his spine straight, his holstered weapons within reach. She wondered if he’d come here under orders, or out of curiosity—to see the musical that brought even Princess Beatrice to tears.
Some foolish instinct made her try to catch his eye, but Connor didn’t look her way. His gaze was fixed on the stage, as inscrutable as ever.
SAMANTHA
Not even Midnight Crown could distract Samantha from the fact that Teddy Eaton was sitting mere inches from her, on a date with her sister.
She spent the entire second act in a low throbbing agitation, hyperaware of how close Teddy was. So close that Sam could slap him across the face, or grab his shirt with both fists and yank him forward to kiss him.
Honestly, she hadn’t ruled out either possibility.
For some masochistic reason, she kept replaying their interaction in her head, examining it from every angle, like a jeweler studying the facets of a gemstone in various lighting. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she’d thought there was something real between her and Teddy. What had prompted him to ping-pong from her straight to Beatrice? Was he really just another of those shallow guys who went after Beatrice for the wrong reasons, who wanted nothing more than to be America’s first king consort?
How had Sam’s instincts about him been so off base?
She was relieved when the performance ended and they all filed into the reception hall for the afterparty. Servers passed with trays of hors d’oeuvres: deviled quail eggs, goat cheese arancini, smoked salmon arranged on tiny slices of cucumber. Most of the cast was already here, still wearing their costumes, their faces slick with makeup and sweat.
“You okay?” Nina asked meaningfully. She knew how difficult it had been for Sam, seeing Teddy with Beatrice.
Sam cast her friend a grateful look. She was so glad Nina had agreed to come with her tonight. Something about her friend’s no-nonsense humor, her fierce and unwavering sense of self, made Samantha feel like she could face anything.
“I need a drink,” Sam decided. “Want to come?”
Nina hesitated. Her gaze drifted behind Sam and softened imperceptibly. “That’s okay. I’ll wait for you here,” Nina murmured. Sam glanced around, wondering who had prompted that look, but the only person standing there was Jeff.