When she reached the bar, Sam asked the bartender for two glasses of wine and a whiskey sour, just as an all-too-familiar figure stepped up next to her. “No beer tonight?” Teddy asked.
As if it hadn’t been enough for him to spend the entirety of the performance tormenting her, now he had to ruin the afterparty, too.
Samantha pursed her lips and said nothing, determined to be cool and aloof. She didn’t owe Teddy an answer. She didn’t owe him anything, even if her traitorous body persisted in leaning toward him. She tried—and failed—not to remember how it had felt, being pressed up against him in the scented darkness of the coatroom.
Teddy seemed determined to try again. “What did you think of the show?”
Sam glanced up at him, her eyes snapping fire. “If you must know,” she said coldly, “I thought it was utterly inspired. It reminded me of the Henriad.”
She’d expected the reference to go over his head, but to her annoyance, Teddy nodded in understanding. “Of course—Shakespeare’s early history plays. Because Midnight Crown tells America’s story to America the same way that Shakespeare told England’s to the English.” He smiled at her, an off-kilter smile that set her stupid heart racing. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Shakespeare enthusiast.”
“Right, because Beatrice is the smart one,” Sam said venomously. “I’m just the girl you made out with in a closet, until my sister finally deigned to meet with you.”
Teddy recoiled at her words. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I—”
Sam ignored him, reaching for the drinks that the bartender slid toward her. “See you, Teddy.” Her peacock-blue dress fluttered around her stilettos as she stalked back across the room toward her friend.
Nina was still chatting with Jeff; the sight of them deep in conversation, their heads tipped together with surprising intimacy, caught Sam off guard. She didn’t remember them getting along this well in the past.
“How’d you know I wanted a whiskey?” Jeff exclaimed in delight, reaching for the cocktail as Sam handed Nina one of the glasses of wine.
“That was for me, actually, but you can have it,” Sam replied. “I love you just that much.”
“And here I was thinking our twin telepathy had finally started working.” Jeff clinked his glass lightly to hers. “Thanks.”
Sam’s eyes cut back to Nina. “Why does he keep trying to talk to me?”
“I think Teddy is just trying to be polite,” Nina offered, realizing at once who she meant.
Jeff frowned in confusion. “Teddy Eaton? We barely know him.”
“Exactly,” Samantha snapped. Teddy barely knew her, yet already he had judged her, found her wanting, and upgraded to Beatrice. She swirled her wine over and over, building her own little tornado within the confines of her glass.
“What did he say to you?” Jeff asked, clearly confused. Nina shot him a warning glance, silently urging him to drop the subject.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said heavily.
She hadn’t told her brother about her and Teddy, but she knew he’d sensed that something was going on. When the twins were children, their emotions had always blurred together: whatever one of them was feeling, the other instantly amplified it. Their nanny used to joke that they were incapable of laughing alone or crying alone. Even now, it was hard for one of them to be happy if the other one wasn’t.
Samantha forced herself to smile. She hated herself for wondering if Teddy was watching—if he even bothered to care how she felt.
“Let’s take a pic,” she suggested, holding out her phone for a selfie. Nina, predictably, stepped aside; she never posed in photographs with Sam. Jeff gave an easy grin and sidled closer as Samantha snapped the photo.
“Are you still Fiona von Trapp?” Nina asked.
Samantha swiped across the screen to add silly cartoon sunglasses atop her and Jeff’s faces. “Jeff is Spike Wales. That’s equally absurd,” she pointed out, fighting back a smile.
The twins’ social media presence was a source of endless frustration in the palace’s PR department. Members of the royal family weren’t supposed to have personal profiles; the only approved account was the palace’s official one, @WashingtonRoyal, which had a full-time manager and photo editor. Ignoring that rule, Sam and Jeff had created private accounts of their own, using fake names, and limiting their followers to their hundred or so closest friends.
It never lasted. Inevitably, the palace discovered the accounts and shut them down. But Sam and Jeff would just decide upon even more outlandish names, pick out cartoon hedgehogs or unicorns or something equally comical for their profile pictures, and start the whole thing over again.
“I’m starving, and these appetizers are bird food,” Jeff announced, draping his arms casually over Sam’s and Nina’s shoulders and pulling them close together. “Anyone want to go home and order pizza? Or we could stop by a Wawa,” he added in a strange tone.
Nina chuckled at that, though Sam didn’t really get why. “We’d better text in the order now,” she said, setting her still-full wineglass on a side table. Of course, no one actually delivered pizza to the palace; they would have to send one of the footmen out in plainclothes to pick it up.
As they headed out of the party and toward the front drive, Samantha reminded herself that it didn’t matter what Teddy thought of her. It didn’t matter that the entire world thought she was less than Beatrice, as long as she had Nina and Jeff. These two people, at least, knew the real her.