American Royals

Daphne had worried that her skiing ability might be a deal-breaker—that she might lose Jefferson’s interest if she couldn’t keep up with him on the slopes—and therefore had thrown herself into ski lessons with an almost violent aggression. Her decision to ski, rather than snowboard like Jefferson did, had been a no-brainer: Queen Adelaide and Princess Beatrice skied, and therefore so would Daphne.

“How was your Christmas?” Jefferson asked.

“It was great,” Daphne said automatically, though she’d kept so busy that Christmas had come and gone almost without her noticing. It wasn’t as if her family was the type to curl up with cookies and carols, anyway.

Daphne had spent the holiday season at a whirlwind of public events. She’d attended the opening of the National Portrait Gallery’s new exhibit, a welcome reception in honor of Lady Siqi, the new ambassadress from China, and dozens of Christmas carol concerts. She had RSVP’d yes to so many cocktail parties and benefits that she sometimes stopped by five events in a single night. Daphne kept hoping that Jefferson might turn up at one of them, might see her and realize just how much he missed her. By the end, she felt like the bait at the end of a fishing hook, being tossed over and over into the water, waiting powerlessly for the prince to bite.

He didn’t bite. He didn’t even attend any of those events. The only member of the royal family Daphne kept seeing was Princess Beatrice, often accompanied by Theodore Eaton.

If only she’d gone to the opening-night performance of Midnight Queen. She could so easily have been there; she knew plenty of people who rented a box for the season, many of whom owed her a favor in some form or another. But Daphne hadn’t guessed that Jefferson would attend a musical, not when he hadn’t been to a single one in all the years they’d dated. The king and queen must have insisted on it, for Beatrice’s first public outing with Teddy.

They were nearing the end of the lift; Daphne needed to say something now, or lose her chance. “To be honest, it was a weird Christmas,” she told Jefferson. “It didn’t feel the same without you.”

“Daphne …” The prince edged closer on the chair, his dark eyes burning.

They’d reached the unloading point. Whatever he’d been about to tell her, he let it go, placing his back foot between his bindings and slipping down a few meters. By the time Daphne had untucked her poles and come to join him, his grin was as bright and careless as ever.

“The snow looked great over on Giant Steps,” she offered.

Jefferson gave an easy nod. “I’m always game to do Steps.” Behind them, the rest of the group had disembarked from the chairlift. Daphne was relieved to see them ski farther down, toward one of the other, less intense runs that fed off this lift.

Jefferson had already edged down to the entrance to Giant Steps. It was a thin funnel that shot just below the chairlift, and hadn’t been groomed in what looked like weeks. The snow was deep, thick banks piling up on the edges as people turned down the steep middle.

Daphne was about to drop into the chute when Ethan coasted over. He slid to a stop directly in her path.

“What are you doing here, Daphne?”

“I was trying to ski, except that you seem to be in my way.”

“Are you really this desperate?” Ethan stared at her through the curved lens of his blue-tinted goggles. “You don’t seriously expect any of us to think this was a coincidence?”

“I don’t really care what you think.”

As if she was about to share her plans with Ethan Beckett. Daphne played her own game and kept her own counsel, and the last thing she needed was his interference.

Ethan didn’t budge. “Daphne … I’m pretty sure that Jeff is with someone else now.”

She laughed. “Is this because of what Natasha said at the photo call? Because I’m the one who planted that question.” Anything to get Jefferson thinking about her again, to remind him how much America adored the idea of the two of them together.

“No,” Ethan persisted. “There’s something going on between him and Nina.”

“Nina?” Daphne scoured her memory of St. Ursula’s, of all the various daughters and granddaughters of the aristocracy, but couldn’t think of a single one named Nina.

“Samantha’s friend, Nina Gonzalez.”

“The Minister of the Treasury’s daughter?”

Ethan snorted. “I should have known that’s how you would think of her. In terms of her proximity to power.”

Daphne ignored him. She could have laughed from sheer relief. Of course she knew Nina—that girl with split ends and atrocious fashion sense, who was always trailing along after Samantha, probably hoping to get invited on another five-star vacation.

“You’re wrong,” Daphne said dismissively.

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you see them together?” She hated herself for the way her voice rose with the question.

“They’ve been staring at each other all weekend. And at the press call yesterday—”

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Daphne cut in. She pushed past Ethan, and this time, he didn’t stop her.

The run was narrower than Daphne remembered, forcing her up onto her edges for each rapid turn. Far below she saw Jefferson’s gray form, carving loosely down the center of the run.