American Royals
Short list. Oh god.
Sam remembered what Beatrice had said the morning after that ball: No one is asking you to get married.
She’d gotten it all wrong. She had assumed Beatrice was pursuing Teddy just because she could, when in fact their parents apparently wanted a royal wedding. Maybe they’d seen all those op-ed articles complaining about Beatrice’s lack of a boyfriend, or maybe they were simply anxious for some grandchildren, to secure the all-important succession for another generation.
“I didn’t realize,” she said quietly.
“Look, Beatrice and I get along,” Teddy said. “We understand each other. But if it was up to me …” He didn’t finish that sentence.
She could only manage a single word. “Why?”
Teddy looked down, avoiding her gaze. “There are certain expectations of me, because of who I am. Especially since my family lost our fortune.”
Sam startled. “What?”
“Like so many old New England families, we made our money generations ago, and have been managing it ever since. Until the last recession hit, and it turned out that my grandfather had placed a lot of it in some volatile investments. He died later that year.
“My family is about to lose everything. All our houses, our positions, our way of life. We’ve already had to lay off hundreds of people, sell off our businesses—did you know my family was the single biggest employer in the Boston area?” Teddy’s voice was rough with anguish. “When you’re in that kind of position and the heir to the throne asks you out … it’s not a question that you say no to. You just don’t.”
Sam glanced out the window, her mind spinning with everything he’d said. One of the Old Guard families about to lose everything, the future of an entire community on their shoulders … it was a lot of weight for one person to carry.
Teddy’s transformation was slight, but Sam noticed it: the way his back went ramrod straight, the new distance in his eyes. It was eerily similar to the transformation she’d seen Beatrice make a thousand times—the way she would snap into her formal, remote self, as if putting on the Washington mask.
“I shouldn’t have told you any of that,” he said, his voice heavy. “No one knows. Not even your sister. Please, can we keep it between us?”
“Of course. What happens in the hot tub stays in the hot tub.” Sam was striving for lightheartedness, but she suddenly heard another meaning to her words.
She saw from the glow of Teddy’s eyes that he did too.
Sam waded toward him, holding out her hands beneath the bubbling surface of the water. Teddy hesitated, then laced his fingers in hers.
“This is a lot for you to take on,” she murmured.
“I’ve always known what’s expected of me, as I’m sure your sister does. It’s why we understand each other.” Teddy gave a lopsided smile. “Though things would have been easier for me and Beatrice if I hadn’t met you first.”
“Teddy …”
“I don’t regret it,” he hurried to say. “No matter what happens, I’m glad that I got to kiss you. Even if it was just once, in a coatroom.”
No matter what happens.
That sentence was a loud, grating record scratch, like nails on chalkboard, because Sam knew the words that Teddy had left out. No matter where things went with him and Beatrice.
No matter if they ended up getting married.
But her sister wasn’t here right now, and Sam refused to cede her this moment. Beatrice might get Teddy for the rest of his life, but she didn’t get him now. This parcel of time existed unto itself, removed from the rest of the world, from consequences or regrets or what-ifs. It didn’t belong to Beatrice at all, but to Teddy and Sam.
Their hands were still clasped under the surface of the water. Sam felt almost light-headed, from the altitude or the heat or the sudden nearness of Teddy’s face.
Their lips touched.
The kiss was gentle and soft, nothing like their fevered kisses in the cloakroom that night. It was the kiss they might have shared if they’d met under other circumstances. If they’d had the chance to go on real dates, if Beatrice had never gotten between them.
Sam lifted her hands to splay them over the planes of Teddy’s chest, then draped them over his shoulders. She held tight to him, as if she were still tumbling down the mountain and he was the only solid thing left in the world. Everything seemed to go luscious, and slow, and still.
Finally, after an impossible stretch of time, Teddy leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing hard. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t ever apologize for kissing me.”
There was that smile, the one that Sam found herself desperate to see again. “Noted” was all he said.
“It’s getting late.” Reluctantly, Sam reached for her ponytail and wrung it out over one shoulder like a wet rag. She stepped out of the hot tub and shrugged into one of the robes in the heated cedar closet.
Before she headed back inside, she cast one last glance back out at the mountains, still covered in the glittering carpet of last night’s snowfall. There was something evocative about the sight, something bright and glittering and full of promise.
DAPHNE