She could forget that the Guard trailing her movements wasn’t Connor, but Jake.
But the forgetting never lasted long enough. Because everything in the palace now reminded Beatrice of Connor: of the wicked edge to his humor, the quick, sure grace of his movements. The way his blue-gray eyes lit up every time he saw her.
Even though there were more people than ever at the palace these days, even though she now had a fiancé, Beatrice had never felt so alone.
She got out of bed and went to open her windows, to gaze at the net of lights that glittered over the capital. The streetlamps blazed in straight, clean lines around the rectangle of darkness that marked John Jay Park.
Her stomach growled resentfully. Teddy’s family had come over for dinner tonight, to discuss next week’s engagement party, and Beatrice hadn’t had much of an appetite. She’d forced herself to swallow a few bites of her swordfish, but it felt like shards of glass in her stomach. Luckily no one had noticed—just as no one seemed to look past her false smiles, to notice the shadow that lingered in her eyes.
With a heavy sigh, Beatrice pulled on a robe and headed downstairs to the kitchens. The stainless-steel appliances and sleek black cooktops gleamed invitingly. No one was here at this hour: the first sous-chefs and busboys wouldn’t arrive until six a.m.
She opened the refrigerator, about to grab one of the containers of leftovers that the cooks always kept here for just this situation, only to pause. She didn’t want the cold remnants of tonight’s dinner. For once in her life, Beatrice would cook something for herself.
After a few minutes of clattering around, she unearthed a massive saucepan. She poured water into it and set it on the stove to boil, fumbling with the knobs. What was that mesh thing Connor had used to drain the cooked pasta? And where in this vast kitchen was she supposed to find pasta, anyway?
That night in the cabin felt like it belonged to another lifetime, another Beatrice. How simple everything had been back then, before she knew about her father’s condition. Before she’d had to give up Connor.
She braced her palms on the counter, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. And finally—now that she didn’t have to keep that fragile smile on her face, now that there was no one around to see—she let herself cry.
“Beatrice? Are you okay?”
Samantha stood in the doorway, wearing a robe identical to Beatrice’s; their mom had given them as Christmas gifts this year. Her hair was pulled into a messy side ponytail that made her whole head look lopsided. Typical Samantha.
Beatrice hastily wiped away her tears. “I was trying to make pasta,” she admitted. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, I guess. I didn’t eat much at dinner.”
“Oh.” Beatrice felt suddenly tentative and uncertain around her sister. In all her own discomfort at the meal with Teddy’s family, she hadn’t really thought that it might be awkward for Samantha, too. But wasn’t she over Teddy by now?
Sam kicked one fuzzy slipper idly against the other. “Remember the time we came in here before a state dinner and accidentally knocked over that enormous cake?”
“They had to send someone out at the last minute to buy fifty tubs of lemon sorbet,” Beatrice recollected. That was back before her grandfather died, when she could get away with behavior like that. “We got in so much trouble that night.”
“We were always in trouble,” Sam countered, and shrugged. “At least, Jeff and I were.”
The water in the pot began to boil. Beatrice made a helpless noise and turned back toward it. She still hadn’t found any pasta.
“I think there’s some mac and cheese in the pantry,” Sam pointed out.
“Which pantry?” Beatrice knew about the crystal pantry, the silver pantry, the china pantry—
“The one with food in it.” Sam sounded almost amused. “Here, I’ll look for it.”
Beatrice tried to hide her surprise at Samantha’s offer. “That would be great, actually.”
Her sister ducked into the pantry, emerging moments later with a blue-and-white box labeled MACARONI AND CHEESE: ROYAL ADVENTURE! The flat noodles were shaped like tiny tiaras and stars, as well as a girl in a ball gown that Beatrice suspected was meant to be her.
“Whoever’s in charge of restocking has a sense of humor,” she heard herself say. Sam lifted an eyebrow but didn’t reply.
Neither of them spoke as Sam ripped open the box, poured the noodles into the hot water, then drained them several minutes later. She measured out butter and milk from the fridge before stirring it with the powdered cheese sauce.
“How do you know all this?”
“It’s just mac and cheese; anyone can do it,” Sam pointed out, then winced. “Sorry, I didn’t …”
“It’s okay. We both know I’m not anyone normal.” Beatrice laughed, but there was no humor in it. She hated how helpless she was at such simple domestic tasks. She hated that this life had ruined her for a normal one.
“Most of cooking is just following the directions. It really isn’t hard.”
Then I should be great at it, Beatrice thought plaintively. All she ever did was follow instructions.
Sam scooped the pasta into two cereal bowls and grabbed a pair of spoons, then hiked herself up onto the counter to sit with her feet dangling over the edge. After a moment Beatrice followed suit. Well, it wasn’t as if they were about to carry late-night mac and cheese into the formal dining room.