“Dad …” She had to swallow to keep her voice from cracking. “Thank you. It really means a lot, that you believe in me.”
“I’ve always believed in you. Sorry if I haven’t done the best job of showing it,” he admitted. “Now, what did you want to ask me? Wasn’t there something you came in here to talk about?”
Sam looked up at her father’s calm smile, his steady brown eyes, so full of wisdom. Suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to hurl accusations at him. He would tell her of his sickness whenever he was ready, and in the meantime, every moment that she got with him was precious.
“No reason, really. Just wanted to spend time with you.” Her eyes drifted to the Box. “Can I help with any of that?”
“Want to answer this for me?” he offered, and slid the envelope toward Sam.
“Am I signing it as you?”
“You could,” her dad said. “Or you could answer as yourself. I think the author of that letter would really love to hear from you.”
She nodded, the sun glinting on her hair as she bent over the paper. “I love you, Dad.”
His Majesty smiled. “Love you, too, kiddo. So much.”
DAPHNE
Daphne swerved aggressively into another lane, resisting the urge to climb too far above the speed limit. She couldn’t afford to get pulled over right now—even though she could probably talk her way out of a ticket.
She was finally going to confront Nina Gonzalez.
It had only gotten worse in the week since those pictures of Nina and Jefferson at the fraternity party surfaced. Whatever happened that night must have resolved their differences, because now they were everywhere together: at a local coffee shop, in courtside seats at a basketball game, walking around the campus of King’s College.
Daphne knew her mom was right: she needed to talk to Nina, alone. She shouldn’t have wasted time trying to go through the prince, not when Nina was clearly the weak point in their relationship.
But crafting a situation in which she could talk to Nina—without Jefferson anywhere nearby—proved more difficult than Daphne had anticipated. She’d debated trying to tail the girl from her college classes, but Daphne knew her face was far too famous; someone would see her and make the connection, and then she would look like a crazy ex-girlfriend lurking around the new girlfriend’s dorm room.
Eventually she’d set internet alerts for mentions of Nina’s name, and vigilantly monitored the various hashtags about Nina and Jefferson. Twenty minutes ago, someone had finally posted something: a blurry cell-phone pic of Nina browsing the designer gowns at Halo.
Halo was a decades-old boutique in the center of Herald Oaks, widely known to have the best dress selection in the city. Daphne couldn’t quite believe that Nina had shown her face here. Didn’t she realize that she was in Daphne’s favorite store, on Daphne’s turf? This was tantamount to a declaration of war.
Her mind drifted to the invitation her family had received earlier this week, on gilt-edged cream paper, stamped with the Washington coat of arms.
The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by Their Majesties
to request the honour of your presence
at a reception celebrating
Her Royal Highness Beatrice Georgina Fredericka Louise
and Lord Theodore Beaufort Eaton
Friday, the seventh of February, at eight in the evening
A reply is requested addressed to the Lord Chamberlain, Washington Palace
Daphne had every intention of going to that engagement party. And if Nina and Jefferson were there together—well, she would make sure that by the end of the night, they no longer were.
She tore into the parking lot of Halo, her nerves on edge, and charged straight through the front doors. She needed to move fast; she had no idea how long Nina would stay. That is, if she hadn’t already left.
There were a lot of people inside the high-ceilinged space: a couple gazing at the jewelry display, a pair of women giggling as they purchased identical quilted purses. Daphne had never understood women who went shopping together and bought the same exact thing. Didn’t they realize the whole point of clothes was to make you stand out?
A few eyes flicked toward her with recognition, though no one greeted her. Daphne wondered which of them had posted the unflattering picture of Nina. She hoped they would think to take a photo of her—she looked utterly fantastic in her ivory sleeveless sweater and creamy leather pants. The monochromatic winter-white look was hard to pull off unless you had an absolutely perfect body. Which, of course, Daphne did.
“Daphne! I didn’t realize you were coming. I’ve got some gowns on hold for you in the back, for Beatrice’s party.” It was her favorite sales associate, Damien: only a few years older than Daphne, with pale blue eyes and a grin that had probably charmed countless women into purchases they didn’t need. As usual, he was wearing a casual button-down and skinny tie.
“It’s all right; I’m here just to browse.” Daphne tried to shrug away the irregularity, but she knew Damien saw right through her. Never in her life had Daphne come to Halo “just to browse.” She always texted him ahead of time, to let him know which event in the endless rotation of court functions she was shopping for. That way, once she arrived, he would already have arranged a dressing room full of options.