American Royals

In the early days, Damien had knowingly let Daphne return dresses she had worn—she would leave the tags on, tucking them behind her bra if she could, then bring the garments back to Halo the next day. Damien never said a word, just winked and gave Daphne the full refund. The moment her relationship with Prince Jefferson went public, he’d talked the manager into giving her a full promotional discount, so that she could buy items at cost. Even after she and the prince broke up, he hadn’t taken the discount away.

“You’re going to love the new gowns that just came in.” Damien resolutely tried to steer her in the opposite direction. “There’s a blush-colored one that will look perfect on you—Arabella Sykes tried to buy it yesterday, but I told her it was spoken for.” He waved at another salesperson, who bustled off, presumably to find the dress in question.

Daphne knew what he was doing, engaging the rest of the store in a silent conspiracy to keep her away from Nina, and she adored him all the more for it. But she wasn’t about to be dissuaded from her mission.

“I actually wanted to look through the formal wear myself this time,” Daphne told him, and headed toward the wing of the store that housed all the gowns. This time Damien made no move to stop her.

Sure enough, there was Nina, browsing the gowns with a perplexed frown on her face. Daphne noted with pleasure that she was wearing stretchy black athleisure pants, with a baggy top that looked like it more rightfully belonged to someone’s grandmother. Her combat boots kept making an undignified squeaky noise over the floors.

Didn’t Nina realize that she was a public figure now, and couldn’t leave her dorm room looking anything but perfect?

“Nina!” Daphne exclaimed, pleased at how truly surprised she sounded. “What a coincidence. Is Samantha here?”

“Oh, um—Daphne. Hi,” the other girl stammered, evidently caught off guard. “Sam isn’t here, actually. It’s just me.”

Daphne’s ears pricked up at her tone. Something had clearly happened between the so-called best friends. Maybe Samantha didn’t approve of Nina dating her twin brother. Maybe that was what had bothered the princess at the New Year’s party—the reason she’d been standing at the bar alone, looking for someone to drink with. Because she’d just found out that her brother and her best friend were sneaking around behind her back.

Daphne put back a printed jumpsuit she’d been pretending to examine. “Honestly, I don’t know who decided that jumpsuits count as formal attire,” she said conversationally. “I know they make our legs look fantastic, but we can’t exactly wear pants to Beatrice’s engagement party. That’s what you’re shopping for, right?”

“Trying to,” Nina said awkwardly.

So, she was going. At least now Daphne was forewarned. She could handle this. She was Daphne Deighton, and she could handle anything.

“I’ve actually been hoping I might run into you. How are you holding up, after those horrible articles?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” Nina pretended to examine a price tag, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“I’ve been through it all, too, you know,” Daphne said earnestly. “I get how totally awful it is. I just wanted to say that I’m here, if you ever need any help.”

Nina seemed confused by this unprecedented gesture of friendship from her boyfriend’s ex. “That’s really nice, but I wouldn’t want to bother you,” she said warily.

Daphne shook her head. “Jefferson and I are friends,” she insisted. “I know you and I have never been close, but it’s clear to me that he cares about you. Trust me when I say that I understand. I’m probably the only person on earth who understands.”

She saw Nina listening, softening, in spite of herself. “It really does suck,” Nina ventured.

“Doesn’t it?” Daphne asked, and their eyes met in what Nina surely thought was a look of empathy.

“This dress would look amazing on you,” Daphne went on, taking the reins of the conversation firmly in hand. “Though it’s too big. I wonder where Damien is?”

Unsurprisingly, he appeared right away. He’d likely been eavesdropping from the other side of the clothing rack. Not that Daphne minded. If he sold this story to the press, it could only reflect well on her.

“Can we get a fitting room, and can you please pull some things for Nina?” she asked sweetly, leading the other girl away.

“I couldn’t—you don’t need to—”

“Come on, the ball is in just a few days, and you clearly weren’t making any progress on your own,” Daphne reminded her. “Besides, this is way more fun than shopping alone.”

Within minutes they were at the back of the store, twin racks of gowns rolled up alongside them. There were dozens to choose from: silk and chiffon, balloon-sleeved and sleeveless, tailored and slouchy. Though Daphne noted with a proprietary pleasure that Damien hadn’t really brought out the best options, as if he wanted to quietly undermine her efforts to help Nina. The thought warmed her.

She smiled and began to sort through the various gowns, weeding out the rejects with brutal determination. While Nina retreated into a dressing room to try them on, one after the other, Daphne kept up a steady stream of chatter, confessing that People had trashed the first outfit she wore in public—“It was this awful green dress that made me look seasick; I don’t know what I was thinking,”—and that in the first few weeks, she read every one of the thousands of comments on those online articles.