Marshall’s mouth curled with a hint of amusement. “Don’t worry, I can handle myself without Sam for a while. Believe it or not, this isn’t my first royal wedding. I was at Margaret and Nate’s, at the redwood grove outside Carmel—”
“I meant the media attention,” Nina cut in clumsily. “Marshall—I know how it feels, being put through the wringer for dating a Washington. I’m here if you ever want to talk about it. There aren’t many people who really understand, you know?”
Hearing her own words, she remembered the day Daphne had told her the exact same thing—Trust me when I say that I understand. I’m probably the only person who understands. But unlike Daphne, Nina thought adamantly, she meant it.
Marshall shifted his weight. Suddenly, Nina caught a glimpse of what Sam saw in him: that behind his swagger—which was more an endearing, boyish charm than actual arrogance—he was startlingly vulnerable.
“I’d be lying if I said it’s all been smooth sailing, but Sam is worth it. I really care about her, you know.”
“I know.” When she’d first heard about this whole fake-relationship stunt, Nina had been so certain it was a terrible idea. She was glad Marshall had proved her wrong.
“Besides,” he went on, and now that cheeky tone was back in his voice, “the media coverage has been getting better. I think the nation is starting to fall for me. And really, who could blame them?”
Nina huffed out a laugh, though Marshall was right. She’d seen the tone of the comments shifting in recent weeks. Of course, plenty of people still didn’t approve, but more and more Americans were rooting for him and Samantha. Perhaps because they saw the genuine happiness on both their faces, and realized that this was something real. Or perhaps because they, too, were people of color, and liked seeing a Washington with someone who looked like them.
“Speaking of Sam, I was going to find her before the ceremony starts,” Marshall added, glancing over his shoulder.
Nina nodded; Ethan was probably waiting for her in the throne room. “Right. See you later.”
The foyer had thinned out in the last few minutes. Nina picked up her steps, turning into the main central hallway—just as Prince Jefferson turned the corner.
He was wearing the most excruciatingly formal version of his ceremonial uniform, complete with gloves, and a saber and scabbard that positively glowed. Dressed in all that crimson fabric and gold braid, he seemed unfairly handsome, like the hero of some romance novel who’d stepped out of the pages and into real life.
When he saw her, Jeff sucked in a breath.
For a long moment the two of them just stood there. Nina imagined the silence flowing around them like a river, swirling with invisible eddies and currents as it grew ever deeper.
Looking at Jeff, Nina didn’t see him as her ex-boyfriend, or even the handsome prince of her adolescent daydreams. She saw the Jeff who had been her friend, the little boy she used to run around the palace with, hunting for secret passageways with Sam.
She remembered when the three of them had once locked themselves inside a maintenance room. Jeff and Nina had been terrified, but Sam had just held tight to their hands and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll never let anything hurt either of you.” Nina was too shy to voice it, but she remembered feeling that way, too: that she would go to war with anyone who tried to harm Jeff.
Except that was her now, wasn’t it? She hadn’t set out to hurt Jeff, yet she had hurt him, maybe worse than anyone.
“Jeff. Hi,” she whispered, and took a hesitant step forward. He watched her but didn’t move. Nina held out a hand, as if to touch his arm in silent support.
His phone buzzed, and the trancelike thread between them snapped.
“I have to go,” he said stiffly, and turned away.
Nina swallowed back a protest and nodded, watching Jeff’s retreating form. He would forgive her, and Ethan, when he was ready, she told herself—and hoped desperately that it was true.
She could hear the slap of his saber against his polished boots long after he’d walked away.
Subdued, she headed down the hall to the throne room. At the doors the usher asked for her name, then showed her to her seat, which was in the same row as Ethan’s—they had both been placed in the back, along with other low-ranking friends of the family. Nina glanced around the vast space, wondering where her parents were. The normal wooden pews of the throne room had been removed, replaced with chairs covered in tufted velvet cushions and hung across the back with garlands of flowers. Nina could smell all those thousands of blossoms, light and crisp beneath the heavier scents of perfumes and dry cleaning and body heat.
“There you are.” Ethan grinned as she settled into her seat. “You know, I wish you had gotten your face painted. A red ‘Beatrice + Teddy 4-ever’ would have gone fantastic with that dress.”
The anxious fluttering in Nina’s stomach settled a little. Right now, the important thing was that she and Ethan were here, together.
“If only we’d gotten matching ones,” she whispered in reply.
They were inside the palace, but still, Nina reached out for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it.
Samantha longed to collapse onto the love seat with her sister and close her eyes. But now that she was in her gown, she wasn’t allowed to sit down, for fear of wrinkling the fabric. Sam would have complained, except that even she was absolutely in love with this dress.
The form-fitting ivory satin was deceptively simple, with a crew neck and cap sleeves. No lace—as Sam’s mother always said, lace was exclusively for brides—but Wendy Tsu had added sixty organza-covered buttons down the back. To show them off, and in a nod to Sam’s typically casual style, Queen Adelaide had even let her sweep her hair into a chic bouncy ponytail.
Beatrice shifted on the love seat, still wearing her silken white robe. Her hair had been styled into glossy dark curls, and pinned half up beneath the Winslow tiara. In the center of the room, on a wheeled clothing rack, her wedding gown hung in all its glowing splendor.
Sam noticed an unmistakable flicker of sadness in her sister’s expression. “Bee, is everything okay?”
Beatrice let out a shaky breath. “I just…I wish Dad was here.”
Sam crossed the room in two strides, then pulled her sister into a fierce hug.
Neither of them spoke. But it was a soft, easy sort of silence, because Sam knew they were both thinking of their dad.
“It’s hard, doing all of this without him,” Beatrice went on. “There’s this hole where he should be—and no matter how happy I am about everything else, I can’t stop wishing he was here.”
Sam’s throat closed up. “He is here, Bee. He’s looking down on you and smiling.”
Sorrow glinted in Beatrice’s eyes. “I know. But I still miss him, so much. I love Uncle Richard, but he’s not the first person I would’ve picked to walk me down the aisle.”
Sam stood up a little straighter. “Do you want me to talk to Mom? She should have agreed to walk with you from the beginning.” Queen Adelaide was down the hall in the Blue Chamber, along with Teddy and his groomsmen; she’d chosen to let Jeff lead her down the aisle, rather than walk with Beatrice—as her husband would have, if he were still here.
“It’s fine.” Beatrice shook her head at Sam’s expression. “Don’t be hard on Mom. Today is supposed to be a joyful day, for all of us. I won’t ask her to do something that would cause her pain.”
Sam blinked. “Bee—what if you walk yourself?”
At her sister’s stunned look, she rushed to explain. “Hear me out. You’re the queen, the highest-ranking person in this country. The only person who can give you away is yourself. So why don’t you walk down the aisle alone?”
Beatrice glanced down, her hands twisting in the fabric of her robe. Her silver sequined heels glinted in the light.
“I…plenty of people will be angry,” she said nervously.
Sam hated that her sister was right. A young woman heading down the aisle by herself—it was a snub to convention, a blatant show of independence.
“Maybe they will,” she acknowledged. “But what better way to start changing their minds?”
Beatrice hesitated, then tipped her chin up, her expression stubborn and quietly resolute. Sam couldn’t help thinking that she looked startlingly like their father when he’d been on the brink of a decision.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
There was a knock at the door, and Robert Standish peered into the room. “Your Majesty, the hair and makeup artists are here to do final touch-ups. Then Wendy Tsu will help you into your dress.”
The room was about to dissolve into a small hurricane of hairspray and lipstick. Sam cast a pleading glance at her sister, who laughed in understanding. “You can go, Sam,” Bee said. “Just don’t stay away too long.”
“Thank you,” Sam breathed.