Outside, the storm might be raging—but here, in the pocket of warmth they had created, Beatrice felt safe. And loved.
It had stormed the entire night before the royal wedding, prompting a last-minute flurry of activity as harried staffers began to carry out the contingency plans. But by dawn the rain had fallen off, the only sound the occasional drip of water from the shingles of a roof. Now the sun was out in full force, leaving the world sparkling and new—and utterly transformed.
Nina hadn’t seen the city like this since King George’s coronation, when she’d been just a child. The streets were hung with miles of triangular pennants, printed in the red, blue, and gold of the American flag. Even the lampposts had been draped in ribbons and crepe-paper streamers.
“You know we need to leave soon,” Ethan warned, though his voice held an unmistakable note of amusement.
“Ten more minutes. Please?” Nina’s eyes darted to the artist who’d set up at the nearest street corner; he was painting children’s cheeks with miniature hearts and tiaras, free of charge. “I wish I could get my face painted,” she added, almost to herself.
“You’d get a few looks when we walk into the throne room,” Ethan joked, then seemed to fall silent as he realized what he’d said. The two of them would attract plenty of stares as it was, showing up to the wedding as a couple.
It was the reason Nina had begged Ethan to come out onto the streets with her—because she wanted one last moment of normalcy before the chaos descended.
Right now she wasn’t an object of fascination or revulsion. She was just another anonymous member of the buoyant crowds that lined the parade route through the center of town. The wedding would begin in a couple of hours, but the celebrations had been going since early this morning—or, in some cases, since last night.
Enormous projection screens had been set up at major squares and thoroughfares, to air the live wedding coverage. Discordant music blared from various directions: pop songs from portable speakers, a piano bar playing the wedding march. Now and again groups of friends spontaneously burst into the national anthem. Those who were lucky enough to live along the parade route were hosting parties on their balconies, everyone already jostling along the railings in search of the best view. The city was at max capacity: hotels fully booked, friends hosting friends as people poured in from all over the country—all over the world, really—to celebrate Beatrice and Teddy.
Each storefront they passed seemed full of more wedding merchandise than the last. Nina saw foil balloons, tote bags, Christmas ornaments, puzzles, jewelry. Not to mention dozens of “official” cherry cake mixes and cherry brandies. She wondered how much money the government was making off all this.
“Bottled water, two dollars; beer, one dollar,” shouted a guy who was walking through the street, wheeling a cooler behind him. When Nina met his gaze, he grinned and lifted the cooler’s top. Beneath a jumbled assortment of beer cans were a few plastic bottles of zinfandel rosé, labeled with a sticker of Beatrice’s face that he’d definitely made on his home printer.
Nina laughed. This was exactly why she’d wanted to come out here—to see the aspects of the wedding celebration that were decidedly not palace-approved.
She held tight to Ethan’s hand as they wove through the crowds, keeping well away from the media crews. Reporters were already stationed in the streets, speaking rapidly into their microphones as they filmed pre-ceremony footage. Nina had jammed a baseball cap low over her head, and in the crowds she doubted anyone would recognize her as Prince Jefferson’s erstwhile girlfriend. But she wasn’t in the mood to answer questions about Ethan. Or about Jeff and Daphne.
She’d seen that Jeff had officially asked Daphne to the wedding. It was impossible to avoid the internet’s breathless speculation about whether they were getting back together. Earlier this year, that kind of news would’ve been painful to hear—but now Nina didn’t especially care.
There was nothing Daphne could do to hurt her anymore.
As she and Ethan jostled through the crowds, Nina found herself marveling at the scale of it all. There were so many people out here—young and old, in pairs or in massive groups—and every last one of them was smiling. Thousands of strangers, drawn together by the wedding of two people they would probably never meet.
“Beatrice seems more popular than she was at the start of this year,” she observed.
Ethan laughed. “Everyone loves an excuse for a national holiday.”
“You know what I mean. People are getting used to the idea of change.” She tugged at Ethan’s arm, pulling him around a pair of women in hot pink sashes that said QUEEN BEE. “They’re starting to like having a young queen. It makes the country feel youthful and energized.”
“Some of that’s because of Sam and Marshall, too,” Ethan reminded her.
Nina had been thrilled to find out that Sam and Marshall were together for real now, and not just for show. She didn’t know Marshall that well, but she knew one thing for certain: he didn’t try to make Samantha into someone she wasn’t. Which made him leagues better than everyone else in Sam’s life—including, at times, her own family.
They crossed the intersection into Chilton Square. A few soldiers stood at attention, their helmets topped with ceremonial plumes. Nina smiled when she saw that someone had placed a plastic bachelorette tiara atop the statue of Artemis at the fountain’s center. Its veil fell over the goddess’s features, fluttering a little in the wind.
She thought of what her parents had said last week, when she’d gone to ask their advice. She’d explained everything—her situation with Ethan, her painful conversation with Jeff, Ethan’s suggestion that they attend the royal wedding together—and her mom had reached for her hand with a sigh. “Oh, sweetheart. Relationships are never simple.”
“You and Ethan have both occupied a very strange and specific position near the royal family,” her mamá had agreed. “But…you shouldn’t be drawn to Ethan simply because you understand each other’s backgrounds. There’s so much more to both of you. And if you think no one else could relate, you’re doing the rest of the world a disservice.”
Nina hesitated. She thought of all the things she loved about Ethan: his razor-sharp wit, his unexpected softness. The way everything felt more vibrant simply when she was with him.
“No,” she decided. “It’s more than that.”
Isabella shifted closer on the couch. “Then there’s really only one thing to ask yourself. Is Ethan worth it, or not?”
Was he worth it?
The press would paint Nina as even more of a villain this time. She was the woman who’d moved on from the prince to his best friend. The tabloids would probably claim that she was dating Ethan simply out of spite, to punish Jeff for breaking up with her. The world had already resented her, and now it would despise her.
Nina couldn’t begin to imagine the nicknames the internet would give her, once those articles were published.
She remembered what her mom had said earlier this year: that Nina should rely on the people who really knew her to stay grounded. Ethan was one of those people now. At some point this year she’d come to lean on him, and that was worth fighting for.
He drew to a halt in the sea of people and stared down at her, evidently sensing the direction of her thoughts. “We don’t have to do this, if you aren’t ready,” he said softly.
“No.” She shook her head, causing her ponytail to slip loose. “I want to go to this wedding with you. Whatever happens, you’re worth it.”
“I’m worth it?” he said roughly. “Nina, I’m not—I don’t deserve you.”
“It’s not about deserving, Ethan. This isn’t a sports game. We don’t keep tallies of wins and losses. We’re together, and I’m ready for everyone to know it.”
Relief blossomed on his features, and he grabbed Nina beneath the arms, spinning her aroun
d in a ballroom dancing move. When he set her down again, his eyes were bright. “I’m so glad that I met you.”
“You met me a long time ago,” she felt the need to point out.
“But I didn’t know you back then. I thought you were stuck-up and annoying, and impossible to talk to—”
“Is there a compliment in here?”
“—and my reasons for hanging out with you, earlier this year, were totally messed up—”
What did he mean by that? Was he talking about their journalism class?
Ethan caught her hands in his own. “What I’m trying to say is that I was wrong about you. I had no idea…” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I had no idea, Nina Gonzalez, that I would end up being totally crazy about you.”
Nina swallowed. “I’m falling for you, too.”
Ethan laced his hands over her shoulders, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. A few bystanders, seeing them kiss, let out low whoops of approval. Nina smiled against his mouth, leaning further into the kiss—because now, for a little while longer, it didn’t really matter.
A low, droning noise echoed through the air. They both looked up, to see a formation of military planes flying overhead in an elaborate zigzag formation. The aircraft seemed awfully low to Nina.
“Is this some sort of salute?” she started to ask, as the planes swooped still lower—and their cargo hatches flipped open. A bright floral rain fell from the sky: pink and white roses, hydrangeas, and of course cherry blossoms.
The crowds seemed to shout out in a single voice as the flowers fell on their heads, making it momentarily look like the capital had dissolved into swirling pink-and-white waves.
Laughing, Ethan drew a stray petal from Nina’s hair. “I think that’s our cue to get going.”
* * *
It was a bit disorienting, stepping from the vibrant chaos of the streets into the palace’s cool, beeswax-scented calm. Nina had hastily changed out of her shorts and into a gown, which she’d bought online last month; after the way her last dress had been mysteriously “canceled,” she no longer trusted the boutiques in the capital. The gown was beautiful, its lavender silk so pale that it almost looked silver, with a gathered neckline that showed off Nina’s bare shoulders. She’d tucked back her curls with bobby pins, but anyone who stood close would smell the sunshine on her hair.
In the crowds of people making their way through the entrance hall, Nina caught sight of Marshall Davis, dressed in a crisp tuxedo and accompanied by a couple who must be his parents. His grandfather, the current Duke of Orange—wearing the scarlet robes of his position, and a ducal coronet, made of gold with eight gleaming prongs—walked alongside them.
To her own surprise, Nina called out Marshall’s name. He looked up, startled, then muttered something to his parents and started toward her.
“Nina. Hey.” Marshall spoke warily, as if he wasn’t sure what she wanted with him; and really, Nina didn’t know either. She drew to one side of the crowds, near a massive porcelain vase.
“I just…I wanted to see how you’re holding up,” she ventured.
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.”
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