Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,15
she is stunning, with long dark hair and smooth brown skin.
And when she looks down at me, I see she has lovely brown eyes that crinkle at the corners as she smiles. “Oh, hullo!” she says brightly. “I didn’t even see you there!”
That’s probably because I’m basically a squirrel while she’s a giraffe, and I give an awkward wave. “I tend to blend in.”
“Oh, you’re American!” she trills, then gestures behind her impatiently. “LOOK, PERRY, I’VE FOUND AN AMERICAN!” she calls, loud enough to make me wince.
No woodland creatures in her wake, but the boy who follows her is a bit . . . rabbity.
That’s not nice, probably, but there’s a slight overbite situation happening, plus he seems nervous and jumpy, especially compared to the girl he’s standing next to.
“I’m Sakshi.” She offers her hand for me to shake, and I take it, grateful that someone in this place seemed like a normal human being.
“Millie.”
Sakshi grins, showing a crooked tooth, and finally, something slightly imperfect about this perfect girl. I’d been starting to wonder if you had to be a supermodel to get into this place, and I was some kind of charity case. “Millie,” she repeats. “Cute. I like it.”
I’d never thought of my name as being “cute” before, but Sakshi doesn’t seem to be teasing, so I just go with it. “Technically Amelia, but no one ever calls me that.”
She jerks a thumb over her shoulder at the guy standing just behind her. “And this is Perry, who is actually a Peregrine.”
“Please stop telling people that,” he says, leaning forward so that he can shake my hand, too. He’s a good six inches shorter than Sakshi, his hair bright orangey red, freckles smattering his milk-white skin everywhere that I can see.
“So you’re American,” he says as he steps a little closer. He’s also wearing the Gregorstoun sweater vest, but it looks a little big on him.
“Yeah,” I say, shifting my weight to my other foot. “From Texas.”
It occurs to me that that might not mean anything to them, and when Sakshi says, “Perry and I are both from Northampton,” I realize that where she’s from doesn’t mean anything to me, either. This is a weird bit of culture shock I hadn’t really anticipated.
But I nod at the two of them and smile, figuring that fake it till you make it is about to be my new motto around here.
“Well, come along,” Sakshi says, threading an arm through mine and tugging me back toward the stairs. “I assume you’re on your way to the Girls’ Tea.”
I nod, letting myself be dragged along in her wake with Perry.
“It used to just be the First Years’ Tea,” he says as we make our way down the stairs. I spot a few portraits of stern-looking men in tartan, as well as some framed black-and-white photographs of uniformed boys standing in front of the school.
“But they’re doing a special one just for the girls,” he continues, and Sakshi sighs, waving her free hand.
“Yes, yes, Perry, I’m sure Millie here could put together what I meant by a ‘Girls’ Tea,’ for heaven’s sake. She’s American, not stupid.”
“Thanks? I think?” I say as we come to the bottom of the stairs.
There are more girls milling around now, some who are clearly my age, but a lot who seem younger. Sakshi looks at them, the corners of her mouth turning down.
“Poor loves,” she says. “There aren’t many of us intrepid ladies this year, and I feel it’s going to be harder on the younger ones. I’ve even got one as my roommate, you know. Some little horsey girl.”
“Horsey girl?” I ask, and Sakshi waves a hand.
“There’s always a handful. Those girls entirely too invested in horses. Anyway, there aren’t enough of us ladies to pair us all up with our own age group, so some of us have to room with the little ones, yours truly included.”
She takes a deep breath, folding her hands in front of her. “Like I said, poor dears. I only have to survive for a year. They’re here for ages.”
Okay, “survive” is not how I want to think of my time here in my brand-new, exciting life.
“It’s not going to be that bad,” I say, shrugging. “I mean, we all chose to be here, right?”
“Saks did,” Perry said. “I have never chosen to be at Gregors- toun, and I want that noted for the record. And possibly engraved on my headstone.”
Rolling her eyes, Saks leans down and says to me, “Perry