Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,30
second before he gives a shrug, tosses back the rest of his beer, and then . . . bops the blonde on the tip of her nose with his index finger.
Instead of snatching his finger off like she should so obviously do, the blonde actually giggles, shifting her weight and tilting her head so that her hair swings in front of her face just so.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Saks mutters, watching them, but then Seb is swaggering over, hands in his pockets.
“Seriously?” he asks, nodding at the boy. “Just one bloke?”
“He was bothering us,” Flora says, and I look back and forth between the two of them.
“He really wasn’t—” I start to say, but Gilly cuts me off.
“Four to one, it’s just not sporting, Flo.”
“Indeed,” one of the dark-haired boys says. “This seems beneath us.”
Thoroughly confused now, I look around the table. “Wait, what are we talking about?”
But again, I might as well not even be here. “Beneath you?” Flora echoes. “Dons, you’re banned from the Balmoral Hotel because you tried to fly your underwear from the flagpole.”
“I did not try,” Dons replies with all the solemnity he can muster. “I succeeded. Or came near enough. Spiffy was there, and—”
“I’m sorry, can I just go now?” the guy who started all this asks, jerking his thumb back toward his table. “Because I deeply regret coming over here.” He gestures at me. “No offense, but you’re not even that hot.”
“So much offense?” I reply, and both Flora and Sakshi scowl at the guy, Flora’s fingers tightening around her pint glass.
Almost as one, Spiffy, Dons, Gilly, and Seb look where the guy is pointing.
“Ah, you’ve got mates!” Gilly says happily, clapping his hands together. “Well, in that case . . .”
And with that, he throws a punch.
The guy staggers back, his drink crashing to the floor, and the other guys at his table all shoot to their feet while Seb and his friends grin.
Seb even throws me another wink. “Sorry about this, love,” he says, and then there is a full-on fight happening.
The dude has rallied from Gilly’s admittedly pretty weak punch, and he grabs Spiffy around the middle, pushing him into an empty table as the bartender squawks.
“Oh god,” Perry whimpers, while Sakshi starts pushing at me.
“Quick, we have to get out of here!” she cries. “Before someone gets their phone out!”
I feel like I just tipped straight into Crazytown, and I stare at Saks, baffled. “Someone should get their phone out,” I tell her, “and call the freaking cops.”
But Saks just keeps pushing at me. “No, they’re going to take pictures, you ninny!”
On the other side of the pub, Spiffy is trying to yank a set of decorative bagpipes off the wall while Seb may be the first man I’ve ever seen attempt to use a cardboard coaster as a weapon.
I turn to Sakshi, gaping. “That’s your major concern right now?”
“Quint!”
I twist in my seat to look at Flora on the other side of Saks, and she’s lifted her pint glass, grinning, her eyes nearly sparkling.
Then her arm goes back, empty pint glass cocked.
“Duck.”
Oh, look, another day, another mess from Prince Sebastian of Scotland. Honestly, why don’t they just keep him locked up in a tower room in one of their five billion castles? Isn’t that what these royal types do? Anyway, here are the blurry shots of Seb punching some poor pleb who probably made the mistake of lifting his eyes to the royal visage. Note Princess Flora over there on the right, throwing what looks like a pint glass. Maybe they should get adjoining tower rooms, only be taken out for special occasions. They can take Peregrine Fowler with them. He’s the ginger bloke in picture number three, cowering under the table. Second son of the Earl of WhoTheEffCares, Gregorstoun student, and wannabe Royal Wrecker, if you ask me. Pretty sure that’s the Duke of Alcott’s daughter with her hands over her face, but no idea who the other girl is.
(“Quelle Surprise,” from Off with Their Heads)
CHAPTER 14
The fact that we’re having the meeting in the chapel and not Dr. McKee’s office seems . . . less than great.
I haven’t been in Dr. McKee’s office on the ground floor, but the one time I passed it and the door was open, it looked . . . cozy. And the scent of strong tea had wafted out the door.
The chapel smells like snuffed candles and furniture polish, which, I’m learning, is much less soothing.