Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,58

she says, then she nods toward Lord Henry and Lady Ellis. “It’s definitely not what they do. They have seven kids.”

“Seven?”

Flora nods. “Seven. And they were basically an arranged marriage.”

I wouldn’t mind hearing more about that, but we’re in the dining room now, and Flora drops my arm, moving toward the head of the table. As a guest of honor, she’ll sit up there with Lord Henry, while I’m relegated to somewhere near the middle. Luckily, I’ve got Baby Glynnis—sorry, Nicola—next to me, so at least there’s a familiar face and accent.

“So how are you liking Scotland?” she asks me as a bunch of men in fancy suits bring us plates. I’m so distracted by the ceremony going on around us, I can barely answer her question.

“Um, it’s good,” I say as a tiny plate is placed in front of me. There’s a fish on it, staring up at me with its fishy eyeball, and I swallow hard. “It’s . . . you know. Scotland,” I say to Nicola, but she’s already smirking slightly, tapping one fingernail against the tiny silver fork to my left.

“That one. Also, you don’t have to eat it. Just poke it a few times while making conversation, no one will notice.”

I don’t even want to do that—poor fishie—but I pick up the fork Nicole pointed at and give the fish a few half-hearted stabs.

“See?” she says, smiling, and in that second, she really does look a lot like her mom. “You’re a pro.”

I snort at that, glancing up the table to where Flora sits, having a fairly animated conversation with Lord Henry, who’s smiling at her, clearly charmed.

“I will be competing in the amateurs for the rest of time, I’m pretty sure,” I reply, and Nicola grins back at me, turning to her own sad, dead fish.

“I wish I could get back in the amateur division, believe me.”

There are multiple wineglasses around me, but I pick up the one that seems like water and take a cautious sip. Yes, water, okay, good. “How long are you staying here for?” I ask, then wave a hand to amend, “I mean in Scotland in general, not here at the castle.”

Nicola heaves out a sigh that ruffles her glossy bangs. “I leave after the wedding. Mum needs an extra hand, or, let’s be real, an extra pair of eyes.”

I raise my eyebrows at that, but Nicola just waves me off. “It’s boring shop talk. So you’re from Texas, right?”

We chat a little bit about back home—me about Houston, Nicola about San Diego—both of us agreeing that Scotland is gorgeous, but awfully cold for girls used to a sunnier locale. And before I know it, the plates are being cleared, and I’ve done it—survived my first royal dinner.

From there, we move into the ballroom just off the main dining room, and as a string quartet starts up, my stomach sinks. I’d been relieved to get through dinner unscathed, but dancing, too?

I watch the couples moving across the ballroom floor. Lord Henry and Lady Ellis are elegant, and even Nicola acquits herself well, dancing with Sherbet.

And then I scan the people gathered at the edges of the ballroom, looking for a girl who might be Tamsin. I’m not sure why I feel this deep need to see Flora’s ex, but I do. Maybe I’m just curious as to what kind of girl could dump Flora. Is she a goddess, too?

I keep looking. The tall brunette in purple? Maybe her? Or—

I feel an elbow at my side, and turn to see Flora smiling at me. “Well?” she asks. “Are you ready to take a turn around the room? There are several blokes looking for a partner, it seems like.”

There are a few guys hanging back, but the idea of trying to dance has me shaking my head and nearly backing up into a potted plant. “Oh, no, I don’t . . .”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t dance,” I finish, feeling sweaty and a little sick at the very thought. “I’m, like, catastrophically bad at it.”

A glint comes into Flora’s eye, and I know I’m in trouble.

Then her hand lands in mine. “We’ll just have to remedy that, then, won’t we?”

CHAPTER 27

Flora doesn’t drop my hand as she leads me down one hallway, then another. We pass tall windows that look out onto the gardens, but I can’t see anything except our own reflections, and I’m struck by how wide-eyed I look, and how very un-me I am in my dress. But maybe