Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,64

looking up at me from underneath her lashes.

“Liar,” she says, and I make a big show of rolling my eyes.

“Maybe the fun outweighed the annoying, but only in, like, tiny, microscopic amounts.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Quint,” she replies, and then she gives a little laugh, shaking her head. “This is so silly. I’m going to see you every day even if we don’t live together anymore, so let’s not get maudlin here.” She waves one hand. “Go. Get settled with Saks and tell Miss Horsey I’m awaiting the pleasure of her company.”

“Will do,” I say, and I make myself walk out without a backward glance.

CHAPTER 30

“Saks, can you give me some gossip on the royal family?”

We’re lying on Sakshi’s bed, technically studying for our upcoming history test, but my mind has been a million miles away.

If I’m honest, I’ve been out to lunch ever since Skye two weeks ago. Things between me and Flora have been pretty much the same—we get along, we chat, we sit together at lunch—but that moment in the orangery has been playing on a loop in my head. And not just that, but the whole weekend, really. Giving me her favorite room. Picking out the perfect dress for me. Is this just Flora trying to be nice now that we’re friends, or—

Okay, maybe this is why Dr. McKee decided I should room with Saks instead.

I come out of my reverie to see a long expanse of Sakshi’s thigh peeking out from beneath her skirt as she leans down to rummage under her bed.

“Poppet, I thought you’d never ask,” she says, coming back up with a stack of magazines. She flops them onto her green bedspread, grinning.

“Where did you get those?”

Saks sits up on her bed, crossing her legs. “I have my sources.”

She pulls the first glossy issue off the stack, setting it down with a thwack on the bed between us. The word “MAJESTY” is printed on top in curling letters.

“This is the latest issue,” Saks tells me. “And there’s a whole feature on Flora’s brother Alexander and his fiancée. Her name is Eleanor Winters, she’s American, we’re obsessed.”

Flicking open the magazine, she points to a picture of a blond woman with her cheek on Prince Alex’s shoulder as they stand in a garden. “Right,” I say, remembering Lee telling me about that. “I sort of know about her.”

“And this is her sister, Daisy,” Saks goes on, flipping another page. This one shows a redhead in jeans and T-shirt, her arm linked with a handsome guy also dressed way down. “She’s dating the chief Royal Wrecker, Miles Montgomery. Well, he was chief Royal Wrecker, he and Seb had some kind of falling-out, not one hundred percent sure it’s been sorted. Miles went to America to win Daisy back, so the story goes, and this is them there. We’re slightly obsessed with her, too.”

“They’re still fighting,” I say. “Seb mentioned this guy. Said he was dead.”

Clucking her tongue, Saks flips another page. “That’s a shame. The rumor was he was a calming influence on Seb. He’ll need that now that I’ve declared him a lost cause.”

I look up at her, tugging at the ends of my hair. “Wait, what? Since when?”

She reaches for another magazine, this one dated just last week. Opening it to a page showing Seb in a soccer jersey, she taps the picture with one hot pink nail. “Midlothian Hearts,” she tells me, like that makes sense.

Seeing my confusion, Saks clarifies, “A football team. My father is a passionate Arsenal supporter.” Shaking her head, she sighs. “Like Romeo and Juliet. Daddy would never approve of my marrying a Hearts fan, even if he is a prince.”

I stare at her for a long beat before laughing and pressing my forehead to her shoulder. “Saks, I really love you,” I tell her, and she beams at me.

“Thank you, darling. It’s mutual.”

Then she reaches into the magazines and pulls out a slightly trashier-looking one. “So you know all about Seb already, really.”

“More than I wanted to.”

“And you lived with Flora, so I guess you know all you need to there.”

Feigning a casual air, I pick a magazine out of the stack. “Never hurts to learn more.”

Saks tilts her head down, fixing me with a look, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she takes the magazine I’m holding back, tosses it aside, and hands me another one.

“This was a special issue all about Flora for her sixteenth birthday,” she says, and sure enough, there’s Flora on the