Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,66

watching me. “You miss them,” she says, and I fiddle with the ends of my hair.

“Yeah? As most people do when they’re away from their families. And I won’t get to see them until Christmas break.”

Her brow wrinkles. “Don’t you have some other holiday before that, you Yanks?”

“Thanksgiving,” I say, flopping back on my bed and wincing as the magazine rattles. Luckily, Flora doesn’t appear to hear it.

“But we can’t afford for me to go back then and at Christmas, so we’re just waiting.”

“Do you want me to buy you a ticket?” Flora asks, like she’s offering to lend me a pair of shoes.

“I . . . what? No,” I stutter out. “I couldn’t accept that.”

“Why ever not?” Flora asks, and I stare at her. There for just a second, we’d had a moment over that rose quartz. A moment when I forgot she was a princess and just thought of her as a beautiful girl.

But she’s also a beautiful girl who would toss a transatlantic plane ticket at someone like it wasn’t anything.

In other words, not a girl for me.

The magazine currently hiding under my pillow should remind me of that.

“It’s just . . . that’s too big, Flora,” I tell her now, picking up my book again. “Way too big. You can’t just throw money at people.”

I can feel her still looking at me, and she eventually gives an airy “Whatever, then.”

Lowering the book, I scowl at her over the top. “Flora—”

“No,” she says, waving a hand. “Just thought I’d offer. Consider it forgotten.”

But I don’t miss the way her eyes slide back to me when she thinks I’m not looking.

CHAPTER 31

“If this is some kind of delayed hazing ritual, you’re all fired from being my friends,” I say, cautiously feeling my way down the hall. Sakshi has both hands clamped around my eyes while Perry holds my hand.

“No hazing,” he promises, “although I’m kind of surprised we didn’t get that here, come to think of it.”

“This place does seem like a peak hazing locale,” Sakshi agrees, and I would roll my eyes if they weren’t covered.

They came up to my room a few minutes ago, promising a “surprise,” and I should’ve known better than to offer myself up to them. Whatever this is, I have a feeling Flora is involved. It’s been a week since our conversation about the plane ticket, and while she hasn’t brought it up again, I know Flora doesn’t give up that easy.

Maybe that’s why I went so willingly with Saks and Perry.

I have a basic sense of where we are. We went down to the first floor, and I can hear the wheeze from that one radiator near the art studio that’s always acting up, but other than that, I am firmly Without a Clue as to what we’re doing down here.

I am, however, really certain that if we get caught, we will never get out of detention.

“Whatever this is,” I warn, “it better be worth it.”

“It is,” Perry promises, and then my nose picks up the smell of . . . sweet potatoes?

Yes, sweet potatoes with that burned-sugar smell of marshmallow, and over all that, the savory scent of sage.

“Guys,” I start, but then Sakshi drops her hands, and I blink.

We’re in the art classroom, and there, spread out on the desk, is a miniature Thanksgiving feast. I spot a small roast bird that’s not a turkey, but smells great, and a couple of china dishes, one heaped with macaroni and cheese, the other holding the beloved sweet potatoes with marshmallows. There’s also a pie and an ancient silver candelabra illuminating the whole thing, but my eyes are drawn to one thing and one thing only.

The girl standing behind the desk, beaming at me.

“Surprise!” Flora trills, clapping her hands together. She’s wearing jeans and a sweater, her hair loose around her face, and she’s smiling at me, a real smile, and I am surprised.

Not by the miniature Thanksgiving she’s made for me, though.

No, what surprises me is the sudden, jolting, and undeniable realization that even though I didn’t want to, I’ve fallen for an actual princess.

Flora’s smile drops slightly, her hands lowering. “Are you not pleased?” she asks, looking down at the food. “Did I get it wrong?”

I have to swallow before I’m able to speak. “No,” I reassure her, stepping forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Perry and Sakshi exchange a glance.

“No, it’s perfect,” I go on. “I mean, three actual weeks before Thanksgiving, but still.

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