Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,80
she says, stroking my hair, but I shake my head, pulling away.
“No, that’s the thing. She didn’t break my heart, Saks. I . . . I think I might have broken hers.”
Sakshi’s dark eyes go wide. “Oh, dear,” she murmurs. “That might be a first for Flora.”
Tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, I groan. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better,” I remind her, and she pats my arms again, all fluttery fingers.
“Of course, of course. I mean, how could you know Flora had a heart to break? And it’s probably her due. Like I said, she’s always had quite a reputation as the love-them-and-leave-them type.”
I think of Flora making me a fake Thanksgiving, of her picking out the perfect dress for me. Of how happy she seemed to have me at her side in Edinburgh.
My eyes are stinging again, and I wipe at them with the back of my hand. “She’s a lot more than anyone thinks she is,” I say at last. “She’s funny and smart and kind. Well, not always on that last one, but she tries, is the point. And she’s just got that hard shell because her insides are marshmallows, basically, so she has to have a protective coating, you know? But once you get past that, she’s just . . . she’s . . .”
Saks is still sitting against her bed, and she’s watching me now with her mouth hanging open a little bit.
Self-conscious, I stand up, dusting off the back of my jeans. “She’s just a lot greater than anyone knows,” I finally finish up, and Saks leans forward, asking me the question I was really afraid she was going to ask.
“Then, darling, why did you leave her?”
CHAPTER 38
The next few days are somehow even worse than I’d thought they’d be.
The school feels empty without Flora in it, and, as I expected, I spend way too much time Googling her.
I even set up an alert, which feels like a special kind of pathetic.
Dad knows something is up whenever we Skype, but I just blame my general sad-sackness on school, the weather, and being homesick, which is kind of true. Being home at Christmas seems really nice now, and I start marking the days off with a big red pen on my calendar.
I’ve got twenty-nine more days to go when I trudge back up to my room after class one afternoon, tossing my bag on my bed.
With a sigh—I am a champion sigher these days—I open my laptop. There’s an email from Lee, a missed Skype call from Dad, and . . .
Another Hangout message from Jude.
This one just says, Was thinking about you today. Hope you’re having fun up there in Bonny Scotland!
She sent it just three minutes ago, and without letting myself overthink it, I type back.
Hi. Yup, things are good here.
Her reply comes back an instant later.
Plenty of unicorns?
Smiling, I type back, A surprising lack of, sadly.
That’s a bummer!
I stare at the screen, wondering what to say next, when another reply comes in.
I miss you.
The cursor blinks at me. Those are definitely welcome words from Jude, and I realize I miss her, too.
But . . . not like I did a few months ago. I miss my friend Jude, not my almost-sort-of-girlfriend Jude. Because while what I felt for her was real—and while seeing her back together with Mason sucked a whole lot—it was always a tightrope with Jude. I never knew what we really were or how she really felt, no matter what she said about being an us.
Flora hadn’t called us an us, but we’d felt like one.
My fingers move quickly.
I’m not mad anymore. About what happened this summer. I don’t even know if I was mad, I guess. Hurt? I don’t know. But I’d like us to be friends again if we can.
And then, after a pause, I add, But just friends this time.