Royals

  “Not now, girls,” she says, and flashes El a look through the screen, too. “You too, young lady.”

  Ellie scowls, and I see her look over at Glynnis, who is very diplomatically focusing on her phone and not our sisterly sniping.

  “The plan is,” Glynnis says, still not looking up, “for you to come here for the summer. To Scotland, rather. It will be far easier for us to control access to you if you’re in Eleanor and Alexander’s circle.”

  “I don’t want to be in a circle,” I reply, “and besides, I can’t go to Scotland. Isabel and I are going to Key Con in Key West in a couple of weeks.”

  Mom hums, nodding. “That’s true, you’ve been planning that for ages. Maybe after—”

  Glynnis leans a little closer, her smile becoming a grimace. “I’m so sorry,” she says, “but the family is rather insistent we get this sorted as soon as possible, and the summer schedule is already locked. It would really be so much easier to slide Daisy in now.”

  “Easier for who?” I ask, but that’s stupid, because of course she means the royal family and Ellie.

  “Daisy, we’re trying to help,” Ellie pleads, pulling her hair away from her face. When she does, I notice how sharp her jaw is. El definitely looked skinnier when she was here, but for the first time, I see that she’s really skinny now, and that there are faint violet shadows beneath her eyes. I had one stupid blog post about me, and it was making me feel like my skin didn’t fit right. What is it like to have thousands of those types of posts?

  But then I remember that she’s trying to make me give up this trip, this thing Isabel and I have been excited about for a year. How am I supposed to tell Isa that, sorry, my sister pulled rank and now I can’t go?

  And then, ugh, it’s so stupid, but I feel my throat tightening up. “No,” I say. “I’m not canceling on Isabel just because of one stupid gossip website, and one stupid boy. We planned this. Ash Bentley is going to be there, and she’s our favorite author, and—”

  Sighing, Ellie throws up her hands. “Oh my god, Isabel can just come here for a few days or something.”

  Glynnis nods and starts tapping on her phone. “Ash Bentley, you said?” A few more taps, then she flashes a grin. “She’s actually on a UK book tour next month. I can make some calls to her publisher, have them add a stop in Edinburgh. We’ll fly your friend over to see her, too.”

  “Great,” Ellie says, then looks back at the screen. “See?” she says. “Fixed.”

  I just sit there, gaping at her. “No, not fixed. I don’t want your ‘people’ pulling weird strings, I want to see her in two weeks in Key West with Isabel like we planned. And it’s not just seeing Ash Bentley. It was the entire con. It was . . .” I trail off because I have no idea how to make them see that this was something I was looking forward to. To Ellie, it’s probably just another one of my weird hobbies, but Key Con was going to be the highlight of my summer.

  Glynnis leans back, clearly so Ellie can handle it from here, and my sister cuts her eyes to the side before lowering her voice and saying, “Mom, talk to her.”

  I jerk my head to look at Mom, who is now raking her hands through her hair. She’s blond like Ellie (and me, before the dye job), but it’s a little grayer and ashier, cut in a shag haircut that frames her face. It’s my face, pretty much, just older, and when she looks at me, I already know what she’s going to say.

  “You’re going to take her side in this,” I say, and Mom reaches out, laying a hand on my arm.

  “Darling. This does seem like a fair compromise. More than fair, really.”

  And the thing is, I know that. I know that going to a smaller signing rather than a massive convention where we’ll just be faces in the crowd is better, but it’s just . . . that was ours. Our idea, our plan, our choice. Nothing about this is my choice.

  When I don’t say anything, Ellie picks up the laptop, holding it closer to her face. “This story isn’t just some random gossip thing, Daisy,” she says. “What Glynnis is being too nice to tell you is that it made the papers here, and I’d really like my future in-laws to meet you—all of you—and see for themselves what lovely, totally normal people you are.”

  “Are we normal?” Dad asks, tugging at his ponytail. “That’s so disappointing.”

  Glynnis takes the laptop again, giving us that bright smile. I wonder if it would be too forward to tell her she needs to tone it down about a thousand notches because that grin makes her look like she’s about to eat us.

  “We were already planning a get-together closer to the wedding,” she says, “but with it being summer, this really does seem like the perfect time, I hope you’ll all agree.”

  “No,” I say again, “because I have a . . . god, what would y’all say? A ‘prior commitment.’ Besides, I haven’t learned the protocol or anything yet,” I argue. “I might say the wrong thing to the wrong person and cause an international incident. What if I screw up so badly that Scotland declares war on Florida? What then, El?”

  My sister is still holding her hair in a ponytail over one shoulder, her head tilted slightly to one side, and her eyes narrow. “Why are you like this?”

  I shrug. “Dad, probably.”

  At my side, Dad mimics my shrug. “Probably,” he agrees, and I think if Glynnis weren’t sitting right next to her, Ellie would’ve slammed her computer shut.

  As always, Mom is the peacemaker. “All right, all right, enough. I’m your mother, so I get the final say in this. Glynnis, you think having Daisy over there during all this engagement . . . kerfuffle will make things easier on her?”

  “Mom!” I squawk, but she just holds up her hand, still looking at the laptop.

  Glynnis looks up from her phone and gives that man-eating grin again. “I do. The more control we have over this situation, the better. I know it just looks like one measly blog post now, but trust me, these things spiral.” Her accent turns that word into an actual spiral, vowels stretching, the r twisting.

  Before any of us can say anything, Glynnis goes on. “Of course we can start small. Most of the bigger, potentially more stressful functions won’t start up until we get closer to the wedding. There’s no need to throw Daisy into the deep end of the pool with Their Majesties.”

  Their Majesties. The Queen and Prince Consort of Scotland, who I’d now be hanging out with.

  Now it’s my stomach spiraling.

  “Isabel—” I start.

  “Can come visit you here,” Glynnis finishes smoothly. “We’ll arrange everything.”

  “I need to at least talk to her,” I say, but Glynnis is already talking again.

  “Next week, the Marquess of Sherbourne is throwing a little house party for Eleanor and Alexander. That will be close family and intimate friends only, and just the younger set. It would be a good place to start, don’t you think?”

  Glynnis turns to Ellie on that, and I can tell my sister isn’t so sure. Her long fingers are still twisting her ponytail, making her massive engagement ring wink. “If . . . if you think that’s best,” she says, and Glynnis pats her arm. Her nails are the same bright red as her lipstick.

  “Seriously, am I invisible? Are you just planning this like I haven’t said no a thousand times?” I cut in, looking between my parents, and Dad heaves a sigh, thin shoulders moving beneath his Hawaiian-print shirt.

  “The train is rolling, my Daisy-Daze,” he says in a low voice. “Best to get on board before you’re crushed on the tracks.”

  “I know you’ve been looking forward to Key West, love,” Mom says on my other side, “but I really do think Glynnis here and Ellie have come up with a fine solution. And think how thrilled Isabel will be to come to Scotland to see you! Key West isn’t going anywhere, either, and you can always go when you get home.”

  “Exactly,” Glynnis says, gesturing with one hand like she’s showing me the fabulous prize I just won. “
And of course, Mr. and Mrs. Winters,” she adds, “we’d love to have the two of you as well. As I said, the party is mostly for the younger set—”

  “And for drinking and debauchery,” Dad says, sitting up in his chair with a sigh. “Yes, yes, I’ve had my fill of that, so we can pass on the party. Get right to meeting Berry’s new family, shall we?”

  “Dad!” El says, her cheeks turning pink, eyes shooting again to Glynnis.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Dad says with a wave of his hand. “Meeting Eleanor’s new family.”

  Ellie’s hands go round and round her hair, and had I just not had my own summer trampled on, I’d feel kind of sorry for her. She’s worked so hard for the past few years to keep things in their separate boxes, and now, thanks to one stupid blog, those boxes are about to be dumped out on her head.

  “So it’s set, then?” Glynnis asks, leaning in so that her face almost completely blocks Ellie’s. “The Winters family is coming to Scotland?”

  Mom, Dad, and I share a three-way glance, and after a pause, Dad lifts his wineglass in a salute.

  “Aye,” he says, putting on a broad Scottish accent that has El’s eyes widening. “We are indeed, lassie.”

  Chapter 7

  Sitting in the back of a town car, watching the gentle hills of the Scottish Lowlands roll by, I wonder if jet lag is making me hallucinate.

  Last week, I was working at a grocery store, studying to retake the SAT, and hanging out with Isabel. Today, I’m on my way to a castle.

  We got in yesterday after flying first class into Heathrow in London, then taking a smaller plane to Edinburgh. While I might object to a lot about my sister’s new lifestyle, first class was something I could appreciate. We didn’t just have seats, we had these little pod things, complete with actual beds. I’d spent the first few hours of the flight just scrolling through all the movies and TV shows available, then listened to fifteen minutes of the spa channel just because I could. There had also been great food, free champagne (not that I’d gotten much more than a sip before Mom had taken my glass away), and, best of all, free pajamas. Really comfy white cotton ones, too. Dad had said they made us all look like cult members, but I’d noticed him stroking his own arm once he’d changed into them.

  Once we’d landed, we’d been hustled off to a hotel, but that was a blur of suitcases and cars and Glynnis’s very red smile. She had looked even more terrifying in person, and I’d snapped a surreptitious pic to email to Isabel once we were at the hotel. (“That lady is totally getting you ready for the Hunger Games” had been Isabel’s reply.)

  Staying at the hotel—an enormous place called the Balmoral—had been a nice surprise since I’d been afraid we’d be ushered straight into royal living, no matter what Glynnis had said about “easing into things.” But nope, Alexander’s parents were in Canada at the moment, and so Glynnis had decided we might want a night at the hotel to “adjust.”

  We’d mostly just slept, and then this afternoon, Ellie and the car had come to get me to drive me a few hours south to Sherbourne Castle, where the engagement party was being held this weekend.

  There had been a fair amount of cloak-and-dagger with getting Ellie to the hotel and me out, but there were no photographers or gawkers, and I had to admit that Glynnis clearly knew her stuff about being “in the circle.” I had no idea how they’d arranged it all, if there had been decoys or other cars or what, but when we drove out of the city without one single flash, I breathed a sigh of relief and told myself that maybe this summer wouldn’t be so bad.

  It’s even easier to think that now, watching the scenery go past. I’ve been to Scotland before. We’d visited Ellie a few times back before she started dating Alex, and the whole family had gone when I was around eleven, but I’ve never been to this part of the country before. It’s all green fields and rolling hills and shifting light.

  I like it.

  Next to me, Ellie fidgets in her seat, adjusting the slim leather belt around her waist and picking imaginary bits of lint off the leather seats. “Did you read the stuff Glynnis put together for you?” she asks, and I think of that massive manila folder shoved in my bag in the trunk—sorry, the boot—of the car.

  “Kind of?” I offer, which is the truth. I opened it, saw there were things in it, and was like, “I will read this later when my eyeballs don’t feel like they’re filled with sand.”

  But now, El does that thing where she clamps her lips together and flares her nostrils, turning to look out the window. “I know it’s important,” I tell her. “And I really appreciate Glynnis doing it for me, and I don’t think she’s even a little bit scary.” I flash my sister a smile. “How’s that?”

  El turns back to look at me, the corner of her mouth twitching, and finally, she gives me a smile. It’s half-hearted, but at least it’s not blinding and fake.

  “Glynnis is a bit scary, I’ll give you that,” Ellie says, crossing one ankle over the other, “but she’s also efficient and smart. I couldn’t get through all of this without her.”

  The words shouldn’t sting, but they do. It’s a reminder that Ellie didn’t really want us here for this, the biggest thing that’s ever happened to her, that she’s depending on Alex and his family and his family’s employees during all of this. I get it, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

  “I obviously read the part about my appearance,” I tell Ellie, gesturing to my newly dyed strawberry-blond hair. I wasn’t getting rid of the red altogether, but I’d toned it down after Glynnis had made a “gentle suggestion.” I’d also gone and bought a couple of completely boring dresses for the trip. I smooth a hand over my skirt. “Polka dots, El. I’m wearing polka dots.”

  But that doesn’t seem to cheer her up. She just sighs and says, “All the polka dots in the world aren’t going to save you if you call an earl ‘my dude’ or make jokes about kilts.”

  I roll my eyes. “You know I do have, like, basic manners, right? Wasn’t raised by wolves? Although I guess Dad’s not far off from—”

  “I just need you to be on your absolute best behavior,” she interrupts, and I fight the urge to make a smart-ass comment that would basically prove her point.

  Instead, I shift to face her, sliding one knee up on the seat as I do, only to have her quickly pat my leg and shoot a glance up at the driver. I sigh—my dress hadn’t ridden up all that much—and put my foot back on the floor, smoothing out my skirt and sitting like the sister of a soon-to-be princess should.

  “So what are we going to do at this party?” I ask, trying to make peace. “Shoot small animals? Play inappropriate drinking games? Uncover hidden treasure?”

  I’m joking, but the little smile that was on Ellie’s face falls, and I sit up straighter in my seat. “Wait, we’re not really shooting things, are we?”

  Ellie leans closer, looking over at the driver before she whispers, “Daisy, the people at this party . . . they’re more Sebastian’s friends than mine or Alex’s.”

  Her blue eyes keep darting toward the driver, but he’s staring straight ahead, no sign that he’s overhearing us at all. I guess if you have a job driving royal types around, you get pretty good at tuning things out.

  “The Royal Wreckers,” I whisper back with a nod, and El jerks like I’ve slapped her. And then she’s leaning in so close that her long blond hair nearly touches my arm.

  “Oh my god, you won’t read the stuff Glynnis prepared for you, but you will read internet gossip?”

  “I didn’t read the internet gossip, Isabel did,” I fire back. Whisper-fighting is hard to do without spitting, but Ellie and I have practice with these hissed arguments in back seats. Years of family road trips will do that. “And to be honest, that’s the kind of thing I might need to know more than how to address an earl in ‘formal written correspondence.’ See? I did look at the file.”

  Ellie’s only reply to that is a very eloquent eye roll, but at least
she sits back a little and stops clenching her fingers in her lap. “The point is, I want you to know that—”

  Looking out the windshield, her eyes go wide, and I turn to follow her glance, only to find my own jaw dropping.

  We’re coming up a narrow dirt road, and at the end, there isn’t a castle but a low stone farmhouse, pretty and perfect with a slate roof and green hills rolling in the background. It’s like something out of a fairy tale, but that’s not what has me and Ellie staring.

  It’s the line of pipers in kilts outside the house.

  There are at least twenty guys standing there, bagpipes at the ready, and as the car approaches, there’s this . . . blast of sound.

  Even with the windows up, it’s loud enough to make my teeth rattle, and that first wheezing note as they all fire up at once makes me cover my ears even as I grin and look over at Ellie.

  “Oh my god,” I say, but she ignores me, leaning forward to say to the driver, “This isn’t Sherbourne!”

  She has to shout, that’s how loud the bagpiping is, and the driver raises his voice to reply, “This was the location I was given, ma’am!”

  “I mean, obviously, El,” I say, elbowing her in the side. “Isn’t this the welcome you get everywhere?”

  I honestly think she’d tell me to shut up, but that’s not very princess-y, so she settles for shooting me a look as the car pulls to a stop in front of the line of pipers.

  Then we both just sit there for a second.

  The music is still going, and now that they’re really into it—I realize now they’re not playing some traditional Scottish tune but a version of “Get Lucky,” which is . . . something—it’s really not bad. It’s kind of cool, actually, and I suddenly wonder if maybe I should pick up the bagpipes while I’m here. Now that would be a hobby to bring back to Florida.

  “Shall I get the door, ma’am?” the driver asks, and I look over at El.