Neither of them spoke as the movers removed the full-length portrait of the old lady in black from its spot above the mantel. The painting, and its placement, implied that she was an illustrious Deighton ancestor, but the truth was that no one knew who she was. When Daphne was little, she used to secretly imagine that the woman was related to her—though she didn’t look especially grandmotherly, with her widow’s garb and stern, unsmiling expression.
Holding the portrait by its wooden frame, the movers carried it unceremoniously outside.
“I’ll buy a couple of reproduction pieces for the living room so that it’s not completely empty. Just don’t invite Jefferson over,” Rebecca said into the silence.
“I won’t,” Daphne assured her, and started up the stairs. “Good night, Mother.”
Well, there clearly wouldn’t be money for college tuition anytime soon.
Daphne got ready for bed, but even with a gel mask under her eyes, she felt too agitated to sleep. Everything was roiling wildly in her brain—her parents’ desperation, her own fear, and this strange new alliance with Nina Gonzalez.
Already their conversation in the library had acquired the sticky, distorted feeling of a dream. It seemed impossible that she and Nina might actually set aside their resentment long enough to take down a mutual enemy.
Yet it did make a strange kind of sense. For a job like this it was almost better that she and Nina didn’t like each other. It would keep things unemotional.
Restless, Daphne threw off her bedcovers and padded over to her closet, where she began sliding hangers over the rod. What could she wear to Gabriella’s birthday? A navy romper that tied with a white sash: too summery. A silk dress in a bold floral print: too distinctive—everyone had seen it a dozen times. Everything in her closet felt tired, and Daphne couldn’t bear the thought of showing up at the Madisons’ sprawling mansion in a rewear.
If only there were a way for her to make money without anyone finding out.
Her eyes drifted to her bedside table, where she’d framed an old photo of her and Jefferson, from the very first time she’d been invited to Telluride. She thought of what her mother had said just a few minutes ago. What if our neighbors sold photos of this to the paparazzi?
Daphne glanced back at the photo. It was a rare spontaneous shot; these days Daphne was careful to pose, sucking in her stomach and turning to the most flattering angle. In the photo, she and Jefferson were both laughing, their eyes bright. They looked young, and happy, and innocent.
As if Daphne had ever been innocent a day in her life.
It was the work of a few minutes to create a dummy email address—she couldn’t afford to contact anyone as herself—and email Natasha, an editor at the Daily News.
I have a never-before-seen picture of Prince Jefferson and Daphne Deighton for sale.
Natasha’s reply came in seconds later; she was always on her phone.
We offer a standard fee of $1,000 per image. Unless it features tears or nudity, in which case we can negotiate a higher price.
Shoving aside her lingering feelings of regret, Daphne pulled the picture from her photo stream and sent it over.
This wasn’t that different from what she usually did, was it? She’d slipped gossip to Natasha countless times. They had a silent understanding that in exchange, Natasha would ensure that Daphne’s coverage in the Daily News was always flattering, photos glowing and headlines full of praise.
Selling an image of herself for cash, though, made Daphne feel like a paparazzo—intrusive, and kind of tacky.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, she reminded herself, and hit Send.
Later that week, Nina smiled at Kenny, the security guard stationed at the back entrance to Washington Palace.
“Hey, Nina,” he said pleasantly, not bothering to check her ID; Nina had been on the palace’s approved-entry list since she was seven. “You here to see Prince Jeff?”
“Oh—is he home?” Nina felt a funny little flutter of anticipation; she’d thought Jeff might still be on campus. “I’m actually here to borrow something of Samantha’s, if that’s okay,” Nina explained, and Kenny waved her through.
She and Sam had talked on the phone for over an hour last night, Sam recounting what had happened at dinner with Marshall’s family. Nina wished she were more surprised. She’d always liked Marshall, primarily because of how happy he made Sam, but she had also worried that their relationship might not last.
She knew firsthand how hard it was to be an outsider, and a person of color, dating a member of the royal family.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Sam had finally said. “Are you doing anything fun this weekend?” At which point Nina had let slip that she was going to Gabriella Madison’s birthday party. Sam had seemed perplexed by the news. “Oh, that should be fun! I’ve never liked Gabriella, but there’s no denying that the Madisons throw a great party. I remember in sixth grade she had a pink-themed birthday.” Sam snorted. “She rented flamingos from the zoo as part of the decorations. I think one of them escaped her backyard and still lives out on the river.”
“That’s pretty excessive for a middle schooler,” Nina had said, distracted. She wanted so desperately to tell Sam about Gabriella and her financial aid, but the words kept sticking in her throat. It might be stupid and stubborn of her, but she hated talking about money with Sam—or Jeff. No matter how well intentioned they were, they couldn’t relate to Nina’s situation in the slightest.
Daphne might be a conniving manipulator, but Nina would say this for her: she understood how it felt to be powerless. And she knew how to fight to reclaim that power.
“Sam,” Nina had asked, “would you mind if I borrowed something for the party?” For once, Nina didn’t want to show up in one of her cheap fast-fashion dresses and look out of place around all the girls in sequined couture.
“Will Jeff be at this party?” Sam had replied, which seemed irrelevant to Nina.
“Um, yeah. I’m actually going with Jeff and Daphne.”
“Ahh,” Sam had said meaningfully, then cleared her throat. “Yes, Nina. Obviously you can borrow whatever you want. Maybe that off-the-shoulder pink dress you look so great in?”
Now, as Nina turned onto the upstairs hallway, she saw Jeff emerging from his room. “Nina, hey!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t tell me you were coming by.”
“I’m here to borrow a dress of Sam’s,” Nina explained as he fell into step alongside her. “She knows I’m coming—I mean, she said I could wear it,” she added, just so he wouldn’t think she regularly raided Sam’s closet.