“It hasn’t been easy on Sam. The whole situation is…complicated.” Nina glanced over. “I’m guessing you saw the most recent Time magazine?”
Just yesterday, Sam and Marshall had been on the cover of Time under the headline what has happened to race relations in america? The article featured interviews with a number of thought leaders, who were fiercely divided between adoration of Samantha and Marshall—they believed that America was overdue for an interracial royal relationship, that it was a powerful and important symbol of the changing times—and outraged cries that the relationship was a symbol of oppression, since Marshall would have to sacrifice his claim to the duchy if he and Sam ever got married. This group clamored that Marshall needed to dump Samantha publicly—because that would be an empowering gesture, far more than dating her would be.
Daphne couldn’t relate to the pressures Marshall was under. She didn’t have a position to renounce when she and Jefferson got married someday, and she certainly didn’t carry the weight of an entire community on her shoulders. She stood for no one, except maybe little girls who twirled around in princess costumes and daydreamed about marrying a prince.
The realization was oddly distressing, actually. Shouldn’t she represent something bigger than the characters in animated movies?
Before she could voice this to Nina—if she could even figure out how—Daphne looked over and saw that Nina was tapping at her phone. “Put that away!” she hissed. It was poor form to be texting at an event like this.
Nina clearly didn’t register what she’d said, because she looked up with a broad smile. “My financial aid was reinstated! The school just notified me by email. Said they were sorry for the mistake, that they reviewed my situation and updated my status, et cetera.”
“That’s amazing.” Daphne had hoped that they wouldn’t need to threaten Gabriella a second time. It was a relief to know that she’d actually done as they’d asked.
“It’s all because of you! Thank you,” Nina exclaimed.
And then, to Daphne’s shock, Nina hugged her.
Daphne couldn’t remember the last time someone had hugged her, at least not like this. A real, arms-around-torso, excited hug. Jefferson hugged her occasionally, but that was different. Her only real friend, Himari, wasn’t exactly the hugging type, and Daphne’s parents definitely weren’t.
For a moment she just stood there stiffly, uncertain how to react. “Um…you’re welcome,” she said awkwardly, patting Nina’s back.
When Nina stepped away, she was grinning ear to ear. “Oh, yum!” she declared as a waiter walked past with a tray of mini polenta cakes.
Why not? Daphne thought, and reached for one, too. “Now that my family situation is resolved, I think I’m going to start at King’s College in the spring.”
It was the first time Daphne had spoken those words aloud. She hadn’t even mentioned it to her parents yet, but she assumed it would be okay. Now that their title was safe, surely she could find a way to enter school.
“I’m so glad. You’re going to love it there,” Nina said eagerly.
Daphne felt her phone vibrating in her purse, but ignored it. She shifted, searching for how to word this next question. “I was wondering if I could meet your friends sometime. If you don’t mind, that is.”
“You want to hang out with my friends?” Nina repeated, as if Daphne had spoken in a foreign language.
“It’s not like I’m going to hang out with Gabriella and her gang.”
Nina hesitated. “Daphne—my friends and I don’t go to parties at Supreme Court justices’ houses, or hire Kelli B to play our birthdays. We watch Jane Austen remakes on the TV in our room, and drink cheap wine out of paper cups, and go to parties where no one has a title.”
“I can do all those things. You know I love Jane Austen,” Daphne pointed out, and Nina laughed.
“So now that I’ve taken you vintage shopping and you’ve seen how the other half lives, you realize it’s not all bad?”
“Maybe I’ve realized the benefit of being around people who are actually nice.”
They were both silent for a moment. Then Nina said, “You know, there are only three of us in the room.”
“Wait. Are you asking if I want to be your roommate?” Daphne didn’t know whether she was appalled or fascinated by this notion.
“Oh god, no!” Nina hurried to say. “You would hate that.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
“We could never share space.”
“We would destroy each other,” Daphne agreed.
“What I meant was, the draw groups are four people, and we only have three.” At Daphne’s blank look, Nina explained. “A draw group means you enter the room lottery together. You could join us next year and put in for a single. We’d still be in a triple, but you could live on our hall. So you’d be nearby, but still have privacy for, you know.” Nina shrugged, her eyes twinkling. “Whatever witchy voodoo magic you need to do in your own space.”
A room on the same hall as Nina and her friends. That should have seemed like an absolute nightmare, yet for some reason it didn’t. Daphne barely registered that her phone was buzzing once more.
“Would I have to use a communal bathroom?”
“They’re really not bad,” Nina assured her.
“And eat in the dining hall?”
“Also not bad. Especially now that I know how you can put down a plate of tacos.”
“On special occasions only,” Daphne clarified, though she was smiling. “I don’t know. That sounds kind of nice.”
Daphne knew what her mother would say if she overheard this conversation. It’s a trap! Rebecca would exclaim. You can never trust other women, Daphne! They’re all out for themselves, and will take any opportunity to tear you down.
She was starting to think that her mother had been wrong. Perhaps because of everything she and Nina had been through together—because Nina had already seen everything Daphne was capable of, the good and the ugly—they could be honest with each other in a way that most women couldn’t.
When her phone buzzed a third time, Daphne finally broke protocol and unclasped her clutch. She glanced down at the screen and sighed. Speak of the devil; it was her mother.
“Sorry, I need to take this.” She held the phone against her dress and ducked into the hallway, waiting until she was past all the lingering royals and bustle of servers before she answered.
“Mother? I’m at the ball.”
“I’m aware.” Rebecca Deighton sounded angrier than Daphne had ever heard her; each word was as clipped and vicious as the pluck of the harp strings inside the ballroom. “I just thought you’d like to know that your father has been stripped of his title.”