He cracked a smile at that, stamping her passport. “In that case, welcome to Hawaii.”
That had all happened an hour ago. Now Sam and Marshall were walking down the street, their weekend bags slung over their shoulders. And no one cared.
A few of them had recognized her, Sam could tell; it wasn’t as if no one in Hawaii knew who she was. But they had no desire to come over and ask for a photo, tell her that they loved her or hated her or that they were shipping her and Marshall. They didn’t seem to care what she did, as long as she didn’t bother them.
Ahead was a sign: sunrise beach homes: short- and long-term rentals. “Should we take a look?” Sam suggested.
Marshall held out a hand in a chivalrous gesture. “After you.”
Inside, a young woman with pink hair sat behind a desk strewn with papers and brochures. The walls were taped with real estate listings of cheerful beach cottages, some with boat included! written on top.
Her blood rushing, Sam cleared her throat. “Hi. We’re looking to rent a place on the water.”
She waited for the realtor to gasp in recognition, but the woman just smiled politely. “Anywhere in particular?”
“Far from town,” Marshall cut in. “Somewhere remote. Very quiet.”
“How long will you be staying?” The realtor pulled up a blank form on her computer and began typing.
“We’re not sure.” Sam held her breath and took off her sunglasses. Still the realtor didn’t react.
“There are a few cottages on Molokai that might interest you,” she said brightly. “Can I have your names?”
Sam blinked, but the woman was looking up at her, hands poised over the keyboard, head tilted expectantly.
It had been a very long time since someone had asked Sam for her name.
“Martha,” she said firmly. It was one of her middle names, after Queen Martha, the very first American queen.
And as an alias, it probably carried a bit of good luck. After all, she’d used it once before—the night of high school graduation—and she hadn’t been caught then.
“Martha?” Marshall whispered, coming to stand closer to her. “Is that your Hawaiian alter ego?”
“Maybe. Why not!”
There was a dimple at the corner of Marshall’s mouth; she wanted to lean forward and kiss it. And so she did. She kissed him right there in the rental office, and no one took a picture or catcalled them or spun an article out of it. It was exhilarating, liberating, wonderful. It was such a simple thing.
Here they weren’t a duke and a princess, or the symbol of a social movement, or the repository of their families’ legacies. Here they were just a boy and girl, renting a house on the beach, the way countless young lovers had done before.
Nina gave a bleary-eyed yawn, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Her eyes widened in surprise. Was it really after ten a.m.? She’d expected Sam to have come in by now, to throw Nina’s drapes open and beg her to come downstairs and eat waffles.
She wondered how it had gone last night between Jeff and Daphne. That was the only thing popping Nina’s bubble of happiness: the knowledge that her newfound joy came at her friend’s expense. As the night wore on, Daphne had probably wondered why Nina was avoiding her, given that they’d been attached at the hip earlier. Nina knew she was an abject coward, but she couldn’t bear to face Daphne after Jeff had kissed her. She wasn’t a good enough actress to pretend that everything was normal, not when guilt twisted inside her gut.
Now that they were broken up, though, Nina would find Daphne and apologize. She doubted Daphne would be very understanding. But maybe if Nina explained everything—her history with Jeff, that she hadn’t meant to fall for him but it had just happened—maybe there was a chance they could preserve their new friendship.
Nina rolled onto her stomach, reaching onto the bedside table for her phone. Aside from the usual check-ins from her parents and Rachel, both Washington twins had texted.
Jeff: Hey, can we talk?
And Sam: I’m sorry, I had to leave! I’ll explain later, but you won’t see me for a while. Thanks for being the best friend ever. Love you.
You won’t see me for a while? That probably meant that Sam had left town with Marshall. Nina shook her head, amused. There was never a dull moment with the Washingtons—this dramatic, complicated, wild, wonderful family. Nina loved all of them.
It felt like they were her family, too.
She hurried to get ready, throwing on a pair of dark jeans and a plum-colored top. It was a surprisingly tailored outfit. There were no ripped knees or frayed hems on the jeans, no writing on the shirt. She remembered what Daphne had said at the vintage store when Nina had pulled out a T-shirt that said love in stitched red letters: Nina, you can’t wear a shirt with writing unless you’re an athlete in your team jersey! Text gives people something to interpret, and they will always choose to interpret it in a way you didn’t intend.
It was funny that she was now quoting Daphne-isms to herself.
When she reached Jeff’s room, the door was wide open, the room clearly empty. Nina’s steps slowed.
She saw a flash of dark hair at the end of the hall—that was Anju, Beatrice’s new chamberlain. Nina began jogging toward her.
“Excuse me?” Really, she should know the proper form of address by now.
“What?” Anju’s head snapped up, but when she saw Nina, her expression softened. “Nina, right? You’re Samantha’s friend?”
Nina nodded. “I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know where Samantha or Jeff is?”
Anju stared at her. “You haven’t heard?”
That was when Nina realized how eerily silent it was. The morning after an event, Bellevue should have been humming with noise: vacuums, tables being wiped down, a temporary stage being disassembled, thousands of flowers being carted out for donation to the local hospital, as the royal family always did after an event. There should have been clinking forks from the foreign royals eating one last breakfast, goodbyes called out in a hundred different languages before they headed to the airport.
Yet it was silent—the tense, uneasy silence that falls after an earthquake.
“What happened?” Nina asked. It came out in a whisper.
“Her Majesty was in a car accident.”
“What?” Beatrice was hurt? How had that even happened? Nina swallowed. “Oh my god, is she okay?”
“She’s at the hospital in LA, in intensive care. I’m actually headed there now, if you want a ride.” Anju glanced at Nina again. “Any chance you’ve heard from Samantha, by the way?”