Her friend let out a breath. “He came late and sat in the back row. He was really discreet about the whole thing; none of the audience had any idea he was here.” She hesitated. “I think he just wanted to see you.”
Though she knew he was long gone, Nina glanced out at the auditorium, heart hammering.
“Nina!”
Jamie came bounding toward her. He saw her parents and grinned eagerly. “Hi, you must be the Gonzalezes. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Jamie.” He spoke easily, without any pretention or artifice, and Nina saw even her mamá’s eyes soften. He was winning them over.
She handed the roses wordlessly to Rachel, who nodded and promised to take them to the dorm.
Then Nina turned toward her parents and Jamie, smiling as if everything were completely fine. As if her royal ex-boyfriend hadn’t just barreled back into her life and upset the delicate balance that she’d fought so very hard to build.
Daphne shifted, the better to catch the light streaming through the palace’s floor-to-ceiling windows, and studied her reflection in the trifold mirror.
Her wedding gown was spectacular. Its intricate lace scooped over her arms and neck in an illusion cut before meeting the fitted bodice, and then the skirts: frothy layers of tulle that fell to the ground like enchanted snowdrifts. She should have felt like a fairy-tale princess.
Instead, her mind kept circling back to this morning’s ominous email: Time’s running out, Daphne. If you don’t tell Jeff it’s over, then I will. Don’t settle for living a lie because you’re afraid to live the truth. P.S. Sorry I missed out on Enchanted Fiefdom!
The tone of the email had lingered with her all morning. Somehow it didn’t sound like Gabriella, especially the part about living a lie. If Daphne hadn’t known better, she almost would have thought the author of the email cared about her. Which was really a ridiculous notion.
Of course it was Gabriella—who else could it be?
Queen Adelaide gestured to Daphne’s shoulder, where the gorgeous illusion netting stretched over her skin. “Should we add another segment of lace here?” she suggested.
Daphne’s phone trilled in her purse, but she ignored it. “That sounds lovely.”
They had been doing this for the better part of an hour, directing the seamstress as she painstakingly fixed small rosettes and snippets of lace to the sheer fabric. Even Daphne, who loved being made a fuss of, was losing her patience.
“What do you think, Rebecca?” the queen added.
“Absolutely.” Daphne’s mother reclined on a nearby couch, a half-empty champagne flute in her hand. If the queen had suggested that Daphne shave off all her hair, her mother would have nodded in fanatic agreement. She would never express an opinion to contradict royalty.
When Daphne’s phone buzzed a second time, the queen lifted an eyebrow. “Do you need to get that, Daphne?”
“I—yes. Please excuse me.” Daphne’s dress suddenly felt too tight, the silk scratching against her back.
She stepped down from the seamstress’s platform, her spiky heels clicking on the floor as she walked over to her purse. As she’d expected, the screen read Unknown Caller.
“Hello?” she answered coolly, heart pounding.
“Daphne.” It wasn’t Gabriella, Daphne noted with a mixture of relief and anger—it was Rei. “I need to talk to you. I found something important.”
“Thank you for your interest. I am always open to sponsoring more charities.” It was the only thing Daphne could think of to say.
Rei let out an exasperated sigh. “I get it, you can’t talk. Just meet me at Ethan’s house now, okay?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Daphne began, but the line was already dead.
She looked up to see everyone staring at her, and forced a smile. “Can we take a break? I just remembered that I’m supposed to meet a friend for lunch.”
Rebecca Deighton glanced up sharply, recognizing the lie. She knew perfectly well that her daughter didn’t have any friends—no real ones, anyway.
“Of course! You must be exhausted,” Queen Adelaide apologized. “We’ll do your final fitting next week, anyway!”
Daphne stepped behind the folded screen that they’d brought into the sitting room, where she changed into a blouson top and skinny jeans. She tapped out a rapid text to Ethan—Rei says she wants to meet at your house?? Pick me up at the back of the Monmouth Hotel asap.
“Daphne?” her mother called out, in a tone that should have sounded sweet, though Daphne heard the suspicious edge beneath. “Who are you meeting?”
“Gabriella Madison.” It was the best lie Daphne could come up with on short notice. At least her mother would understand this was part of a scheme.
Rebecca pursed her lips but didn’t argue.
The palace valet was happy to drop Daphne at the Monmouth, where she slipped discreetly through the lobby, past the massive Christmas tree and sprawling gingerbread house. She caught a few sidelong glances but kept moving, toward the staff entrance that fed into a narrow alley behind the hotel. She’d done this enough times with Jefferson that it was second nature by now.
By the time she got there, Ethan’s motorcycle was already purring in the alley. “Let’s go,” Daphne said, looping one leg over the back.
“I thought you didn’t want to ride my bike anymore.” Ethan sounded far too amused for her liking.
“Desperate times,” she snapped, and he dropped it.
They wound through the streets toward Ethan’s neighborhood—which was only fifteen minutes from the palace but more understated than Herald Oaks, full of single-story homes with tire swings or trampolines out front. Christmas trees winked cheerfully from living room windows; in one yard, an inflatable snowman fought for space next to an oversized cartoonish Santa. Inflatables weren’t even allowed in Herald Oaks, per the homeowners association guidelines.
“I’ve never been to your house before,” Daphne pointed out as Ethan pulled into a circular driveway.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, then killed the engine. “I wasn’t exactly jumping to host parties in high school.”
“Of course not. We were always at the palace.”
They both knew the real reason neither of them invited anyone over: they were embarrassed. Daphne because her parents were trying to be something they were not—filling their narrow townhouse with fake antiques and anonymous portraits, as if they could fool anyone into thinking their low-ranking title actually mattered—Ethan because his family was so painfully ordinary.