Page 114 of American Royals

Sam’s eyes drifted back toward the ballroom. “Does Teddy know yet?”

She remembered Teddy’s remark when he told her that Beatrice had proposed: You can’t say no to the future queen. He would never have been able to break their engagement himself—not with the fate of his family, his entire community, on his shoulders.

But if Beatrice called it off, there was nothing the Eatons could say in protest.

Sam’s sister shook her head. The golden light from the party played over her profile, gleaming on one of her earrings, casting the other half of her face in shadow. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”

She might be overstepping, but Sam had to ask. “Could I be the one to tell him?”

“I thought he deserved to hear it from me …,” Beatrice began, then seemed to change her mind at the expression on Sam’s face. She smiled with unmistakable relief. “Come to think of it, maybe you should be the one to tell him. Isn’t it the maid of honor’s job to handle wedding complications?” She said it lightly, as if calling off the wedding of the century was nothing more than a garden-variety complication.

Sam threw her arms around her sister. “Thank you.”

And despite her efforts to avoid Teddy all night, despite the fact that she’d just spent the last ten minutes out here on the terrace, Sam realized that she knew exactly where he was.

He stood near the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by a semicircle of well-wishers. Sam beelined toward him. She felt suddenly like she was floating, like an infectious fizzy joy had lifted her off this planet altogether and she would never come back down.

Teddy glanced up in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected Sam to seek him out tonight. Neither had she, until now.

“Beatrice wants to see you. I think to take more photos,” she announced loudly. Then she angled her head away from the crowd, so that only he could read her lips. Coatroom, five minutes, she mouthed, and sashayed away before he could question her.

He was there in four.

She’d been pacing back and forth in her anxiety—well, pacing wasn’t the right word given the confines of the space; she could only take one step in each direction. She kept thinking of the last time she’d been in here with Teddy: at the Queen’s Ball, back when she’d still been the heedless girl who chugged a beer in a coat closet. Back when all she’d known about him was his name and the warmth of his smile.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Teddy stood uncertainly in the doorway.

“What are you, a vampire that needs to be invited over the threshold?” Sam tugged him inside, shutting the door behind him. “It’s okay, I promise.”

“Sam, no.” He retreated a step, his hand already on the doorknob. His code of honor struck Samantha as something rare and fine, a remnant from a previous century.

“Beatrice is going to break off the engagement.”

Sam was alert to his response, so even in the darkness she saw Teddy’s stunned, wide-eyed expression. He let his hand fall slowly from the door. “What?”

“She’s calling off the wedding,” Sam said again.

“Did she tell you why?”

“Because she loves someone else.”

“Ah,” Teddy breathed. “I thought she might.”

“You … what?”

He shifted his weight, causing the lush furs behind him to rustle and sway with the movement. Sam forced herself to stay still, though every atom of her body buzzed with his nearness.

“There were times when Beatrice got a distracted look on her face. And I knew she must be thinking of something else—or someone else,” Teddy said slowly, and shrugged. “She never smiled like that about me.”

“Teddy …” If only there were a light in here—she needed to see him better, try to figure out what he was thinking.

“Not that I blame her,” Teddy went on, his voice rough and unreadable. “Since I was doing exactly the same thing.”

He was talking about her—wasn’t he?

It took every ounce of Sam’s self-control not to venture closer. “So you aren’t disappointed?”

“Honestly? I feel relieved. And happy for your sister, that she’s found someone she loves. She deserves that.”