Page 122 of Rivals

For an instant, Aunt Margaret looked shocked. Then aslow, proud grin spread over her face. “Hawaii,” she repeated. “Good for you. And, Sam…”

She’d folded her niece in a hug, squeezing her tight. “Goodluck.”

Whatever strings Aunt Margaret had pulled, she’d gotten them onto a plane within the hour. Soon enough they were landing at a private airport in Hawaii and being greeted by an immigration agent, whose name tag readben. Sam handed him her passport with a shiver of trepidation.

He looked down at it, yawning, and then his eyes shot open. He glanced at the photo, then at Sam, then at the photo again.

“Samantha Washington?” Ben asked slowly, disbelievingly. He’d used the common version of her name, noYour Royal Highness–ing, no bowing.

“Yes?”

He blinked, then began fumbling with a stack of papers in a file cabinet. “Hang on, there’s a protocol I’m supposed to follow if this ever happens, but I don’t have it memorized—I never thought it would actually— Sorry.”

When he found what he was looking for, he sucked in a breath and read aloud:

“ ‘You are aware that Hawaii maintains cordial relations with the United States of America. However, if you choose to enter these borders, you will not be greeted as a visiting dignitary. You will not be invited for a private audience with Queen Liliuokalani. You will not be granted any special treatment from the police or state department, as the Kingdom of Hawaii does not recognize diplomatic immunity for any foreign royalty. During the duration of your stay, you are subject to Hawaii’s laws and legal system.’ In other words,” Ben added, evidently going off script, “you will be treated as a private citizen, not as a princess.”

Sam marveled at the fact that enough young royals hadcome here that Hawaii had created an officialspeechfor the immigration agent to give them upon arrival.

“I’m not here to break any laws,” Sam said.

“Then why are you here?”

“Um…to learn to surf?”

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 wereshippingher 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 withboat 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?”