Page 61 of Rivals

Nina grimaced. “I don’t know…”

“Please? You’re such a good date to these things!”

“I’m a terrible date. I stand to the side and ignore everyone and eat all the passed appetizers.”

“Exactly. You’re my ideal date,” Sam agreed. “Pretty please, come with me?”

“Fine,” Nina said reluctantly. “Now come on. There’s a sweaty, gross dance floor inside with our names on it.”

They headed inside, arms linked, just as they used to do when they were children and felt capable of anything.

The next day, Beatrice was in her sitting room, nestled in the corner of the love seat while Samantha recounted her whirlwind trip to Washington.

“Can you believe it?” Sam had just related Nina’s story about being a person of color dating a royal. “I knew it wasn’t easy on Nina, and on Marshall, but I never realized how fundamentally we failed to protect them. Maybe we need new press protocols. Maybe we need to start hiring security for our significant others!”

Beatrice felt queasy at the thought of how terribly the media had treated Nina and Marshall. “Those are good ideas. You could run them by Marshall when you see him at the photo shoot.”

Her sister flopped onto the love seat next to her, letting her head fall into her hands. “I’m not ready to see Marshall. Can I call in sick?” she pleaded. “You can Photoshop me in later!”

Beatrice leaned forward. “Sam, you can do this. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Sam groaned. “Fine, okay? But for the record, I hate when you use that…thatlook!”

“What?”

“It’s the same way Dad used to look at me, when he said he was proud of me, or that he believed in me.”

Beatrice felt heartsore and happy all at once. There was somuch of her father that she consciously tried to imitate; it was nice to think that she’d picked up other things without even realizing.

“I am proud of you, and I do believe in you,” she said softly.

They both looked up at the sound of a knock.

“Béatrice?” Louise peeked around the edge of the doorway, then flung it all the way open when she saw them. “Oh good, Samantha, I’m glad you’re back. I have news!”

Beatrice noted Louise’s black jeans and studded leather jacket with amusement. “You don’t look like you’re dressed for…” She checked the schedule on the side table for tonight’s guest lecturer. “How the Mind-Body Connection Is Rewiring International Relations.”

“That’s because I’m not going to that thing.” When Louise was excited, her French accent became even more pronounced:zhat sing.“I’m going to a party on the tsar’s yacht, and I hope you’ll come with me.”

“No,” Beatrice said, at the same time Sam exclaimed, “Oh,yes!”

Beatrice shot her sister a look. “Honestly, Sam, a little guided meditation might be good for you right now.”

“I disagree wholeheartedly,” Louise cut in. “After a breakup, Samantha doesn’t need some person spraying incense and telling her to visualize a perfect circle. She needs music and champagne out on the water.”

Beatrice shifted her weight uncomfortably. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see the tsar, after he’d roundly rejected her attempts to garner his support for her climate accord. Not to mention that as the host monarch, she should probably make an appearance at the evening’s official event. But Sam was looking at her with such a hopeful puppy-dog expression that Beatrice gave up.

“All right, fine. We can go.”

Louise nodded fervently. “Excellent. But of course, you cannot show up at a Romanov party looking so…”

“Boring,” Sam offered.

“Buttoned up,” Louise corrected.

“Frumpy!” Sam chimed in, and Beatrice tossed one of the couch’s silk cushions at her.

“I am not frumpy!”