American Royals (32 page)

Later that week, Nina headed through the glass doors of Halo and turned toward the marble checkout desk. She was startled by how different the store looked from when she’d been here before: utterly empty and picked over, as if it had been ravaged by a pack of desperate socialites.

Thank god Nina had bought her own gown before the last-minute feeding frenzy.

The girl behind the counter, who’d been halfheartedly typing into her phone, glanced up at Nina’s arrival. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Nina Gonzalez. I’m here to pick up a dress that was being altered,” Nina explained. The salesgirl emitted a ponderous sigh and vanished into the back room.

When Nina had ventured here last weekend, she’d immediately felt overwhelmed: there were too many gowns to choose from, in far too many styles. She’d wished more than anything that she could ask for Samantha’s help, except she and the princess still weren’t speaking.

Nina’s hackles had risen when Daphne showed up. She’d assumed they would exchange a few pleasantries and go back to ignoring each other, but to her utter shock, Daphne had suggested they shop
together.

Nina couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough. She felt the eyes of the whole boutique on them, and knew that if she refused, the story would make its way online—about how sweet Daphne had offered to help, but Nina had rudely refused. So she’d resigned herself to the inevitable and headed to the back of the store. Where she had ended up finding a gorgeous blue-and-black dress.

It was more than Nina had spent on an article of clothing in her entire life, but she told herself that it was worth it. Beatrice’s engagement party was a big night for her and Jeff—because it was the first Washington family engagement that they would attend as a couple. In front of the entire world, and all the gathered press.

Nina shifted her weight impatiently. At least she was dressed more appropriately than the last time she’d been here.

It didn’t come naturally to her, because this country-club look was pretty much the opposite of Nina’s style, but she’d taken to thinking of it more like a costume than an outfit—as if she’d been cast in a movie. Today, for instance, she was playing the role of the Prince’s Girlfriend, Picking Up Her Dress for the Ball. That character wore a long-sleeved dress, tights, and nude lip gloss.

“Sorry, I don’t have your gown,” the salesgirl said, emerging from behind a curtain that presumably led to the storeroom.

Nina glanced at the girl’s name tag and tried a smile. “Lindsay. Do you know when it will be ready? I need to wear it tomorrow night.”

Lindsay shook her head. “We don’t have anything under your name.”

“It’s navy with a black overlay. I was getting it hemmed,” Nina said, and realized she was babbling. She swallowed, trying to think of how Samantha would handle this. “I was here on Sunday with Daphne Deighton. Damien was helping us.”

“Damien’s off today.”

“Can you please look again?” Nina ignored the stirrings of panic deep in her stomach.

The salesgirl moved to a computer. Her fingers clicked over the keyboard for a few moments, and she frowned. “Nina Gonzalez?”

“Yes.” Nina almost said,
Don’t you know me?
but caught herself just in time. This insta-celebrity thing was really messing with her head.

Lindsay’s frown deepened. “But you canceled your gown order.”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Yes,” Lindsay insisted. She spoke the words crisply, with a sort of relish, as if she felt vindicated by this proof. “It’s logged right here—you called later that afternoon to cancel. You said you’d found something else that you liked more.”

“That wasn’t me,” Nina burst out. “I don’t know who that was, but you must have mixed up the names, confused me with another customer. I didn’t cancel this order.”

Lindsay gave a sigh that clearly indicated this wasn’t her problem. “We refunded your credit card, since we hadn’t begun the alterations,” she offered, as if Nina should be thrilled to have her money back.

Nina’s heart thudded frantically in her chest. “The engagement party is
tomorrow.
I’m supposed to
be
there, at the ball, with Jeff!”

“I wasn’t aware that you were attending with His Highness,” Lindsay replied. Presumably this was to remind Nina that, as a commoner, she should have referred to Jeff by his proper rank.

“Where is the gown? I’ll take it somewhere else for the alterations ….” Nina swallowed. She sounded borderline hysterical.

“I’m afraid someone purchased that gown a few days ago,” Lindsay said, and Nina noticed that she was no longer pretending not to know which gown Nina meant. “Of course, you’re welcome to browse the racks to see what’s still available. Though I’m afraid most things left won’t be your size. It’s been a busy few days.”

“What’s going on out here?” A man with gray hair and wire-framed glasses stepped out from the back room. His eyes traveled over Nina with evident distaste. “Is there a problem?”

That was when Nina realized what was going on.

These people were trying to get rid of her. They knew precisely who she was, and didn’t approve of her—her background or her style or the way she’d supposedly “stolen” Jeff. These were the people leaving all those ugly comments online.

A few stray shoppers glanced over, curious about the drama that was unfolding before them.

Nina had never in her life cried over
clothes,
yet now she felt wildly close to tears. She forced herself to swallow them back. Making a scene would only result in more unflattering coverage, alongside pictures of her looking flushed and angry.

How was she supposed to get a black-tie gown by tomorrow evening? For every other function like this, Nina had just borrowed something from Samantha, but she couldn’t very well ask Samantha now ….

Her shoulders slumped. She remembered what Sam had said when she came over to Nina’s dorm room and they got into that awful fight.
You’re like a sister to me.

She’d been so focused on all those memories of Samantha being thoughtless or selfish—but now another memory rose to Nina’s mind. Of the time she’d gotten that awful bowl cut, the one Jeff had mentioned at Wawa. The girls at her school had teased her mercilessly for it.

When Nina told Sam what had happened—and that she was stuck with the haircut for months, until it grew out—Sam had found a pair of scissors and given herself a bowl cut, too, in solidarity. And of course, because she was the princess, she somehow managed to make it
fashionable
—turning Nina into a trendsetter, and saving her from fifth-grade social ostracism.

Nina had accused Sam of taking her for granted, but it struck Nina that maybe she’d taken Sam for granted, too. They had been friends for so long that she’d come to view their friendship as a permanent thing, as immutable and reliable as the stone of the Georgian Monument.

Nina cringed as she recalled some of the things she’d told her friend. Well, she was going to see Samantha at the ball tomorrow anyway; she might as well get a day’s head start. Nina needed to ask for Sam’s help.

And her forgiveness.

Samantha was sitting cross-legged on her couch, idly reading an article on her laptop, when she heard a familiar one-two-three knock.

She shoved the computer aside, certain she’d misheard, or that one of the footmen had heard her use this knock and was trying to mess with her. But when she opened the door, Nina was standing there.

Sam wished she could throw her arms around her friend and pour out everything that had happened since their fight. Nina and Jeff might have reconciled—Jeff had told Sam about it, right after it happened, and Sam had seen the photos of them together this past week—but she and Nina still hadn’t spoken since that awful day in Nina’s dorm room. The silence echoed with all the things they’d shouted at each other.

Nina cleared her throat. She was dressed totally out of character in a conservative dress and tights, her normally wavy hair pulled back.

“Sorry I didn’t warn you I was coming over. I just—I was in the area, and I thought …” Nina trailed off in confusion.

Sam frowned. “Nina, what happened?”

“I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I’ve had a wardrobe emergency.”

“Wardrobe emergency?” A smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s mouth. She was fairly certain Nina had never used those two words together.

Nina gave a quick nod, causing a few pieces of hair to slip from her bun. It made her look more like herself. “There was a misunderstanding with my dress alterations, and now I don’t have a gown for tomorrow. And every store in town is entirely picked over. I was wondering if you knew where I could get one at the last minute?” she asked in a small voice.

Sam was no longer trying to hide her smile. Given the other, monumental problems in her life right now, it was a relief to be confronted with one she could actually solve.

“Sounds like we need to go shopping.” She grabbed Nina’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway.

“There are practically no dresses left in the whole city; I’ve been looking,” Nina started to protest, but Sam just kept leading her down one corridor after another.

“We’re shopping here.” She stopped when they reached a metal touch screen on one wall. Sam scanned her fingerprints, and the door silently slid open.

Nina’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you had biosecurity anywhere except the Crown Jewels vault.”

“This isn’t the Crown Jewels vault, but it’s almost as good.” Samantha stepped eagerly inside, and the motion-sensor lights clicked on.

They were standing in an industrial-sized closet, at least five times bigger than Sam’s bedroom. On three of the walls were hanging rods, brimming with every kind of dress imaginable: formal gowns and short sequined dresses and wispy garden-party frocks. The final wall consisted of shelves lined in luxurious black suede, covered in accessories. There were hats and gloves and purses of every size, from functional leather handbags to embellished clutches so small that they could barely hold a lip gloss. Countless pairs of shoes were lined up like an array of brightly colored candies.

In the far corner, a seamstress’s platform stood before an enormous three-fold mirror. A dimmer on the wall had settings for DAY, BALLROOM, THEATER, DINNER, and NIGHT. Sam had never really understood how
theater
and
dinner
differed from the
night
setting, but who cared? If nothing else, it was all fun to play with.

“Welcome,” Sam intoned, in the voice of a game-show announcer, “to the Dress Closet.”

“What are all these … I mean …”

“It’s the collective closet of me, Beatrice, and my mom. Just the formal and event dresses. A lot of them have never even been worn.”

Nina turned a slow circle. “How have I never been in here?”

“We’ve never had a Code Red wardrobe emergency before.” When Nina didn’t laugh at the joke, Sam cleared her throat. “Each time we had an event coming up, I would just pull a couple of options for you. I assumed you didn’t
want
to come in here.”

Nina winced at her words, and Sam realized she’d said the wrong thing—reminding Nina of all those online commenters who mocked her fashion sense. Nina tugged absently at the hem of her long-sleeved dress. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about this stuff.”

Sam was glad the queen wasn’t present to hear Nina call this room—filled with thousands of dollars of couture gowns, of intricate beading and gossamer fabrics and delicate hand-stitched sequins—
this stuff.

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands. Because I know a lot.” A grin stole over Sam’s face. “And I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. You, Nina Gonzalez, have no choice but to be my human mannequin.”

Already she was prowling down the first rack, chattering as she went. “You have such a long torso, you’ll fit better into Beatrice’s gowns than mine. Which is too bad, since my style is
way
more fun,” she teased, pulling out one exquisite gown after another. The peach high-necked one from last year’s museum gala, covered in tiny crystals that caught the light. A gorgeous red one with black arabesques that trailed down the heavy full skirt. A dress of fuchsia silk that Beatrice once wore on a state visit to Greece. Sam draped them atop her arm, one after another in a vibrant multicolored stack.

Nina shook her head. “Sam, I can’t let you do all this. I was saving up for my own dress.”

“Great. Treat yourself to a mani-pedi tomorrow,” Sam deadpanned.

“Seriously. I’m not supposed to borrow anything from your family.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Says who, the fashion police?”

“
Robert
said it, when he came to my house with a nondisclosure agreement!”

Sam fell still at that. Her grip closed over one of the felt-lined hangers, so tight that she almost snapped it. No wonder Nina thought that the Washingtons made her feel small.

“Forget Robert. He has no business telling you what to do. And if he says anything, I’ll fire him.”

“I’m not sure you have the authority to do that,” Nina replied, though she was almost smiling.

“Please.” Sam drew the word out so that it was two syllables. “Just try on a few things? You’re my oldest friend in the world, and you have
never
let me dress you up, not like this.”

“You’re taking advantage of my desperation,” Nina complained, but she obediently unzipped her dress and pulled on the first gown that Samantha held toward her, a slinky cobalt one covered in sequins.

“So what if I am?” Sam grinned, sliding various dresses along the titanium rods of the closet. “Are you really going to deprive me of something that brings me such joy?”

“You just like doing this because it gives you a semblance of control in a chaotic world.” Nina twisted so that Sam could pull up the zipper for her.

Sam was caught off guard by the insight. But before she could answer, Nina turned back around to face her. Her cheeks were bright with color, her eyes sparkling.

“I really missed you, Sam.”

It was enough to halt Samantha’s hurricane of motion. She froze, dresses sliding out of her arms to tumble in a heap to the floor.

She stepped over the couture as if it were a pile of Kleenex and enfolded her friend in a hug. “I hated fighting with you.”

“It was the worst!” Nina exclaimed. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you like that. It wasn’t fair of me. I just felt so rattled, by the paparazzi and all those commenters.”

Sam took a step back. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, about the way I’ve treated you. I’m really sorry,” she said fervently. “I hate that I made you feel that way.”

“A lot of it wasn’t your fault.”

“Still. Will you tell me how I can do better, moving forward?”

Nina smiled. “Right now you can watch me work through this enormous stack of gowns, and provide running commentary.”

“That, I can definitely do,” Sam assured her, and began to collect the scattered gowns from the carpet.

What a relief to know that with everything else going wrong in the world, this was one thing that had managed to right itself, after all.

As Nina tried on one dress after another, she and Samantha caught up on everything they had missed over the past several weeks: Nina’s reconciliation with Jeff, and the fact that Nina had gone shopping with
Daphne.

“That’s really weird,” Sam said bluntly. “Ex-girlfriends don’t just go shopping with current girlfriends, not of their own free will.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Who knows, maybe she hoped someone would report the whole thing to the tabloids, and it would make her look good.”

That was certainly plausible, but Sam couldn’t help thinking there was more to the story. It felt a little too convenient to be a complete coincidence.

“Besides,” Nina added, lifting an eyebrow, “you have no room to talk. I seem to remember you taking shots with Daphne on New Year’s Eve.”

Sam laughed; she’d almost forgotten about that. “Only because I couldn’t find you!” she protested.

Though it had been kind of fun, trying to peel back the layers of impeccable behavior that encased Daphne like armor.

“What about you, Sam?” Nina asked. “Are you okay, with all the news about Beatrice and Teddy?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Beatrice and I talked. It turns out we’ve both misunderstood each other for a while. As for Teddy …” Her voice caught a little; then she forged on. “I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about it, but Beatrice has her reasons for marrying him. And it’s not like I can stop her. So I’m trying to get over it, as best as I can. Finding things to distract myself with. Speaking of which …” She looked at Nina’s gown, which was covered in fluffy pom-poms along the bottom, and choked out a laugh. “You look like cotton candy that went through a shredder. Next.”

“You and
Beatrice
are friends now?” Nina shook her head as she stepped out of the offending dress. “Just how long have we not been talking?”

“Too long.”

“What caused you guys to make up? Did you find a common enemy or something?”

Yep. My dad’s cancer.

Sam bit her lip against the words. She wanted to tell Nina about her dad’s prognosis. She’d wanted to call and spill everything to her best friend from the very first moment she heard the news.

While unloading that secret might make her feel better, it also felt unbelievably selfish. It wasn’t really Sam’s secret to share. And honestly, she didn’t want to put the weight of her dad’s illness on another person’s shoulders. Especially Nina’s—not after everything she had recently been through.

Right now, what Sam and Nina needed was to keep playing this very elaborate game of couture dress-up.

“I guess Beatrice and I just had some catching up to do,” she offered by way of explanation. “You know what they say, sisters before misters.”

Nina snorted. “I don’t think that’s a real saying, but I’ll let you have it.”

Sam took the reject gown, smoothing its straps over the velvet hanger, then passed Nina a soft blue one. It spilled out into the room around them, a waterfall of pale silk.

“And on the bright side, hasn’t Beatrice’s engagement diverted the media attention from you and Jeff?” Sam watched as Nina stepped into the dress.

“Some, yeah. It’s just disheartening, how many people hate me who’ve never even
met
me.”

Sam felt a fierce wave of protectiveness toward her friend. “Want me to send security to rough them up, teach them a lesson?”

Nina snorted, ignoring Sam, and turned back and forth on the platform. She looked, to be honest, like a blue-frosted wedding cake. “I can
not
wear this.”

“Try one of these,” Sam suggested, pulling over a few column dresses. “And promise that you won’t read the online comments anymore. Those people are just jealous of how smart and poised and self-assured you are. And, you know, the fact that you’re dating a prince.”

“Sam …” Nina twisted her hands, seeming nervous. “Are you really okay with me and Jeff? I wouldn’t want to make you feel weird, or uncomfortable ….”

“My two favorite people in the world, realizing how awesome each other are? Why would I not be okay with that?” Sam asked, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Of course, I expect you to name your firstborn after me, since I’m the one who brought you together.”

Her friend’s face turned beet red, making Sam roar with laughter. “Fine,” she conceded. “Come to think of it, this family couldn’t handle another Samantha.”

Nina grinned, her face still flushed. “There could only ever be one of you, Sam.”