It’s not the most eloquent of speeches, but it still makes my throat go tight, and I nearly shove her with a “Shut up” just to shove down any inconvenient sisterly feelings.
Instead, I put my arm around her. “I love you, El,” I tell her, and she gives a slightly watery laugh.
“Now who’s being gross?”
But she puts her arm around my waist, and we sit up there on top of the world, watching the city for a long time.
* * *
• • •
When we get back to the palace, Alex is waiting for us, his face relaxing in a grin when he sees Ellie, and honestly, I’m not even that grossed out when they kiss. I’m just relieved.
When they part, Alex turns to me and reaches out to ruffle my hair. “At least we made your last week here an exciting one,” he says, and I smile back, stepping back from his hand.
“I definitely feel very royal now that I’ve witnessed punching and paparazzi,” I reply, then look around.
“Is Seb still here?” I ask, and Alex’s grin fades.
“No, I think he’s nursing his wounds and his pride at his club with the rest of his friends.”
That makes sense, and I’m glad I’m not going to have to run the risk of bumping into him for a little bit.
And then, from behind Alex, I see Miles coming down the back stairs, hands in his pockets.
Glancing over his shoulder, Alex clears his throat and takes Ellie’s hand. “We’ll let you two chat, shall we?”
Ellie gives my arm a last squeeze, and then she and Alex are gone, heading down the narrow hall off the main foyer, leaving me and Miles standing there.
“Are you getting beheaded?” I ask him, and he laughs, shaking his head.
“No, so far my neck seems to be in the clear,” he says as he reaches up to loosen his tie. He’s still smiling, but I can see how tense his shoulders are, and I remember that for all the joking, Miles could be in real trouble with the royal family here. His apartment, his school, even medical stuff . . . that’s all been on the Baird family dime, and what if this one stupid thing with me today put all that at risk?
It’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.
Ellie and I have made things right, so there’s really only one thing left to do here.
“Look, Miles,” I say, stepping back from him. “I really appreciate what you did today. Standing up for me, not letting Glynnis use . . . whatever this is.” I gesture between the two of us. “Oh, and also the kiss, that part was definitely A-plus, well done, you,” I add, giving him a thumbs-up.
The tips of his ears turn pink, and a dimple appears in one cheek as he tries not to smile, which is really very unfair right now.
Which is why I have to rip this Band-Aid off, and fast.
“But it’s not like there’s any chance of this actually going anywhere.”
That hurts to say more than I thought it would, and when he looks up at me, his brows drawn together over those green eyes, I feel like something is squeezing my chest.
“I’m going back to America and regular high school,” I hurry on. “And you’re going to, I don’t know, some university where people wear striped ties and spit at poor people.”
“That place actually rejected me,” Miles says, and I give a slightly forced laugh, shaking my head.
“Ugh, don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t be funny when I’m trying to—”
What am I trying to do? Break up with him? We were never really a couple, and one kiss doesn’t change that.
I move closer and lift my face, brushing the quickest of kisses on his cheek. Just over his shoulder, I can see the bust of one of Alex’s ancestors, and in the distance, I hear the steady tick-tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.
“It was never real,” I tell Miles, backing away. “It was just . . . part of summer in this bizarre-o world. And it’s messed up enough for you already, so let’s just call it a day, okay?”
Miles watches me, and it’s like I can see that invisible suit of armor he wears half the time building itself back up. All the warmth slips out of his eyes, his jaw tight, his shoulders stiff.
“If that’s what you want,” he finally says.
It’s not, not really, but what can I say? One kiss and a weird summer of fake dating is not worth screwing up his whole life for. And it’s not like there’s a future for us anyway. For all I know, we both got carried away faking a romance and just tricked ourselves into thinking it was the real thing.
But when he turns and walks back up the stairs, never looking back, the sudden pain in my heart feels pretty freaking real.
Chapter 35
It’s so hot back in Florida.
There’s a part of me that loves it, that wants to soak in the sun, the vaguely salty air, the bright colors. And for the first couple of days, I do. I shake off my jet lag lying on a blanket in our backyard, watching tiny lizards run over the palm fronds. I slather myself in sunblock and let the smell of coconut remind me that I’m home now, and that everything that happened in Scotland is in the past.
Of course, it can’t really stay in the past—the wedding is still very much on and will be in Scotland in December. Then I’ll have to go back and face everything I left behind. Ellie and I are fine, so at least that’s good, but I’ll still have to deal with Alex’s family. With Seb.
With Miles.
That’s the one that still hurts. I hadn’t talked to him before I left, and even though I have his email—thanks to Sherbet—I don’t want to risk it. The whole thing had been such a mess, and it seems like it’s better to leave it alone. Maybe now that I’m gone, Miles can repair his relationship with “the palace,” and by the time I come back in the winter, it won’t be a big deal anymore.
That’s probably wishful thinking.
Isa told me that it was all over the blogs, and I haven’t ventured out of my house since I got back, afraid to suddenly see my face on all those magazines.
I guess it’s impressive, how the palace spun the story of what happened at the polo match, and from everything Isa told me, the stories had Glynnis’s fingerprints all over them. There was no mention of Seb’s declaration of love to Ellie, and now Alex had punched him because he’d besmirched my honor or something. A total misunderstanding was turned into me being some kind of scarlet woman, breaking up the Royal Wreckers, and while Miles and Seb had definitely not been fighting over me—well, not really—I guess the end result is the same anyway.
For those first few days I’m back, I mostly just sit either in the backyard or in my room, checking in with Isa (and, yes, asking her to check the blogs for me), too afraid to go out. The paparazzi have never bothered us here in Perdido, but that was before I became a story, and every time I lie out in the backyard, I tense for the clicking of shutters. I won’t even wear a bathing suit when I lie out, just in case.
It’s on day four of my self-imposed hermitdom that Dad comes into my room wearing one of his loud shirts and a pair of long cutoffs. His gray hair is a mess, and he’s got his sunglasses perched on top of his head with his regular glasses balancing on the end of his nose.
In other words, typical Dad.
“C’mon,” he says, and I look up from my laptop, frowning.
“What?”
“No more of this,” he replies, gesturing around my room. “Baptism by fire, here we go.”