Katharine McGee
Katharine McGee
Katharine
McGee
McGee
Texas in September was unbearably, swelteringly hot. Connor Markham swatted at a mosquito as he turned away from the bayou and headed into the last quarter mile of his run.
He’d never gotten used to the humidity here in Houston. West Texas, the world he’d grown up in, was a land of dry heat—the same feeling as walking up to the space heater Beatrice used to keep in her dorm room at Harvard, because those creaking old dorms didn’t have proper heat. Houston was wet and muggy, especially in the fall, when desultory raindrops fell on the pavement and then evaporated in moments.
But if you ignored the fact that it was built on a swamp, there was a lot to love about Houston. The people—Connor was fond of the Ramirezes, and the security team he managed. The food—finally he could get a decent breakfast taco. And it was nice being in the same state as his family. His parents were constantly coming to visit. They kept pretending they were visiting his younger sister Kaela, a sophomore at the University of Texas, and since they were already in Austin they might as well come the extra three hours to Houston.
Connor wasn’t fooled. His mom clearly sensed that something was going on, and wanted to check in on him, leave his freezer full of chicken casseroles and chocolate chip pies.
Moms were like that. They had a sixth sense for when something had upset you, even if they didn’t know precisely what it was.
It was for the best, Connor told himself. He needed the space from his old job, especially from Beatrice. If it had only been the difference in their positions, the fact that she was queen and he was her bodyguard… well, then maybe he would have stayed.
But she fell in love with Teddy. A real love, not whatever infatuation she’d felt for him. Connor was smart enough to see the difference. No matter how hard it was to admit.
He turned onto his street and slowed his steps, walking up the pathway to his front porch. That was another thing to love about this job: he didn’t have to live on-property, the way he had for the Washingtons. He and Jacob, another of the security guards, were able to rent a small house in the Heights. It was tiny, one of those two-bedroom places with a postage-stamp sized backyard, and a spindly little water oak that would absolutely get knocked over in the next hurricane. But it was his.
“Hey, Connor. I’m making eggs,” Jacob called out from the kitchen, when he heard the front door open. “Want some?”
“That would be awesome, thanks.”
Connor’s phone was charging in the wall; he glanced down at the screen and saw that he had a new text from Erica. They’d gone out a couple of times, and he genuinely liked her. He started to text her back, only to pause at the sound of the TV in the other room.
It was on a news channel. An anchor sat behind a desk, looking frazzled, the collar of her shirt uneven. The banner beneath her read BREAKING NEWS: QUEEN IN HOSPITAL.
“We have just received a statement from Washington Palace. Her Majesty Queen Beatrice has been in a car accident,” the anchor said, her voice wavering. She titled her head as if listening to someone’s rapid updates in her earpiece. “Her Majesty is being treated for substantial injuries at Westmount Hospital. The palace thanks you for your thoughts and prayers—”
Connor didn’t hear the rest; there was a low ringing in his ears. He braced his hand against the wall, dizzy.
He knew the palace PR machine and their obfuscation well enough to translate that statement. Substantial injuries might sound to most people like a broken leg or a shattered rib, but that was only because the palace would never issue a release that said severe injury, or life-threatening-injury, or intensive care. Not unless they absolutely had to.
The news anchor was still talking, saying that reports were unconfirmed as to what had caused the crash, that Prince Jefferson was being sworn in as Acting King.
Connor’s stomach lurched. Jeff as king? Where was Samantha?
“Connor?” Jacob peered at him around the corner. “You okay?”
He should say that he felt weak, that the run had left him dehydrated, but all he could manage was a vague wave in the direction of the TV.
Jacob glanced at the screen and blanched. “Oh, god. That’s terrible. You were her Guard, weren’t you?”
“For three years.” That was public knowledge, even if Connor’s feelings for Beatrice definitely weren’t.
“And you’re upset she’s hurt?”
Connor looked up sharply. “Seriously? What kind of question is that?”
Jacob was still holding a spatula; he held it up in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry! I didn’t mean…I just thought you hated Beatrice. I figured she was an awful stuck-up brat, from the way you always react when her name comes up.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This!” Jacob waved the spatula again. “Your expression! You look all… murder-y.”
Connor realized his jaw was clenched and tried to loosen it, silently cursing his own lack of tact. Jacob was right. He’d been flinching, his expression hardening, each time Beatrice’s name came up. Small wonder that people thought he despised her.
Well, it was better than them guessing the truth.
“I don’t hate Beatrice,” Connor breathed.
He should have said Her Majesty. Perhaps it was that, or perhaps some of his real emotion finally cracked through his façade, because Jacob’s eyes widened.
“Oh, shit,” he said softly. “You and her?”
“No, it wasn’t—I mean, I only ever—” Connor was dimly aware that he was stammering, only made it worse.
“Oh my god,” Jacob muttered. “I’m so sorry.”
Connor said nothing to that, because what could he say? He had finally started to move on, to put all that pain behind him, and now Beatrice was hurt. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to care. He probably wasn’t allowed to care.
“What are you going to do?” Jacob asked.
“There’s only one thing I can do.” Connor reached for his phone, ready to text Erica about that second date. “Nothing.”
Beatrice wasn’t his to protect anymore. She had Teddy for that, now. She was happy, and he had to respect that.
Connor said a silent prayer for her, then reached for the remote and turned off the TV. He couldn’t bear to listen to it another second longer.
Sounds drifted down from the ballroom: the band’s final songs, the clinking of glassware as footmen collected stray champagne flutes. Sam wondered if anyone could see her, a shadowed figure huddled on the lower terrace in her mom’s fur coat—which she’d stolen from the downstairs closet, since no one had yet removed her fingerprints from the security system.
Moonlight spilled over the garden’s bare hedges, the fountains with their empty stone basins. Even the statues looked desolate in the winter. But Sam though the cold felt bracing, even invigorating. It reminded her of ski weekends in the Telluride house, back when her family had been at their happiest.
After her fight with Jeff earlier, Sam knew she should leave. Instead she’d found herself wandering through the downstairs state rooms. They were dark and closed-off, but Sam had simply lifted the red velvet ropes and walked inside, to stare at the paintings in their heavy ornate frames or skim her hands over the wooden furniture. She wasn’t sure if she was walking for the sake of walking, letting her sadness settle low and heavy in her body… or if she was saying goodbye to it all.
A door opened behind her. Sam looked over her shoulder to see Teddy emerging from the downstairs hallway, accompanied by Franklin.
“Sam? What are you doing out here?” Teddy asked.
“Just… thinking, I guess.”
The yellow lab whined, tugging his leash toward an errant squirrel. Teddy ignored him, studying Sam.
“Do you need to do this thinking alone, or can I join you?”
“By all means, take a seat.” Sam patted the step next to her in wry invitation.
Teddy turned back into the hallway; a moment later a footman emerged in a puffy jacket, and Teddy handed over Franklin’s leash. “Come on, buddy, let’s go,” the footman called out. He pointedly looked everywhere except at Sam.
“Here, you need this more than I do.” Teddy came to sit next to her, holding out a steaming mug.
“Hot chocolate?” Sam took an eager sip, then smiled. “You spiked it.”
“If you’re going to be such a masochist as to make us sit outside in December, we need the whiskey for warmth.” The smile faded from Teddy’s voice as he added, “Besides, you probably need a drink as much as I do right now.”
Sam passed the mug wordlessly back toward him. She felt comfortable with Teddy in a way that she didn’t with many people, probably because he’d seen all her ugly, painful vulnerabilities. He was like the older brother she’d never had.
“I’m sorry about tonight,” Teddy said softly. “But I really do think they’ll come around, Sam. Just give them time.”
She glanced over, noting the defeated slump of his shoulders. “What happened to you tonight? Something with Beatrice?”
He nodded miserably. “What if she never gets her memories back?”
“The doctors said she would,” Sam insisted.
“They said it was possible, not that it was certain.” Teddy leaned forward, head in his hands, so that his voice was muffled. “And I think she’s going to really end things after Jeff and Daphne’s wedding.”
“What?”
“Beatrice doesn’t remember anything real between us. She asked me to keep ‘acting like her fiancé,’ just to avoid the public scandal.”
“Oh, Teddy.”
Silence fell between them. For a while they simply passed the hot chocolate back and forth, their breath frosting the air.
“So you have until Jeff’s wedding. That’s a month,” Sam said at last. “You can do it.”
“Do what? Jog her memories?”
“Not necessarily. You need to make her fall in love with you again.”
Teddy stared out at the shadowed gardens, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know if that’s even possible.”
“Of course it is. Beatrice fell for you once; it stands to reason that she’ll do it again! Just—stop trying to make her remember that she used to love you, and just focus on the here and now. Make this version of Beatrice fall in love with you.”
“What should I do?”
“Well, what was your first date?”
Teddy stared at Sam in surprise. “We played video games with my brothers.”
“That’s possibly the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard of.” Sam shoved his shoulder playfully. “If that first date made her love you, then there’s no way you’ll fail! She’s still Beatrice, Teddy,” she added, in a softer, more serious tone. “Beatrice from a year ago, maybe, but she’s still Bee. And you’re still you.”
Teddy was quiet for a moment, considering this. At last he said, “I don’t think your family gives you enough credit. That was… insightful. A little unorthodox, but insightful.”
“Unorthodox but insightful, that’s me in a nutshell,” Sam agreed, and he chuckled.
“Do you want to tell me what brought you out here?” he ventured. “Your fight with Jeff? Or… is something going on with Marshall?”
Now it was her turn to look down. The fabric of her gown had tiny crystals tracing up the side; they kept catching and refracting the moonlight.
“All of the above,” she admitted. “I really miss Marshall, and Jeff won’t speak to me. I’m not even sure if I’m even invited to his wedding.” Her voice broke a little on that last sentence, but Teddy was polite enough to pretend not to hear.
He drummed his fingers against the side of the coffee mug, thoughtful. “I think this is an instance when you need to take your own advice. Fight for the people who matter.”
“I tried that tonight, and failed miserably!”
“Because you did what you usually do, and tackled the problem head-on. You can’t just show up and say you’re sorry and expect to be forgiven,” Teddy said bluntly. “In this instance, I think fighting for your family is more subtle than a confrontation. It means finding a way to show them how great you are—reminding them why they love you.”
It had started to snow, great wet flakes that melted in the strands of Sam’s fur and on the collar of Teddy’s coat, but neither of them moved.
“How do I do that?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure,” Teddy admitted. “But you’ll find your own way. You always do.”
Her own way. Maybe the right path forward was to find a space outside her family, to prove that she could stand on her own two feet. Maybe if she showed the Washingtons just how valuable she could be, they would see how much they missed her.
“Thanks, Teddy.” She stood, dusting the snow off her shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I’m rooting for you.”
He smiled. “I’m rooting for you, too, Sam. I always have.”
Beatrice couldn’t sleep.
She slid out of bed with a sigh, reaching for a robe and a pair of unfamiliar fuzzy slippers, bright pink ones with pom-poms on the heels. They didn’t look like something she would’ve picked out for herself, but then again, the new Beatrice—or at least, the Beatrice of the past year—kept surprising her.
When she’d padded downstairs to the kitchens, Beatrice flicked on the lights. It was blessedly quiet in here, the only noise the humming of the wall of dishwashers that were probably filled with hundreds of tiny appetizer plates. She flung open one of the refrigerators and frowned at its contents: clusters of tomatoes, gallons of milk, an enormous tub of yogurt. Didn’t the kitchen staff leave containers of leftovers somewhere?
At the sound of footsteps, she shut the door and whirled around, feeling like she’d been caught trespassing—but it was only Teddy. He had on a heavy overcoat. Snow dusted his shoulders and the top of his wool beanie, looking like a layer of confectioners’ sugar.
“Hi, Bee,” he said, surprised. “I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I was hungry,” she admitted.
There was a whining sound, and the pad of heavy dog feet, as Franklin trotted into the room. When he saw Beatrice he bounded forward and jumped up, bracing his paws on her torso. She couldn’t help laughing a little.
“Sorry.” Teddy tugged Franklin away, but Beatrice shook her head.
“It’s all right; I don’t mind. Were you just taking him on a walk?”
Teddy opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then nodded. “Yes. A quick one.”
“It must be freezing out.” Beatrice reached for Teddy’s arm as if to brush off the snow, then realized what she was doing and stopped. He pretended not to notice.
“You said you’re hungry? Can I make you something?” he offered.
“Um…”
“An omelet, or maybe a grilled cheese?”
Beatrice’s stomach emitted an audible growl. “A grilled cheese sounds perfect.” She kept her hand on Franklin’s head as she added, “It’s always been my comfort food, when…”
When everything got too overwhelming. When she felt lost.
“I know,” Teddy said simply.
He shrugged out of his jacket and hat, then began moving around the kitchen, melting butter in a saucepan and cutting into a loaf of French bread before adding slices of cheese. Franklin had calmed down; he wasn’t jumping anymore but standing quietly next to Beatrice, his head pressed against her leg. She caught herself leaning toward him, as if she remembered Franklin on some instinctive level, even if her conscious mind had forgotten him.
When Teddy retreated into a pantry and emerged with a long, skinny bottle, Beatrice eyed it with skepticism. It looked like alcohol.
“Truffle oil.” Teddy answered her unspoken question, pouring a healthy dose on her grilled cheese. It gave a satisfying sizzle in the pan
“Oh, yum. I love truffle.”
Teddy didn’t say anything, but a smile tugged at his lips. He clearly knew that already. Normally it would have disconcerted Beatrice, but right now, it felt rather comforting. Plenty of people knew things about her, but so few really understood her. She wasn’t sure how to articulate the difference, but Teddy… he clearly fell in the latter camp.
“Why did we adopt Franklin?” she blurted out.
Teddy went still for half a heartbeat, surprised, or maybe excited, that she had asked a question about their life together. “You fell in love with him when we visited Walthorpe,” he said carefully. “You named him, of course.”
“Of course,” Beatrice repeated, with a touch of a smile.
She tried to imagine it: curling up with a litter of puppies, watching their soft, sleepy explorations of the world around them. She must have felt a spark of connection with Teddy that night, if she’d insisted on bringing back a puppy and raising it together.
She closed her eyes, willing her mind to produce the memory, but drew a blank.
“How did we take care of Franklin?” she asked, looking back up. “Did we potty train him? Take him on walks ourselves? I mean, clearly you do,” she added awkwardly. “But what about me?”
“We had a little help with potty training,” Teddy explained. “You like to take Franklin out in the mornings, when you go on a run. Sometimes we all go together.”
It wasn’t lost on Beatrice that Teddy had switched to the present tense. He was grounding their relationship in the here and now, instead of letting her describe it as a thing of the past.
She bent over to scratch behind Franklin’s ears. “You know, my dad would never let us get a dog, no matter how many times we begged. No matter that the PR teams thought it would make us seem more normal or likeable if the palace had a resident dog.”
“Really?” Teddy asked, flipping the grilled cheese in the pan. He didn’t sound all that surprised by her revelation.
“Sorry—you know all this, don’t you?” she asked haltingly. “I mean, you’ve heard me say all this before?”
“Yes, but tell me again. I like listening to you.”
Beatrice flushed at the intimacy of his tone. She looked down at Franklin as she continued.
“My dad always said that you shouldn’t take responsibility for another living thing unless you can take care of it yourself. No outsourcing it to a footman or housekeeper. You had to actually, personally, give it care. Dad knew we didn’t have time for a dog. Sam talked him into letting her get a goldfish, once, but that didn’t end well.”
“It didn’t?” Teddy prompted.
“My parents forbade the housekeepers from feeding it or changing its water. They wanted her to learn to do all of that herself. She did manage, for a while,” Beatrice recalled. “She had a whiteboard on her bathroom door reminding her of its schedule. But, you know, she’s Sam. The goldfish didn’t last more than a few weeks.”
“I think the average goldfish lifespan is pretty short, actually.” Teddy started to cut the grilled cheese into quarters, only to pause. “Bee? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she lied.
To her horror, her voice broke, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wiped at them angrily. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
“Stop apologizing. You’re allowed to cry.” Teddy turned off the stove and came to stand before her, his palms settling tentatively on her shoulders. Beatrice didn’t pull away.
“No, I’m not.” The words came out broken and fast. “ ‘You are a princess, and you must never reveal weakness or emotion. You are not a private citizen and are not entitled to private feelings—’ ”
“Who told you that?” There was anger in Teddy’s voice, though it was tightly leashed.
Her family, her father, her grandmother, her etiquette teacher, and even, in their own way, the media.
“Everyone,” she said numbly. “They were only trying to help. They knew that any emotion I revealed would be used against me—that as the first Queen of America, I would be a target my entire life. If I never gave my enemies any ammunition, it would be harder for them to hurt me.”
“That’s no way to live,” Teddy argued. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re safe here, okay? Cry as much as you want to.”
Something in Beatrice’s chest loosened and gave way, and she burst into sobs.
There was nothing pretty or princess-like about her tears—not like Daphne, who could always manage to cry so elegantly. These were ragged and ugly, erupting violently from her chest. Beatrice’s throat felt raw and her eyes burned and her body seemed to quake with the force of it.
“Oh, Bee.” Teddy wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Beatrice’s head fell against his chest as if it belonged there. She stopped worrying, stopped second guessing. She just held Teddy and let herself cry.
Eventually, after some time had passed, the storm began to abate. Beatrice felt curiously lighter, as if those tears had been pent up inside her for weeks, for months, and now her chest had space in it again. She felt like she could breathe.
She was suddenly aware of how she fit against Teddy. Her body had nestled against him on instinct, as if it knew he was a safe place for resting.
Beatrice took a step back, but Teddy didn’t let go of her. He reached up to wipe at a tear that still slid down her cheek.
That touch sent a shower of sparks cascading through her body. Beatrice’s breath caught. The world narrowed to the single point of contact where his thumb brushed her skin. Suddenly, she wished she could remember kissing him.
She could find out again, right now. She could lift her face up, and brush her lips against his…
Teddy was still a moment, his blue eyes fixed intently on hers, as if he sensed her turmoil. Then he carefully stepped back.
She watched him reach for the grilled cheese and pop a quarter into his mouth.
“Hey!” Beatrice protested, with a strangled laugh. She knew precisely why he had done it. He thought she wanted to break the moment between them, and was trying to give her an out.
She just wasn’t sure she had actually wanted to pull away.
“Sorry,” Teddy said, without an ounce of regret. “That’s what my dad always calls chef’s tax.”
Franklin was whining, begging at her heels for a piece, but Beatrice ignored him as she reached for her own triangle of grilled cheese. “Oh my god, this is incredible.”
“Truffle makes everything better, doesn’t it? It’s kind of a culinary cheat code.”
Beatrice devoured another quarter of the sandwich in a single bite, then licked her fingers, demonstrating appalling manners. Teddy watched with amusement; then his expression shifted to something more serious.
“I’m here, you know, in case you want to talk,” he said softly.
Beatrice let out a breath. “It’s the Duke of Virginia.”
She’d never told Teddy how Madison confronted her after the press conference—the whole thing made her feel weak, and slightly ashamed. But now the whole story came spilling out of her, making her wish she’d shared it ages ago. It was so nice, unburdening herself to Teddy. Feeling like she had an ally in all this mess.
When she got to Jeff’s most recent revelations, Teddy made an outraged noise of protest.
“He thought Jeff would testify against you? The nerve of him.” Teddy’s fists clenched. “He clearly underestimated how close you are with your siblings.”
Beatrice’s heart ached at the thought of Sam, but she shoved the emotion aside. “I’m sure his own family is a dysfunctional mess, so he thinks everyone else is the same.”
“In a way, though, it’s a good thing that he went to Jeff. Now we know what he’s planning and can work against him,” Teddy pointed out.
Warmth bloomed in her chest, hearing that we. She might be under attack, but she wasn’t alone.
“But how? My memories aren’t coming back, and no matter how hard I try to be a good queen, I will inevitably slip up. The moment I do, he’ll be waiting, ready to ruin me!”
“Beatrice, you are a good queen,” Teddy cut in. “Still, I agree we need to do something more. You need a strong offense; not just a good defense. If Madison is gathering senators to vote in support of his bill, then you have to find just as many senators who will vote against it.”
Beatrice nodded slowly. As the monarch, she wasn’t meant to engage in campaigning or politicking; that was for Congress or elected officials.
But… these were extraordinary times, and might call for extraordinary measures. Maybe it was time she stopped worrying about what she was meant to do, and focused on what she needed to do.
“Here,” Teddy offered, holding out his phone. He’d pulled up the list of senators. And though Beatrice knew it by heart, she leaned forward. It was always nice to have a visual aid.
It definitely had nothing to do with finding an excuse to be near Teddy.
“Madison will get most of the Old Guard, except my dad,” Teddy was saying. “You should focus on the other key players, the heavy-hitters who can help you gather more votes.”
“The Duke of Orange would work, except that he’s not the biggest fan of my family right now,” Beatrice said absently. Everyone knew the duke still blamed Samantha for the fact that Marshall was gone.
“What about Anna Ramirez?” Teddy suggested.
The Duchess of Texas. She was formidable, a force of nature in the Senate; if she cared enough about something, she could get the entire southern bloc to follow her vote.
And Connor worked for her.
Beatrice’s stomach clenched with sudden confusion; she did want to see Connor, didn’t she?
She just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
Teddy was right, though; there was no better ally for her cause than Anna Ramirez.
It looked like she was going to Texas.
