American Royals by Katharine McGee Read Free Book Online Page A

“Why are you hiding here at the bar, instead of working the room like the rest of your family?”
    “Trust me, the rest of my family is doing just fine on their own. Right now my sister is talking with the German ambassador, in German, ” Sam told him, and rolled her eyes.
    “Wow,” Teddy said slowly. “That’s so …”
    “Obnoxious?”
    “I was going to say impressive,” he replied, and Sam flushed at being caught out. But it often felt as if Beatrice went out of her way to make everyone else look like slackers.
    When she was little—it felt very long ago, now—Sam used to think of herself as smart. She loved to read, spent hours listening to stories about the former kings and queens, and had a sharp memory for details. But then she started at St. Ursula’s, and that innate cheerful confidence was systematically whittled away from her.
    She didn’t have her older sister’s patience, or her head for numbers, or her desire to chair clubs and committees. On more than one occasion Sam overheard the teachers talking about her in low voices: She’s no Beatrice, they would say, with evident frustration. Gradually Sam was galvanized into believing it. Beatrice was the smart, beautiful future queen, while Sam was just the Other Washington Sister.
    She glanced over at Teddy, who was shifting his weight as if he might walk away. But Sam didn’t want him to go, not yet.
    “We can head over to the throne room if you want. The ceremony is starting soon,” she offered.
    Teddy held out his arm in a show of careless chivalry. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”
    “My friends call me Sam.” She looped her arm through his, still holding the half-empty beer in the other hand.
    The sounds of the party chased after them, laughter and music echoing through the old, high-ceilinged rooms. A constant flow of traffic—footmen dressed in tails, PR people and camera crews—buzzed back and forth along the hall.
    Teddy paused in the doorway to the throne room, to stare up at the domed ceiling that soared above them. It was painted with the famous mural of King George I crossing the sky in a flying chariot.
    “Charles Wilson Peale did that one,” Sam murmured, ignoring the confused glances from the support staff who were stationed inside. Caleb was already in there—Sam tried not to make eye contact with him—standing next to Beatrice’s security detail, a tall, fierce-looking young man in the uniform of the Revere Guard.
    “As in the Peale family from Pennsylvania?” Teddy asked.
    Sam shrugged. She much preferred Charles Wilson to his modern descendants. She was pretty sure the Peale girls had started that rumor that she was sent to rehab in tenth grade—and that was just because she’d danced with one of their ex-boyfriends at a party.
    “He was a lieutenant in the Revolutionary War. He painted the pillars, too.” Sam nodded at the corners of the room, where four columns soared upward. “They’re supposed to represent the four pillars of American virtue: truth, justice, honor, and family. The weird one with all the bales of hay and piglets is family, in case you didn’t get it.”
    Teddy’s eyes twinkled. “How do you know so much history?”
    “I used to sneak away from my nanny and hide in the middle of palace tours,” Sam confessed. “Sometimes people didn’t even see me there. Or if they did, I would whisper that I was playing hide-and-seek against my brother, and could they please help me hide? They usually did. My nanny searched all over the palace, but she never thought to look for me in the middle of a crowd.”
    Teddy shook his head wonderingly. “I think you’re too clever for your own good.”
    Trumpets sounded from the other end of the hall, indicating that the ceremony would begin in fifteen minutes. The noise was followed by an answering thunder of footsteps as hundreds of people began the slow procession toward the throne room.
    Sam’s heart skipped. Etiquette, as well as common sense, dictated