Who Made You a Princess? (29 page)

“Good night, Lady Lindsay.”

I shuddered and shut the door, locking it for good measure.

“Mac?” Carly’s sleepy voice came from the direction of her bed, muffled by a quilt. “Who’s that with you?”

“I called home and got caught,” I whispered. “Ms. Tobin marched me up here.”

Carly groaned.

I undressed and crawled into bed. Shani, Carly, and I made do in a room designed for two. I have to admit it was kind of fun
rooming with those two. Since her debacle with the heir to the Lion Throne last month, Shani has lost a little of her attitude.
She doesn’t look at people with scornful eyes like she used to, and when she talks, it’s to you and not at you.

Or maybe it’s just me.

I returned to the problem at hand. With two weeks left to go before the holidays, what was I to do? Home or here? Old or new?
Family or friends? And really, what was the difference?

I blinked and stiffened on my goosedown pillow.

That was it. There was no difference. My family and my friends all belonged together. With me. At home.

“Carly?” I whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Guhhhm.”

“Do you think everyone would like to come to Scotland with me for Christmas?”

“
DEFINE
EVERYONE
.” Gillian leaned across her dish of oatmeal and took a peach out of the bowl on the table.

I swallowed a spoonful of yogurt before I answered. I hadn’t put a single molecule of porridge near my mouth since I arrived
in the States. I’d had sixteen years of it, thank you very much, and there was no one here to make me eat the stuff.

Lissa dived into my hesitation. “You don’t really mean that, do you? All of us? At Strathcairn?”

“I do mean it. We have fourteen bedrooms, not counting the old nurseries and the staff floor. Those are closed off, anyway.
The beds might be a little dusty, but if I let my dad know right away, he can get some of the ladies from the village to come
tidy things up. There are plenty of rooms and tons of things to do.”

“Like what?” Carly put away oatmeal at a scary rate. I shuddered.

“Like skating on the pond and cross-country skiing. And parties.” I saw the Strathcairn of ten years ago, when Mum had been
the most spectacular hostess the old pile had seen in generations. “Lots of parties and balls and live bands and whatever
we want.”

“Don’t tell me,” Shani said. “You’re going to teach us Sir Roger de Coverley, aren’t you?”

“No, that’s for babies,” I said scornfully. What did she know about country dances? “I’ll teach you Strip the Willow before
we go so you don’t make utter fools of yourselves.”

“Whatever. Doesn’t sound like my thing.” She fished the last blueberry out of her fruit cup. Something in her face told me
what the real problem was.

“If you’re worried about the money, don’t. We’ll work it out.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Her dark eyes looked guarded. She may have been dumped by her parents for refusing to go through
with an arranged marriage, but her pride wasn’t dented one bit.

“You don’t have to touch your nest egg. My allowance ought to cover a plane ticket. First class, of course.”

“Hmph.” Shani crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.

I knew she had a cool two million socked away in the San Francisco branch of the Formosa-Pacific Bank, and that one of Gillian’s
dozens of cousins was her personal investment advisor. But she treated that money like it was two hundred instead of two million,
watching over it with sharp eyes that didn’t let a single cent escape without accounting for itself.

Lissa glanced at Carly, who was eating and not talking, like she hoped we wouldn’t notice her. She’s a master of the art of
the personal fade. “And mine can cover Carly’s,” she said.

“Let’s throw mine in and split two fares three ways,” Gillian said. “Easy peasy.”

“For you, maybe,” Carly mumbled. “Brett’s already asked me to spend Christmas with his family. Consequently my dad didn’t
just blow a fuse, he totally blew out the power grid.”

“What is with your dad?” I demanded. “I’ve never seen anyone so protective. I’d die if I was smothered like that.”

“She isn’t smothered,” Shani said with a glance across the table at Carly. “Between my dad and hers, I’d take hers any day.
At least he cares.”

“Is it guilt talking?” Lissa wanted to know. “The whole, ‘I’m out of town ninety percent of the time, so we have to spend
every minute of the ten percent together’”

“I guess.” Carly sipped her honey latte. “So if he had that kind of fit about me spending Christmas sixty miles away, guess
what he’d say about going to another continent?”

“Good point.” I refused to take no for an answer, though. “But what about you person-ally?” Never mind. I answered the obvious
myself. “I guess if you had the choice, you’d pick Brett.”

“Not necessarily.” She smiled at me, that warm Carly smile that makes puppies and old people and prickly Scots love her. “His
house is nice, but it’s no castle.”

Lissa laughed. “I bet it has central heating, though.”

“Strathcairn has central heating.” I tried not to sound defensive. “In the new part, and the kitchen. But there’s a fireplace
in every room.”

“I’m not putting wood on a fire and getting smoke in all my clothes.” Lissa held up a “stop it right there” hand.

“Not a wood fire, you numpty, a gas fire.” I looked at them all. “Honestly, what else has she been telling you?”

“Just that it was cold,” Gillian offered. “Forty degrees, I think she said. And that was inside.”

I pretended to glare at Lissa, maligning my house. “If you all came, the place would be at its best, I promise. You’ll love
it. And if your parents give you static, tell them to come, too.”

“Ewww.” Gillian looked appalled, and Shani, who has stayed in New York with Gillian’s family, buried her snort of laughter
in her tall glass of pomegranate juice.

“Wait a second.” Lissa looked as if she’d just figured out a new way to ace a bio exam. She flipped out her phone and pressed
a button. “Hey, Dad, it’s me. Fine. No, nothing’s wrong and no, I don’t need a favor.” She rolled her eyes at us. “When is
the U.K. premiere of
The Middle Window?
Yes. Wow, you’re kidding. That’s perfect. So you’re going over.” She mimed smacking her forehead. “Never mind, dumb question.
What about Mom? Oh.” She was silent for several seconds, blinking her contacts into place as her eyes filled. She gulped,
then cleared her throat. “Well, I doubt it, but I’ll try. Okay. Thanks. Yeah, I’m at breakfast. Finals this week. Need lots
of protein and antioxidants and stuff to make the brain retain, you know? Love you two times. ’Bye.”

All around us, the dining room rattled and silverware clashed on plates and people talked incessantly. But at our table, half
a dozen pairs of eyes watched silently as Lissa tapped her phone off and put it in her glossy Kate Spade tote.

“Are you okay?” Gillian was the only one with the nerve to ask. But then, she and Lissa room together, so they probably share
a lot we don’t know about.

Lissa smoothed one hand over her blond hair, as if making sure her Stacey Lapidus hairband with its little rhinestone love
knot was still in place. “Recovering,” she said. “Stand by for reboot.”

Anyone else would have said, “Give me a minute,” but Lissa isn’t like anyone else. None of these girls are. It’s a bit weird
that they’ve all found each other here, frankly. Or maybe not weird. Maybe inevitable. I finished my yogurt and started on
my fruit cup. There’s the Christian thing, of course. I used to think it wasn’t my cup of tea at all, having quite a horror
of Bi-ble-thumpers and mad-eyed conviction. But these girls aren’t like that at all.

They’re solid, and what they believe is part of it. When I first met them, I used to try to catch them out at it. Get them
to make a mistake, blow up, whatever. But I never could—at least, that they’d let me see. No matter how badly I treated them—and
I can get pretty bad, as anyone will tell you—they didn’t dish it back. Oh, they said a few things. No one is that good, especially
consider-ing the provocation. But we slowly became friends, and I slowly got drawn into their circle.

Which isn’t a bad place to be, since they’re what’s considered the A-list around here. Oh, you have your Vanessas and your
Danis and your deLaynes, but they’re more bark than bite. They orbit in a different universe—as a matter of fact, they’ve
sort of gone off orbit since Vanessa started going ’round with the Prince of Yasir. What do you call it when planets lose
their center of gravity and start drifting off into space? That clique is like that now.

Lissa took a deep breath and I focused on her. Recovery, evidently, was complete.

“Thing one. Dad says that the U.K. premiere is December 19. Term ends on the sixteenth. Thing two: he’s going over for it,
and the production team at Leavesden Studios as well as the people from Scotland are all invited. Thing three: your mom and
dad are invited, too, Mac.” I blinked in surprise. Dad hadn’t said a thing about it, and I’d gotten an e-mail from him that
morning. “And thing four: my mother says she’s not going. Dad wants me to talk her into it. What do you think my chances are?”

She looked around at us, and the hope in her eyes was almost painful. I knew all about it. Been there, done that, threw away
the T-shirt.

“I guess that means at least you’re coming, then,” I said briskly. “Because of course you’ll talk your mother ’round. And
once you do, your parents must come to Strathcairn afterward for Christmas. I insist.”

Because if Lissa could talk her mother into coming, then I could talk mine into it as well. For the first time since the divorce.

This was going to be the best, most unforgettable Christmas ever. I’d make sure of it.