“They’re going to keep him overnight,” she said to Celeste, who was flipping through a two-year-old Vogue and looking as fresh and elegant as if she hadn’t been sitting around a hospital for five hours. Victoria was a wrinkled paper sack. That smelled bad. “I … ah … better get home.” Celeste sniffed and Victoria stiffened, reading all sorts of judgment in that sniff. The most judging sniff ever. “I don’t want to leave Jacob alone with just Ruby.” She knew she sounded like a bitch, but she was sick of falling down in a dead faint every time the queen looked down her royal nose. “Right.” Celeste abruptly put down the magazine. “Let’s go.” “You could stick around,” Victoria said. “Tara Jean’s still here—” “Nope. I’ll go with you.” Great, Victoria thought. Just great. The silence out to the car was the kind that used to make her babble. It used to make her sick with nerves, but now it just made her angry. “Victoria,” Celeste said, once they were in the truck and heading away from the hospital.
