Royal Mistake #2: Royal Mistake, #2 772q

Royal Mistake #2

Renna Peak

Ember Casey

Casey Peak Publishing, LLC

Contents

Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team

1. Victoria 2. Andrew 3. Victoria 4. Andrew 5. Victoria 6. Andrew 7. Victoria 8. Andrew 9. Victoria 10. Andrew 11. Victoria 12. Andrew 13. Victoria 14. Andrew 15. Victoria

16. Andrew 17. Victoria 18. Andrew 19. Victoria

Royal Mistake Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team Also by Renna Peak Also by Ember Casey

This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, locations or incidents are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2017 by Ember Casey and Renna Peak

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Edition: February, 2017

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Victoria

I open my eyes and blink a few times as I adjust to the bright sunlight coming through the nearby window. It takes me a few moments to where I am and what’s happened. We were in a plane crash. And I’m pretty sure the room I’m in now is some sort of hospital. It only takes me another moment to realize I’m in bed. And that I’m not alone. I shift a little onto my side, trying to see who it is lying next to me, not that I really have any question. I can smell him—he must have showered since the last time we were this close, but there’s no question the arm underneath me belongs to Prince Andrew. Of course, this makes zero sense unless I’m hallucinating. Or maybe dreaming. But I don’t get a chance to rack my brain for the last thing I before he speaks. “You’re awake.” His voice sounds almost as groggy as I feel. I turn my head to meet his gaze. “I…guess.” His lips tick up into the smallest of smiles. “Do you know where you are?” I shake my head. “I have no idea.” He chuckles. “I suppose that was a terrible question. I’m not certain I know where we are, and I’m not the one who’s been medicated for the better part of a day.” He pauses, his smile widening ever so slightly. “Do you know who I am?” I give him a single nod. “Yes, but I—” “What’s the last thing you ?” His smile falls and his eyebrows draw together. “Do you coming here? To the hospital?” I glance around as much as I can—the bed we’re on seems to be some sort of hospital-type bed, but it’s hard to be sure. Wherever we are, it’s a hell of a lot

cleaner than the little cabin we were in last night—if that was even last night. I give my head a small shake. “I don’t . Coming to the hospital, I mean. I the cabin. I sleeping on the floor. I …” The kiss. Holy shit, do I the kiss. He nods. “Do you leaving?” He lets out a small breath that almost sounds like exasperation. “Do you the gun?” I nod again. “I that. It was a long ride, worrying about the guy with the rifle.” I pause, trying to think of what came after that, but there’s nothing. My memory seems to be gone after that point. “I assume we made it into town or the two of us wouldn’t be talking now.” He gazes into my eyes, almost like he’s searching for something. “We did.” “So that’s where we are now?” He shakes his head. “There was no hospital there. We’d only been there a few minutes—I wasn’t even able to use their telephone—before they were rushing you out to their ambulance. They didn’t want to allow me to come along, but I insisted—” “You would.” I smile before the reality of what is actually going on starts to sink in for me. “Did you at least let your family know you’re alive? Have you spoken to the press?” My heart starts to race and I lift my head off his arm. “Are they parked outside the door? Did you at least—?” He touches the top of my arm, brushing the pads of his fingers softly over my skin. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with right now.” My mouth falls open for a moment and I glance at his hand, trying to ignore the electrical shock his touch sends through my skin. I stare at what he’s doing for a minute before I look back into his eyes. His jaw drops for a moment before he snaps it closed at the same time as he pulls his hand away from my arm. He slides away from me as much as he can without falling off the bed. Andrew lifts a brow. “I’m only here… I mean here—in this bed—because you

asked me to be. You practically begged me to hold you last night when you came out of your procedure. The nurse said I was welcome…” His voice trails off and he draws in a long breath, almost stiffening. “I only did this for your benefit. For your comfort.” I nod and lift my head again, shifting myself to the opposite edge of the bed. He slides his arm away from me and edges off the bed and into the chair next to it in a single motion. I sit myself up, and Andrew grabs a remote control thing from the table next to us, pushing a button to raise the head of my bed. It isn’t until I lean back that I feel the throbbing in my foot. I must wince or something—Andrew’s eyebrows draw together with concern again. “Are you in pain? I’ll ring the nurse so she can bring you more medication. She said—” “I’m fine.” There’s no way I’m going to allow myself to be medicated so heavily again that I’m begging Prince Andrew for anything—especially for him to hold me. My God, I can’t believe I would ever do anything like that. Especially to him. “The physician who worked on your foot said you should be able to walk as soon as you’re ready. He also said there would be a large scar.” He frowns. “Of course, I believe we should consult a plastic surgeon afterward. I believe they might be able to—” I shake my head, interrupting. “It’s the bottom of my foot, Andrew. Who the hell is ever going to see the bottom of my foot? It isn’t like it matters.” I close my eyes for a moment before turning back to look at him. “Did you talk to your press secretary? You should at least make a statement—tell the world you’re alive.” He looks at me blankly. “I am alive.” I blink at him a few times. “Clearly.” “And I would never take my own life.”

“I never thought you would—” “Apparently there are some who do…” His voice trails off and he looks at something over my shoulder. “I’ve devoted my entire life to my country, and yet the first reaction…the first thing people thought was that I had attempted to take my own life.” Something about his tone makes something twist in my chest. “Oh, Andrew.” I shift, trying to cover the pain I’m sure he can hear in my voice. “Have you spoken with your parents—?” “I couldn’t the telephone numbers. I…” His voice trails off and he looks at the floor for a moment before returning his gaze to mine. “It’s a terrible thing about technology, wouldn’t you agree? That the information about our s is lost when our telephone is lost?” I give him a grim nod, lifting a brow. “Terrible. That is why they have the backup systems, though, I suppose.” He nods, rubbing at his unshaved chin, ignoring my comment. “The only number I could was Leopold’s.” He’s quiet for a moment before he turns his gaze to mine. “I dare say he sounded disappointed to hear from me.” “I seriously doubt that, Andrew.” I search his eyes for a moment—he seems to really believe what he’s said about his brother. He rubs at the stubble on his jaw again. “You don’t understand. You don’t know the history of what’s transpired between us. If you did…” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “I have a new plan.” I nod. “A new plan? For…what?” “For our story.” His voice is almost somber. “Particularly now.” My head is starting to throb—I’m not exactly in reporter-mode, but he doesn’t seem to care. I let out a small sigh. “And why particularly now? None of this is making sense, Andrew—”

He nods—his eyes are almost wild. “It will. It will make perfect sense when you understand.” I rub at my temple and close my eyes for a second. “Understand what? Andrew —” “Understand that I was not attempting suicide by plane crash. That I would never do that—not to myself and not to my country.” He stands, shoving the chair against the wall to give him room to begin pacing the length of the bed. “I can see it in my head now. How the story will play out. It will be perfect for us both, Victoria. You can present everything—beginning with Leopold’s betrayal of me and finishing with my engagement.” My eyes widen for a second as his words sink in—did he just say engagement? I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t get a sound out before he continues. “We’ll detail the past four years.” He stops and looks at me for a moment before he turns his gaze back to the floor. He puts his hands behind his back and starts pacing again. “Then, you’ll write a series of carefully crafted stories, slowly weaving in my side of the current crisis. And by the end, the world will see how I could never betray my country by attempting suicide…” He almost spits out the word. “And with any luck, the world will instead be on the edge of its seat, watching my wedding to my perfect bride and they’ll have forgotten that my brother even exists.” He finally stops walking and turns to me with a small smile. “What do you think? Can you handle this?” “I… I…” My breath seems to be stuck in my throat. I force a smile, trying to slow down the racing of my heart—he can’t really be saying what I think he’s saying. “Andrew—” “I know this is quite sudden, Victoria, but you’ve proved to me that you’re up to the challenge. That you’re the perfect person. That you’re trustworthy and intelligent and capable. You’re perfect.” My cheeks burn under the compliment. And I can’t help but grin, even if this is…sudden. “I’m flattered, Andrew, really, but I think—”

He nods, grinning. He runs another hand through his hair, making it look almost as wild as his eyes. “I’m sure my mother will want some say in this plan. She’s quite adept at things such as this, and now that Leopold has finally—perhaps permanently—attached himself to someone, it shouldn’t be quite so difficult.” He nods to himself. “Yes, this is the perfect plan, wouldn’t you agree?” I press my lips together, trying to hide the strange combination of giddiness and surprise and terror—and I watch him as he starts to pace again. I try to pull myself together, shaking my head a few times. Even if he is asking me to marry him, it’s out of the question. He’s so damned devoted to his country that I can’t imagine him ever being that devoted to me. But he held me. Again. I asked him to hold me in my delirium, and he did. Maybe he can be devoted to a woman. But even if he can, we barely know each other. I’d at least like to get to know him—to know if there’s something more than attraction between us before I agree to marry the crown prince of Montovia. Before I agree to be the future queen. Holy shit. “Andrew, why don’t you sit down? Slow down for a second.” He stops pacing and turns to stare at me for a moment. He pushes the chair next to my bed again before he drops back into it. I let out a slow breath. “What you’re offering is very…flattering. Really. But I think we need to slow down—” He shakes his head. “We can’t. What you said before—before the crash—was right. We need to be in front of the story. I should have been in front of it, but I had hoped it would go away. But as it stands now, this is the only way.” I reach out and take his hand in mine. “I think—” “They’re accusing me of attempting suicide with my airplane, Victoria. They’re saying I’m incapable of ruling Montovia.” He blinks a few times, and I could swear he’s blinking back tears. “So you understand why this is the only way.” I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. “Andrew, once they find the plane—once they

see the damage to the wing, everyone will understand why we crashed.” He shakes his head and frowns. “No, you haven’t heard…” He clears his throat and turns his gaze to our clasped hands. “They extracted the airplane from the lake yesterday. There was no damage. There was no bird strike—there was no reason for the crash at all.” He pauses for a long moment before lifting his eyes back to mine. “I hope you know I would never…” I squeeze his hand. “I know. Andrew…” I let out another long breath. “I know that if you had wanted to do what they’re saying, the plane would have been in a million pieces. We would have been in a million pieces. And I’m perfectly willing to go out there with you and talk to the press and tell them that. I’ll tell them how you saved my life—that there’s no way you could have been trying to kill yourself or anyone else.” He shakes his head and places his other hand on top of my mine. “They don’t care. They won’t listen. You know what they’re like. You know better than anyone.” I nod. “I do. But I also know that you’re incapable of that—” “You don’t.” He shakes his head. “You barely know me. They’ll realize that and the story will fall apart. Which is why this is the only way.” “Andrew…” I fake a small smile. “I’m not sure that marriage is the only way.” He nods. “Leopold…” His voice is almost choked. “Leopold was ready to take my place. You don’t understand. He’s changed… He’s—” “That doesn’t mean he’s trying to take your place in line, Andrew. Maybe he’s just coming to realize that there’s more at stake in his life than his libido. It just took him a little longer than it took you—” “He can never rule. Don’t you understand that? Leopold can never rule.” He smiles and looks deeply into my eyes. “Which is why I’ve decided that you are going to help me find the perfect wife.” I have to have misheard him. Maybe there’s still a lot of pain medication in my system or something, and it’s affecting my hearing. Maybe I’m still asleep. Maybe—

I don’t get to finish my thought before he nods, smiling. “You and my mother. You’ve seen those reality television shows they have here in America, yes? The ones where the man auditions women to be his wife?” He nods again and I can see his eyes have gone back to their wild state. “That’s what we’re going to do. But not on television—I would never do anything so crass. But I’ll audition a few suitable women in a similar fashion, only through your tabloid. You’ll write about our dates and we’ll see how the Montovian people respond to each candidate. And the woman who rates highest will become my wife. And I’ll marry her before Leopold has a chance—” “You’re…auditioning…” My mouth falls open and my heart twists in my chest as I realize I really have misinterpreted everything. I can’t believe I have to blink back the hot tears that sting at my eyes as I realize what he’s saying. I can’t believe I’m…disappointed. Maybe even hurt. I had been so sure—so absolutely certain—that he was proposing to me in his own strange way. He nods. “Do you think five candidates is too many? I’m sure my mother will want some say in the number as well.” I shake my head and slowly pull my hand away from his. I don’t want him to see whatever it is I’m feeling—I can’t quite tell what the twisting in my stomach and chest is, only that it hurts. And that I don’t want him to see any of it. I’m quiet for a moment, carefully considering my words. Trying to figure out a way to get out of whatever it is he thinks I’m going to help him to do. “Television is probably a better—” “No. No television. It will happen in Montovia, where the stories can be controlled. And it will happen in print, as we can control the words that way as well—” “You can’t control everything, Andrew. And you actually think that a woman is going to accept this—?” He almost laughs. “To be the future queen of Montovia? Are you joking? I tried with once before with someone—to arrange a mutually beneficial match. Do you know of Princess Maria?” He gives a forced laugh. “Of course you do. Maria had her chance—and she won’t be among the candidates who are chosen this time, I will guarantee you that, Victoria. Not after her filthy betrayal…”

There’s something off—something wrong about this whole thing, and for a moment, I wonder if I’m asleep, dreaming this entire interaction. But I’m ninetynine percent sure I’m wide awake, at least by the way the throbbing in my head is keeping time with the throbbing in my foot. But Andrew’s demeanor—his behavior—is so different than it’s been over the past few days. How he wouldn’t say a damned thing to me—he wouldn’t even talk about the most minor of things until we were in Montovia. His distrust of the press—his distrust of me in particular… something about his sudden openness isn’t adding up. But he doesn’t give me a moment to question him before he’s speaking again. “She came to visit us, you know.” My brow furrows. “Who? Princess Maria?” He nods. Standing again, he begins pacing beside my bed. “Four years ago. She and her parents had come to Montovia on an official state visit. But we all knew it was to see if she and I were an adequate match. Our mothers had arranged the entire thing.” I know I need to stop him. Something is wrong, and I don’t want him thinking I took advantage of him when he realizes it, too. “Andrew—” But he doesn’t stop. “She seemed pleasant enough. She’s beautiful, everyone knows that, though she’s not the most intelligent woman I’ve ever spoken with.” My voice is firmer this time. “Andrew—” But he keeps pacing, ignoring me. “I asked her if she would like to visit the grand library with me after lunch. She declined. I asked her to tour the palace grounds with me and she refused. I asked her if she would like to visit the touring butterfly exhibit that afternoon. She told me she hated insects.” He turns to me with a cynical laugh. “Can you imagine what she might have done if she’d found a rodent nest in her bed?” My skin crawls at the memory, but I shake my head. “Andrew, you should really —” “And I couldn’t think of what to do to impress her. I couldn’t think of a single other idea. So I did the only thing I could think of—I went to Leopold’s quarters to ask him how I might impress her. Because he is the master at impressing

women, wouldn’t you agree?” “Oh, Andrew…” My heart twists in my chest again—I can already see where this story is going. And I know he’s going to hate himself—if not me—when he realizes what he’s saying. “No. No, it was not ‘Oh, Andrew.’ No, it was most definitely ‘Oh, Leo.’ But how could I blame him? Maria and I had no commitment. And even though Leopold and I didn’t speak for almost two years after that, I could hardly blame him. Maria and I had no betrothal, no arrangement. It was only that she and I…” He stops and turns to me slowly. His eyes are wide with what looks like panic. “Off the record. This is all off the record, Victoria.” I close my eyes for a moment before I look back up at him. My voice is shaking, but I try to be firm with him anyway. “Sit. Down.” He drops into the chair next to me. “When was the last time you had anything to drink, Andrew? Have you even eaten?” “You cannot use a word of what I’ve just told you. Not a single word. Do you understand me?” He almost growls the words. “I’ll deny every word if you—” “Stop it.” I glare at him. “We just spent two nights together—” “Three.” My jaw clenches for a second. “Fine, three. We were in a plane crash. We… We almost died. Both of us. More than once. And you really still can’t trust me?” “I—” “Look. You’re still dehydrated. You’re hungry. You’re obviously not thinking clearly if you’re telling me about this stuff.” I glare at him for a second. “And if you’re seriously thinking about auditioning women to be your wife—” “Noble women. There’s a difference—” I almost growl my interruption. “That is not what I signed on for. Hell, I still

don’t even know what I signed on for, Your Highness. But I woke up and you were holding me and you were touching me—” “Because you begged me—” “Be that as it may, you were in my bed. And now you’re asking me to help you find a wife? I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t think I’m your girl.” “Clearly not—not in that way. I only meant that you were perfect to write these stories. How many hundred articles have you written about my brother in your career?” I frown. “I have no idea. I—” “Almost six hundred. Over the course of five years. You realize that is nearly three articles per week, do you not, Ms. Simpson?” His eyes have gone wild again, but he waits expectantly for my answer. But I only shake my head. I’m not about to start doing brothers’ therapy between Andrew and Leo. Instead I pull the remote control thing off the table and push the button with the red cross on it. A second later a voice comes through the speaker. “Can I help you?” “Yes,” I say. “My travel companion needs some medical attention.”

Andrew

I have to make her see that this is the only way. “This story would make your career,” I tell her. “Can you imagine? The whole world will be talking about it, and you’ll be the only one with the truth.” “This isn’t the career I want,” Victoria says. “And I have no interest in being part of that circus.” “If you would take a moment to consider—” The door swings open behind me, and a nurse comes barging in. She looks from Victoria to me. “Is everything all right, sir?” she asks. “Er—Your Highness. Sir.” She does an awkward sort of half-bow. “Everything is perfectly fine,” I say, at the same time Victoria says, “He needs help.” The nurse’s nose wrinkles in confusion as she looks between us again. “Is there —” “I think maybe Prince Andrew hit his head without realizing it,” Victoria says. “Or maybe he has some disease that’s giving him delusions.” I frown. “I assure you, my mind is perfectly—” “Either way, I think I need some privacy,” Victoria says. “I don’t think I feel well enough for visitors.” “Victoria, if you’d just consider what I’ve said, I think—” But the nurse has turned to me and is gesturing toward the door. “Sir—Your Highness—if you would please step outside.”

“Ms. Simpson and I haven’t finished our conversation.” “Because you’re insane,” Victoria says from the bed. “Seriously—take some time and think about what you’re asking me to do.” I cross my arms. “I assure you, I’ve given it plenty of thought.” “Your Highness, please,” says the nurse. “You’ve already stayed here long past normal visiting hours.” I can see that neither she nor Victoria intend to budge on the matter, and since I don’t officially have any authority in this country—and I don’t have Leopold’s talent for charming people into doing whatever I like—I see no other choice. “I will give you some time to consider my proposition,” I tell Victoria, then turn and leave the room. I march down the hospital corridor, trying to remain calm. I need Victoria for this—she’s the only one I trust to do this right. She might think I’m pushing for some sort of circus, but she’s only been awake for a short time—she hasn’t seen that the circus has already begun. I shouldn’t have said anything yet, I think. I should have waited for her to recover a little more. Still, now that I know she’s safe, I can think of little else but how to handle this predicament. When we were struggling for survival, I never allowed myself to think far past the present moment. But now that we have water and shelter and medical care—and now that I’ve seen what the media has done with this story—the large-scale consequences of our plane crash cannot be ignored. This is about more than just my reputation—this is about the future of Montovia. I won’t have the world believing I care so little for my country. And I won’t have Montovia’s name tarnished, not if I can do something about it. It is time to think about the future. I reach the end of the corridor. There’s a window here, and I look out at the parking lot below, rubbing the back of my neck. I need a wife, I think. That part is crucial—I need to show the world I am dedicated to serving my country and continuing my family’s name, that I have no

intention of ending my own life now or ever. The public search for a wife is an obvious media stunt, but I don’t care—it’s exactly what we need to turn people’s attention from other less-favorable rumors about me in the news. The world won’t be able to take their eyes off the story. It has everything—drama, romance, a touch of scandal. If we choose the women wisely, they can be in on the game. The whole thing would be perfectly calculated. It really is the best way, I think, watching the cars below. I hate that I must lower myself to such a distasteful stunt, but it is better than the alternative. I count five news vans in the lot below, and I know there are more on the other side of the hospital. The hospital security team has already caught a few reporters trying to sneak through the lobby, but thankfully, they’ve been vigilant. Unfortunately, that also means that the rumors have run rampant these past twenty-four hours. I’ve tried to avoid the televisions in this place, but I’ve still managed to see that at least one media outlet is speculating that I was horribly deformed by the accident. As soon as we get to Montovia, I need to hold a press conference. But I want Victoria with me. If these last few days have taught me anything, it’s that she isn’t motivated by narcissism or personal gain. Instead, she’s driven by her own moral code—and whether or not I happen to agree with the dictates of her conscience, I can respect that much. But how do I convince her that helping me is the right thing to do? If I had my mobile with me, I would have already called Victoria’s editor and offered him exclusive rights to the news about the hunt for my bride. It would have been the opportunity of a lifetime for Celebrity Spark. But I suspect such an action would have done little to convince Victoria to take the story—probably quite the opposite. And I want her and no one else. Why should she morally object to helping me? She must see that this is the easiest way to restore some goodwill for me and for Montovia, as crass as a public search for my wife would be. She acted like it was inappropriate for me to ask such a thing of her after these last three days—but I can’t see how that is so. The kiss in the cabin was a mistake, certainly—but she was the one who pushed me away. And she was the one who seemed so appalled when she realized I’d stayed in her hospital bed with her. Perhaps the thoughts I had as I held her in

my arms were less than princely, but she couldn’t have known the things in my head. And I’m certain we both understand that nothing could ever happen between us. If you were Leopold, you would have slept with her anyway, I think. And cared little for the consequences. If you were Leopold, you would have had ways of persuading Victoria to do exactly as you pleased. For a moment, I allow myself to entertain that thought—how I might walk back into her hospital room, how I might grab her and kiss her the way her mouth begs to be kissed. How I might push her down on the bed and run my hands over her body the way I longed to do as I held her last night. How I wouldn’t care that we were in a hospital, that it was highly inappropriate, that anyone might walk in on us. How freeing it would be to not care about consequences, if only for an hour. I step away from the window. There isn’t time to be having fantasies or making speculations about how my life would be different if I’d been my brother. This is real life, and there are important matters to address. I must convince Victoria to help me. Speaking to her as I would speak to any reporter didn’t work, so I must appeal directly to her conscience. I stride back down the hall, ignoring everyone I . Fortunately, the nurse is no longer in her room, so no one tries to keep me from entering. Victoria frowns when she sees me. “Do I need to get them to kick you out again?” She’s sitting up in bed, her dark hair in a messy bun that hangs over her shoulder. Her cheeks look much pinker than they did yesterday, and her eyes are bright with something that might be annoyance. Instantly, I think of the fantasy I had right before I walked in here—how easy it would be to cross over to the bed, to take her in my arms, to kiss her speechless. I wonder if I’d have time to get her undressed before someone walked in on us. I shake my head, driving the images away. I don’t have time for this. “Ms. Simpson, may I speak to you frankly?” I say. She blinks, almost as if she’s surprised to hear me ask her.

“I—I guess,” she says. “But if you’re just going to try and convince me to help you with this stupid plan of yours, you can save your breath.” I walk slowly over to the end of her bed. “Actually, I was wondering if you had some advice for me.” Now her expression has shifted from amused to downright suspicious. “Advice?” “On a better way to handle this matter,” I say. “Forgive me—I know this isn’t the best time to ask such a thing of you, but time is of the essence. And I respect your opinion.” Her brow is still wrinkled. “I can’t give you advice if I don’t know the whole story, Your Highness.” “Andrew.” “Andrew. If you won’t be completely honest with me, then I don’t know what to tell you.” “Know this,” I say. “The world believes I tried to kill myself. The world is also about to believe that I may have betrayed Montovia in other ways, too. Tell me —how might you advise me to prove them wrong? To show everyone that I am dedicated without question to my country?” “You don’t need to hold some ridiculous pageant to find a wife, that’s for sure.” “Perhaps not,” I say. “I could take a wife quietly, father an heir, continue to perform my princely duties without fanfare. But would the world notice or care?” “The world always notices a royal wedding.” “But would that be enough? Would they forget everything else they’d heard about me?” I grip the end of the bed. “Montovia is my life, Victoria. Nothing else in this world means more to me. Believe me—I detest the idea of having to parade myself in front of the media, to put on this ridiculous show. But I would humiliate myself a thousand times over for the sake of my country. To show the world I am dedicated to serving her in the best way I can.” I look down at my

hands. “I fear that nothing short of a publicity stunt will tear the world’s attention away from the rumors. If you have another idea—a better idea—I will hear it. As I have said, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my country.” She fiddles with the sheet. “I’m sure we could think of something.” “I will have to marry soon either way,” I say. “Before, it didn’t matter if Leopold married before me. But if the world already believes that I’m not dedicated to Montovia, then my younger brother marrying before me will not help matters.” I release the bed and turn away, clasping my hands behind my back. “You’ve spent a lot of time reporting on my brother and his activities. You know as well as I do that Leopold thinks little about the consequences of his actions. The only reason he isn’t in prison or lying dead in some alleyway is because I’ve dedicated a good portion of my life to cleaning up his messes. I haven’t the same luxury he does—there is no one to clean up my messes for me. And I can’t bear to sit idly by while the world accuses me of such vile things. I must fix this—can you at least see that?” I risk a glance back over my shoulder at Victoria, and she’s watching me with some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes. “Please,” I say, stepping around to the side of the bed, closer to her. “I must do everything I can to fix this. I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise.” She starts to shake her head. “Andrew, I—” “I need your help,” I say, taking her hand. “Please, Victoria. You are the only person I trust with this.” I catch her gaze in mine, will her to see my desperation. “Montovia is in my blood. It is the reason I wake every morning. The reason my heart beats. I am prepared to do everything in my power to fix this.” Her eyes search mine. For a long time, she doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, I release her hand, straightening. If that speech doesn’t convince her, then I’m not sure what will. I’ve laid myself bare before her. I’m halfway to the door when I hear her voice behind me. “Okay.” I turn. “You’ll help me?”

She nods. “I’ll help you.”

Victoria

His ion is misplaced—I wish he could see that. But it’s hard to question his allegiance to his country. Everything about this is wrong. I know that without question. But there’s some nagging feeling in my chest—something that’s almost screaming at me to help him, even if it’s only to get him to see the error in his judgment. He walks back over to the chair next to my bed, sinking into it with what looks like relief. “You won’t regret this, Victoria.” “I already regret it.” I almost grumble the words. I’ve spent the last five years trying to do everything in my power to get out of the celebrity news business— not to get myself permanently mired in it. But in some ways this is perfect. It at least has the potential to be perfect. I was already on my way out of this business when Andrew showed up in my life. And this would send me out with a bang. The only problem with this plan—at least as far as my career is concerned—is that it will end any chance that I might have had at being a real journalist. No self-respecting publication will ever want anything to do with me. I’m sure I could have my choice of jobs at any celebrity rag in the world after pulling off something like this—if it even can be pulled off —but I’ll never be taken seriously again. Not that I’ve ever really been taken seriously since I left journalism school. I’d received some praise for the reporting I did about Elle’s story, but considering the other scandal that was going on at the time, it barely even ed as a blip in the news. And when that had failed, I knew I had to be done with the media circus that is celebrity news reporting once and for all. I turn to Andrew. “You realize that trying to pull stunts like this almost always blows up in the face of the people trying to pull them. Reporters aren’t stupid. They can smell a phony story a mile away.” He smiles. “And that’s why I have you. That is precisely why I want you to handle this, Victoria.” He tents his hands in his lap. “And this will not be a

phony news story like my brother’s. This story…” His voice trails off and he looks down at his lap for a moment before lifting his gaze back to mine. “This story—these stories—will help to shape the future of Montovia.” I can only shake my head at him. He seems so sure of this plan—so certain. I can see now that the wildness in his eyes is more like desperation. If what he’s been saying is true—if the press really is accusing him of attempting suicide—I can’t even imagine the anguish he must be feeling. It’s true that I barely know him— even though I’ve covered hundreds of stories about his brother, I hardly know anything about Andrew himself. He’s always been the mysterious prince—the world’s most eligible bachelor, for sure, but he’s rarely made public appearances outside Montovia. I look over at him again. He’s staring at his hands, obviously lost in thought about this half-baked plan of his. I know he thinks it’s a great scheme, trying to pull the wool over the world’s eyes with these carefully crafted stories of his, but he has no idea how much it’s going to hurt him in the long run if it fails. If the slightest thing goes wrong, it isn’t going to just damage him. It’s going to ruin him. If I were really one of the paparazzi that he despises so much, I might let him do it. I might even help him to do it, knowing what the outcome will be. But after everything that’s happened in the past few days, I know I can’t. Even if we hadn’t had this weird bonding experience, I’m not sure I could allow him to hang himself like this. I turn in the bed to face him and clear my throat to break him out of his thoughts. He looks up at me and smiles. I’m sure the smile I return is pretty weak—I don’t know how to do this. How to tell him that he’s a fool if he wants to pursue this ridiculous scheme. “Andrew, if this fails—” “It won’t.” “It might. You have no guarantee—” He nods. “I can guarantee that the women I choose to participate are ready to rule Montovia with me. They’ll be of noble blood, born into the same sort of role

I was. They’ll have grown up knowing they could be chosen for something like this—that there is at least the possibility—” “I get it.” I nod. “I get that you want some princess-y girl—” “Woman.” I lift a brow. “Woman. You want someone appropriate—” He grins, nodding. “Exactly.” I shake my head. “If someone had come to you a week ago—two weeks ago— with the same plan, you would have told them they were crazy. That there was too much at risk.” He reaches out and takes my hand into his. “That was before. Two weeks ago, I didn’t believe that anyone would ever have found out about certain events that happened several months ago. I didn’t believe that Leopold would be trying to usurp my rightful place as heir to the throne—” “I seriously cannot believe that you actually think that, Andrew. I’ve known your brother for years—” He shakes his head. “You think you know him. You know what he’s wanted you to know. And he’s changed. He may not have wanted to rule before, but he does now.” He sucks in a breath and drops my hand before he stands, almost kicking the chair he’s been sitting in out of the way. Andrew starts pacing the length of the room again, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s muttering under his breath and I can’t understand what he’s saying. He freezes, turning to me, his eyes wide. “Victoria, I will not discuss this with you outside of Montovia.” I struggle not to roll my eyes. “I didn’t ask you to, Andrew.” I motion to the chair with my hand. “Why don’t you sit back down? You can outline this awesome plan of yours.” He nods and walks back over to the chair, pulling it up to the side of my bed again. There’s something clouding his eyes—it’s desperation, for sure, but there’s almost a little hope there, too. He lowers his voice. “I’ve given this quite

a lot of thought and consideration over the past day, and I think having five women in contention will be suitable for this plan.” “Okay.” I motion at the pen and pad of paper on the table next to my bed. Andrew reaches over and grabs it, handing it to me. I almost write IDIOTIC PLAN across the top, but I stop myself before I do. I scribble a few notes instead before I look back up at Andrew. “Do you have any candidates in mind?” He nods. “As I said, Princess Maria is out of the question.” “Obviously.” I blink at him a few times, waiting for him to give me any other names, but he doesn’t. “And were there any other women you were thinking of?” He frowns and rubs his jaw. “Lady Karina is also out of the question.” I roll my eyes this time. “Yes, Andrew, obviously. She just had a child two weeks ago, so, yeah, probably not the best choice.” I pause for a second. “Unless her baby is actually yours and not Leo’s…?” His eyes widen with horror and he shakes his head. “Of course not!” He slows his breathing before speaking again. “And as long as this is off the record, the child is not Leopold’s, either. And this is off the record, at least until we reach Montovia. That is clear, is it not, Victoria?” I roll my eyes again. “Yes, Your Highness. Clear as day.” I tap my pen on the paper. “So… Are you going to give me any names? Potential candidates? This is going to have to be handled…delicately. And you may want to let the women in on it. I mean, any woman would probably be honored to be chosen for something like this, but… You still need to be careful.” He presses his lips together and nods. “Yes, of course.” He pauses for a moment, lowering his voice as though someone might be listening. “I had thought that perhaps Lady Evelyn, Karina’s younger sister, might be a suitable candidate.” I lift a brow and tap my pen a few times. I shake my head. “Andrew, I’m just speculating here—so let me know if I’m wrong. But…” I clear my throat and stare down at my paper. I lower my voice to match his. “You do want women your brother hasn’t been with, right?” I lift my gaze to meet his, frowning. His jaw drops for a second before he snaps his mouth closed. “Leopold…and

Evelyn? Are you certain?” I give him a slow nod. “How…? When? And you’re certain?” I nod again. “Two years ago, I think? Maybe a little longer than that. They were fairly public about it—it lasted a week or so. He took her to a movie opening in Los Angeles, which is why I . And—” “Fine, not Lady Evelyn.” He rubs his chin for another long moment. “There must be dozens of eligible noblewomen. My mother will have a list.” He forces a smile. “Leopold won’t have been with all of them. And if I must, I can ask him. I believe he’ll at least be honest with me about his prior affairs, now that he’s with Elle.” “Okay.” I pause for a moment. “Have you thought about how you’re going to pull this off? Is it all going to happen in the palace? How are you going to keep the women separated—or is that part of the plot? You said you wanted it like a reality television show—and those women are all kept together in the same place, off-camera until they’re supposed to be on-camera. And part of the drama is the fighting that goes on between them—” “I would want nothing that crass, I assure you. We’ll need to have public dates— dinners, galas, events of that nature. My mother adores planning parties, so perhaps we can have some of those, as well. I’ll need to see how my date behaves when I’m going about my official duties—how she interacts with our subjects. If she can’t earn the respect of the Montovian people, she couldn’t be queen. She wouldn’t be an appropriate choice.” I nod, trying to cover up the way it feels like a knife being driven into my chest every time he says the word appropriate. There’s something so strange about how different Leo and Andrew are—Leo has never seemed to care whether or not the woman he’s with is appropriate—whatever the hell that means, anyway. “Can I ask you something, Andrew? Something personal?” He gives me the smallest of smiles and nods. “Of course. Though, I’ll remind you that this conversation is off the record.”

I roll my eyes again. “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear.” I let out a long breath and stare down at my paper. “Did your parents tell you that you had to marry someone from a royal family?” I look back up at him. “I mean, did they say that it was expected of you? Because I’m not entirely sure—” He shakes his head. “Of course it is not required, Victoria. We should make that clear in your news stories, as well. It’s just easier. Less complicated. I’m certain that if my father could go back in time and choose a wife that was noble born, he might—” “I can’t believe that. I absolutely cannot believe that you believe that, Andrew. I’ve seen your parents together. They married for love—” “Marrying for love is fine in theory, Victoria. But when you are royal—” “Your brother and Elle are in love. She’s not noble born. You really want me to name other examples? You really—” He pulls my hand into his and smiles. “I think I understand what is going on here.” “You…you do?” My voice is cracking—I know I’m probably being pretty transparent at the moment, but I thought I had hidden what I was feeling pretty well. I had been almost positive that Andrew hadn’t noticed that I had originally thought he was talking about marrying me for a second after I first woke up. And that I’d pretty much buried and covered in cement what I thought might actually be my feelings for him. And if he’d stop touching me, I might be able to keep all that shit buried forever. “I do.” He nods, smiling again. “You want me to consider choosing a commoner among the candidates for my wife.” He chuckles. “Of course, that is a brilliant idea. Brilliant. It will heighten the drama all the more, increasing the interest in the story.” He shakes his head, his eyes widening with his grin. “You really are very talented at this, Victoria. And I will. I’ll have my mother identify someone trustworthy, of course. Someone who might perhaps not be in on the game itself, but who would remain loyal to our family all the same. Perhaps one of the servants…” His voice trails off for a second and he turns his gaze away from mine. “And as I narrow my choices, I’ll be certain to keep her in the running, though she would never be my final choice.” His gaze snaps back to mine. “The

public will likely root for her, of course, but they’ll understand why I make my choice in the end. We can make it part of the story—why choosing someone of noble heritage over loving a commoner is in the best interest for our country. It will help them to understand why I’ve had to make so many difficult decisions in my life. Why being royal is not as romantic as it seems.” He squeezes my hand. “Thank you, Victoria. Thank you—” I yank my hand away from his, not bothering to cover up anything this time. My jaw clenches and I glare at him, even as I blink back the hot tears that sting at my eyes again. “You have to stop that.” “Stop what?” He looks genuinely hurt that I’ve pulled away from him. “Stop…touching me.” I press my lips together—I know I can’t say more than that. I can’t unleash on him—tell him he’s being an idiot. Tell him that there are billions of women out there who are just as worthy as any noblewoman of his attention. And I definitely can’t tell him that if he’d just open his damned eyes… No. I definitely can’t tell him that. I set my jaw, pushing away whatever the hell it is that’s bubbling inside of me. I straighten, jutting my chin out the slightest bit to cover the aching I can feel with every beat of my heart. “I’ll do your story, Andrew. I’ll write whatever it is you want me to write. I’ll do whatever it is you want me to do. But only because I don’t want to see you fuck it up. I don’t want you to have to hang for this if someone finds out. But you need to know—there are too many moving parts here. You need to narrow it down. It can’t be five women. It probably shouldn’t be more than two or three, and that’s still risking a lot. And you also need to know that this is a huge risk for me.” “It is…” He looks into my eyes and I can see something there—something I don’t quite recognize. “It is a risk. For us both.” He reaches out and touches the skin on the top of my arm, his gaze falling to his hand. His mouth opens as though he’s going to speak, but no words come out. Instead, his finger traces the length of my arm and he pulls my hand gently into his again. I close my eyes at his touch. Why in the hell is he so stupid? Why is he doing this?

I press my lips into a line and open my eyes to stare at him, but he doesn’t lift his gaze to meet mine. “That, Andrew. That is what you need to stop.” He nods, but his eyes remain fixed on my hand, still clasped in his. He frowns at it for a few moments before he finally meets my gaze. He looks into my eyes for a long moment before he leans over, tilting his head in what is an obvious attempt to kiss me. I suck in a breath and lean away. “What are you doing?” “I… I believe I was going to kiss you.” He looks back into my eyes. “Would that be so wrong?” I feel my brow furrow. “You just told me that commoners aren’t appropriate. That you could never be with a commoner. That you could never fall in love—” “I never said anything of the sort. What I said, Victoria, is that I would never marry for love. And I never said anything about not being with a commoner.”

Andrew

I don’t know what’s come over me. Perhaps I’m merely overwhelmed with relief and hope now that Victoria has agreed to help me. Perhaps it has been too long since I allowed myself to indulge in any sort of pleasure. Or perhaps it is simply the fact that I am near Victoria, touching Victoria, and there seems to be no other choice. There’s a stunned expression in her eyes, almost as if she can’t believe the words that have come from my mouth—and in truth, I can hardly believe them myself. They sound much more like something Leopold would say. “I know this is not perhaps the best time for such things,” I say, looking down at her fingers in mine. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss the other night. I thought…well, that’s exactly it. I haven’t thought. I can’t.” Not when it comes to her, anyway. All I do when I look at her is think about how much I want to taste her again, how much I want to feel her body against mine. But Victoria yanks her hand out of mine. “What makes you think I’d be okay with that sort of arrangement?” I straighten. “What sort of arrangement?” “Don’t play stupid, Andrew. You’re looking for a wife. A noble wife. Which means what you and I had could never be anything more than sex.” I frown. “I fail to see what’s so wrong with that. Many people embark on relationships entirely based on sex—” “And many people don’t consider those arrangements relationships at all,” she says. “Then I chose the wrong word. But the idea is the same.” I study her face. “Can you honestly tell me you haven’t thought about it, Victoria? That you haven’t imagined what it might be like between us?”

Before the final word is even out of my mouth, a reddish hue has blossomed on her cheeks. But she still refuses to look at me. “It doesn’t matter if I have or not,” she says. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.” “And yet you are the one who has implied multiple times that I need to loosen up. That the world would like me better if I didn’t insist on following the rules. I must start somewhere, mustn’t I?” “This isn’t what I meant. Can you even hear yourself?” she says. “You’ve asked me to help you find a wife. What do you think the world will think if they find out you’ve been sleeping with the reporter the whole time? What will your potential brides think?” In truth, I haven’t thought about it. But something about that blush on her cheeks —and about that gleam in her eyes, visible even through her anger—gives me hope. “You never answered my question,” I say. “Can you truthfully tell me you’ve never thought about what it might be like? That over these past few nights, as we’ve slept in each other’s arms, you never once considered what it might be like to take things one step further?” She finally raises her gaze back to mine. “Does that mean you have?” “I should think that would be obvious, given our current conversation. But yes— yes, I have. Many times. Every night we’ve spent together.” My hand falls to her arm again. “And yes, I’ve told myself that it was inappropriate. That it was an unnecessary distraction. That it was irresponsible and ill-advised. But I thought about it anyway, because I had no other choice. You can sit there and tell me the reasons why this is a bad idea, but it doesn’t matter. I already know the reasons. I just want to know if, despite all the reasons we can’t or shouldn’t do this, you’ve found yourself in a similar dilemma.” I let my fingers trail down her arm, and I feel a shiver move through her. She wants me. I can feel it in her skin, see it beneath the other emotions warring in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything. I find myself leaning toward her again, drawn to her in spite of myself. This time her eyes fall closed as my face nears hers, and my

chest tightens as I close the distance between us. The first brush of my lips against hers is soft, tentative. The second, a little more demanding. Victoria seems to be frozen, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far, pushed her too much—but then suddenly her hands come up and clutch my shirt, pulling me closer, and the last of my restraint breaks. I yank her fully against me, and my mouth comes down harder on hers. Her soft body seems to melt against mine, and I’m consumed by the feeling of her against me. Her lips are velvety and warm, the taste of her as sweet as I ed. My tongue traces the line of her bottom lip before plunging into her mouth. I want to drink her. I want to do more than that, too. Already my body is responding, aching for more of her. One of my hands finds the opening at the back of her hospital gown, and she gasps against my mouth as my fingers brush against her bare skin. My hand drifts up her back, finding the strings that hold the gown in place. I tug at the end of one as I push her back against the pillows. Suddenly, a voice crackles through the air. “Can I help you?” I freeze, startled. Victoria does, too. Slowly, I turn my head and glance at the door, but there’s no one there. A moment later, after neither of us has spoken, the voice comes again. It sounds like it’s coming from a speaker. “Ms. Simpson? Do you need assistance?” “Shit,” Victoria says, sitting up and trying to push me off of her. “No—no, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to hit the button.” She shifts to one side and reaches beneath her. A moment later, she lifts a remote from the sheets—the same one she used to call that angry nurse in here earlier. She must have leaned on it accidentally. Well. Now that that’s settled… I reach for her again, but she places a hand at the center of my chest, pushing me back. “We can’t,” she says firmly. “I… I don’t know what just happened, but we can’t.”

“Victoria—” “No,” she says. “What the hell are we doing? This isn’t…” She shakes her head and gives me another firm push. “Get off my bed. I don’t know what the hell came over me. It must be the drugs.” I stand, frowning. “Victoria…” “I mean it, just…fuck.” She doesn’t even seem to be talking to me anymore, just muttering to herself. She reaches over her shoulder, trying to grab the strings to her hospital gown. “Here,” I say. “Let me help.” “I can do it.” I don’t argue with her. She struggles with the strings, refusing to look at me, but I refuse to take my eyes away from her. Her lips are still slightly swollen, her cheeks still redder than usual. Her hair has come undone from its messy bun, and it falls over her shoulder as she struggles to tie her gown closed again. God, if we hadn’t stopped… If we hadn’t stopped, I’d have had that gown off her by now. I would have seen how far that pretty blush spread down her body. I would have tasted the skin on her breasts, on her belly, and lower—and compared it to the intoxicating taste of her lips. She would be writhing beneath me, rather than trying desperately not to look at me. “Forgive me,” I say after a moment. “I would not have kissed you if I hadn’t thought it was welcome.” It was welcome, for a moment—and from the way she pulled me closer to her, she wanted even more than that. “I won’t do it again until you ask.” She stops struggling with the gown strings and looks at me again. “I’m not going to ask you. That is never happening again.” Oh, I doubt that very much. Not after the way she grabbed me. Not after the way she just kissed me. But I straighten my shirt. “Very well.”

My easy acceptance of her response only seems to frustrate her. “You can’t just go around kissing people when you’re going to be publicly searching for a wife. Especially not a commoner.” “First of all,” I say, clasping my hands behind my back and walking over to the window, “my search has yet to begin. Secondly, you keep saying commoner like it’s some sort of terrible word.” “Isn’t it?” My body still aches with need for her, but I do my best to look composed. “Hardly. It simply refers to someone who isn’t of the nobility.” “You mean someone who isn’t good enough to marry you.” There’s something sharp in her voice—something that makes me turn away from the window and look back at her. “Is that what you think this is about?” I say. “That I don’t think anyone but a noble woman is good enough for me?” “That’s essentially what you said.” “Not at all. I simply said a woman of noble blood would be better suited for the position.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Victoria, I’ve already explained this— this is about finding someone who already has the necessary skill set for what a future with me would require. But I suppose it’s about more than that, too. Ruling a country isn’t an easy task. The politics, the responsibilities, the demands of the state—people underestimate the stress involved in a position like this. They see the glamor, the money, the fancy homes and titles—the fantasy. Not the reality. But people who are born into this life, who’ve known nothing else—they understand. They’ve been trained since they were born to handle the publicity and the responsibilities of a role like this.” I take a step back toward the bed. “This is not purely an intellectual decision, though. The truth is that I could not in good conscience bring someone into my world without knowing that they fully understood the consequences of that choice, and no one not born into this life could understand. The world sees in me as a man who has the money and means to do whatever he wishes with his life, but in truth, there is no freedom for a man of my position. Every choice I make has a consequence. Every mistake I make is displayed for the entire world to see—and often affects the

lives of the very people I’ve dedicated my life to serving. I serve my role with pride, but it is not a burden I would wish upon anyone else, not even my worst enemy.” Sometime during my little speech the frustration seeped out of Victoria’s eyes, and in its place is something I don’t want to study too closely. I’ve said too much. “So you can see,” I add, trying to keep my tone light, “I’ve given a lot of thought to this. And I hold no ill will toward commoners—in fact, I have nothing but the deepest respect for them.” She frowns. “I didn’t mean to suggest—” “No, you said exactly what you meant to say. And frankly, I hope you continue to do the same.” I take another step toward the bed. “If you are to help me through these next few months, then I want your complete honesty. Assuming you do still intend to help me?” For a breathless moment, I fear she will change her mind and tell me she’s no longer interested in telling my story. But then, finally, she nods. “Yes, I’m still planning to help you.” “Good,” I say, relief rushing through me. “The moment you are cleared to leave, we’re heading to Montovia.”

Victoria

I can’t believe I’m doing this to myself again. It’s one thing for me to be attracted to Prince Andrew. I’m fully capable of itting I’ve been attracted to him for a long time—that I’ve found him by far the most appealing of the royal brothers. But it’s a completely different thing knowing he’s somehow attracted to me, too. How the hell did this happen? Forget how wrong it is for me to have some sort of intimate relationship with the subject of my news stories—not that Andrew and I are ever going to have relationship of any kind. Forget about the lines that would be crossed and forget about whatever sort of boundaries we’re supposed to have in our professional relationship. I cannot allow myself to do this again. There is nothing I would like more than to forget how I have a rotten history of doing this to myself—sacrificing my life for some asshole who will never repay me, no matter what he says. And I’d think I would have learned as much after the last time, especially after what happened. How my life fell apart all around me and he just…left. And left me with nothing. No. Never again. Andrew is staring out the window, probably at the news reporters I’m almost certain are parked outside. He glances over at me, and I can see the lust still in his eyes. The ion burning there, just under the surface is enough to send another shiver through me. Stop this. How can I even be considering what he’s suggested? It sounds a hell of a lot more like something his brother would want than the uptight Prince Andrew.

The sudden realization that he’s probably trying to be like his brother makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. It probably doesn’t matter to Andrew who the woman is—just that he’s able to fulfill some fantasy of his, trying to have a casual relationship the way Leo has always been able to. I straighten, smoothing the starchy hospital gown down around me. I let out breath—mostly trying to calm the shakiness I can still feel in my chest—before I speak again. “You know, Andrew, you aren’t your brother. And I have a feeling that if you were to ask Leo if he prefers the relationship he has now to the casual affairs he’s had in the past, I’m sure he would tell you that now—” “I know what he would say. Or at least what he would say to me. But that is beside the point. Earlier, I was merely trying to ascertain if you would entertain the idea of…” His voice trails off and he looks back out the window. “Never mind. It was a terrible idea.” I nod. “It was.” I pause for a moment, watching him, but he doesn’t turn back to me. “You know, I think I’d like to try to sleep. I think—” He turns to me. “Would you like me to hold you again?” My mouth falls open and I can’t seem to find any words—that definitely is not the reaction from him I was expecting. “Victoria, you…” He presses his lips together, searching my eyes for a moment. “That is to say that we both…” I blink a few times at him. “You’re having trouble sleeping.” I nod. “Is that it?” He says nothing—he only turns back to the window. “If… If you’d said something earlier… You know, before…” I know I almost sound like I’m stuttering, but I don’t think there’s any way to hide what’s happened. It isn’t like we can just go back to holding each other for comfort now, not after what just happened between us. “Before I kissed you again.” He continues to stare out the window as he speaks. “Before you kissed me.” “Yes.”

He nods, still gazing out the window. “You asked me to hold you last night, Victoria. And I must it, I had no hesitation. I had been trying to sleep on a cot that the hospital so kindly provided, but I couldn’t seem to rest. Certain memories still flood my mind when I close my eyes. It’s—” “I still see it, too, Andrew. Every time I close my eyes, I see it, too. The ground getting closer and closer. How we were going so fast. The water…” My voice is low, just like his. “No one else can ever understand what we’ve been through.” He finally turns to me, giving me a slow nod. “You do understand.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep again.” “I imagine I only slept last night because of the medication. And because…” You held me. Damn it, I don’t want to say that out loud to him. I’m not sure I even want to it it to myself. We’ve been holding each other for the past three nights because we have to. Because there is no one else. Because no one else will ever see what we did. We’re bound now in a way I hadn’t even considered. But it doesn’t mean he won’t let me go as soon as something better comes along. As soon as someone appropriate is available for him to hold. And that’s just it—he’ll never be mine. He’s made that much perfectly clear. He’s willing to use me while he needs me, but after that, he’ll be done with me. Just like before. I close my eyes for a second, reminding myself that this is nothing like what happened with my ex. For one thing, Andrew doesn’t need me for anything. Well, he needs me to write his stories for him, but he doesn’t actually need me for that. It’s a job—and he knows I’m the best candidate. Andrew doesn’t need me to him, to devote my life to him. Except that that is exactly what he’s asking of me. He wants me to give up my life to move to Montovia and write about his search for a wife. It’s not so different than what happened before. Andrew wants me turn my life over in of his, and when I boil it down that way, the two situations are exactly the same. “Do you have any other suggestions, Victoria? For our sleeping arrangements this evening?” I have to blink my eyes a few times, snapping myself out of that memory. I

shake my head. “It’s not like we can stuff that particular genie back in the bottle.” He nods and rubs his chin, turning his gaze back out the window. “Pity.” Pity is right. If things were even slightly different, I would invite him in my bed to do a hell of a lot more than hold me, but I know it will never work. I’m sort of surprised he didn’t try to seduce me last night—I suspect if he really was like Leo, he might have tried more, whether I was under the influence of narcotics or not. “Shall I ask for a cot, then?” “Probably.” I press my lips together—it’s hard to ignore the pain in his voice. He turns to me again, lifting a brow. “Is that hesitation I hear, Victoria?” I let out an exasperated breath. “You can’t kiss me—touch me—like that and expect me to let you back in my bed.” “I think that’s exactly what you want, though.” I glare at him. “Even if it is, this is a hospital. And it would be entirely inappropriate. That is what this is all about, isn’t it, Your Highness? The appropriateness of what you do in your life?” He shakes his head, staring at me for a moment before turning his attention back to the window. “I’m a gentleman, Victoria. I told you I won’t touch you again until you ask me. I suspect, however, that you’ll be asking me to before the hour is over. And when you do, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to remain gentlemanly. I’m merely asking if you have any suggestions for how we might handle our unique situation. I assume you have more experience with this than I —” “Are you calling me a slut, Your Highness? You’re seriously accusing me of being—” “I said nothing of the sort.” He glances at me for a second before he looks away. “I only said that you likely have more experience in delicate matters such as these.”

My jaw clenches. “Delicate matters being…what? Sleeping with the subjects of my articles?” His shoulders drop and he turns to face me fully. “You are reading far too much into my words, Ms. Simpson. I was merely asking if you had any ideas for how we might be able to comfort each other as we attempt to sleep without resorting to intimacy, which you seem to clearly not wish to have with any man.” My mouth drops open for a second. “How dare you. You think that just because I don’t want to sleep with you that I’m…what? Frigid or something?” He shrugs. “You know what, Andrew? You really are the asshole everyone says you are. You had no right to kiss me like that right after you told me you’re looking for a wife. You had no right to tell me any of that shit—” “You’re going to be writing the story, Ms. Simpson. I thought you would relish having some inside information, even if it was off the record—” “You think you’re so important. That I should be hanging on every word you say. That I should welcome you in my bed, even though you made it clear that we would never have any kind of relationship other than a professional one.” I shake my head. “Get this through that thick head of yours, Your Highness. I do not have sex with the subjects of my stories. I actually do have some journalistic integrity, even if you don’t believe it—” “I do.” He frowns, his shoulders dropping. “I do believe it. It’s the only reason I told you any of my plans. It’s the only reason I’m still standing here in your room tonight, Victoria.” My mouth hangs open—I had been so ready to tell him again what an asshole he is that I don’t have a comeback for anything else he’s said. We’re both quiet for a moment before I’m finally able to speak again. “What do you want from me?” He shakes his head. “I wish I could answer that question, Victoria. But I don’t know. I only know that I made a mistake in allowing my desires to cloud my judgment. And I’ve already assured you that it will not happen again.” He

pauses for half a second. “Unless you want it to.” “Don’t you dare put this back on me.” He stares at me for a moment. “Tell me one thing, Victoria.” I set my jaw again. “What?” “Will you be able to sleep tonight? Without being in my arms?” I glare at him. “Will you?” “No.” His face is expressionless. “And you didn’t answer my question.” I don’t need to answer his question—we both already know the answer. Without a large dose of pain medication, I’m not so sure I’ll ever sleep again. My heart is racing just a little too quickly at the thought of being alone. And I’m not sure that anything would be different even if the fears from my past weren’t dictating my fears in the present moment. I see a pile of pillows on a shelf near the window and I point at them, motioning for Andrew to bring them to the bed. He grabs them and carries them over to me. I still can’t read the expression on his face—I can’t tell what he’s feeling at all. But I arrange the pillows in a line down the bed next to me and motion for him to lie down on the other side. “This isn’t going to work, Victoria.” I reach over my arrangement of pillows to pat the empty space on the bed. “It only has to work for tonight. I imagine they’ll let me out of here in the morning and you can find someone else to hold you tomorrow night when we’re in Montovia.” He frowns, but he lies down next to me, sliding his arm under the pillows beneath my head. I close my eyes. Less than a minute later, I feel Andrew’s hand on the top of my arm again. I stiffen, afraid he’s going to try more—at least do the touching thing I caught him doing earlier. I lift my head to look at him—really, more to glare at

him—but I set it down almost as quickly as I had raised it, closing my eyes again. Andrew is fast asleep. And it’s probably not even a minute later that I am, too.

Andrew

I do sleep well, in spite of everything. I dream of a wedding on an airplane, but I wake before I have a chance to see whether it ends in happiness or in a crash. I slowly sit up on the bed. Victoria is still asleep beside me. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, I slide off the cot. The temporary mobile phone I purchased is charging on the far side of the room, and I walk over and check the screen for messages. Three voicemails await me. The first is from my mother, asking me to call her again. Though we’ve spoken twice on the phone since my arrival at the hospital, she is—understandably—still quite upset about the events of the last few days. The second message is from one of my family’s stewards, assuring me that a private plane is ready and waiting for me at a local airstrip the moment we are prepared to fly. The third message is from Leopold. The moment I hear his voice, I end the message and slide my phone into my pocket. I have no interest in what he has to say at this time. I straighten my clothes. Fortunately, I was able to acquire some slacks and a clean shirt from a local retailer, but the cheap fabric feels coarse against my skin, and the clothes are wrinkled from a night spent sleeping in them. If I’d thought ahead, I would have had our steward bring me some things from my own wardrobe—the last thing I need is for the press to see me looking disheveled, as I can only imagine the impression that will give—but my mind has been elsewhere. I’m still considering my options when the door opens behind me. It’s the nurse, coming in to check on Victoria. “Do you think she will be able to leave today?” I ask her quietly. “Probably, Your Highness. Unless something happened during the night to change her condition.”

I’m not certain whether that is an accusation or not, but I decide to give the women some privacy. Victoria has started to stir in the bed, but I slip out the door before she comes fully awake. I stride down to the end of the corridor and look out the window into the parking lot. Six news vans still sit in the lot below, waiting. Unless we want a scene, we’re going to have to sneak out of here somehow. Hopefully, our steward can arrange a discreet car to collect us from a side entrance or fire exit. By the end of the day, you’ll probably be back in Montovia, I think. I should be relieved to be going home, but instead, the thought makes my stomach tight. How could a few short days change everything so much? I run my hand along my jaw. A layer of stubble has appeared on my face over the past couple of days. Yet another thing I failed to notice while my mind was elsewhere. Just get back to Montovia and set things right, I tell myself. The sooner, the better. And with Victoria by my side, helping me, I have no doubt this catastrophe will soon be managed quite nicely. Victoria. My body reacts to just the thought of her name. If I’m not careful, I might completely lose my head around her. It’s simply the situation, I tell myself. You feel a certain intimacy with her because of the things you endured together. But as much as I’d like to tell myself it’s nothing more than that, I’d be lying if I told myself I hadn’t been attracted to her even before the plane went down. I must be vigilant with myself. Ensure I do not lose sight of the important matters ahead by drowning in the eyes of some woman. I look back over my shoulder. The nurse is leaving Victoria’s room, so I turn and head back down the corridor. When I enter, I find that they also brought her breakfast while I was deep in thought. When she first sees me, she looks almost as if she doesn’t know what to say to me. And then she gestures at the tray in front of her. “Want some yogurt? There’s no way I’m going to be able to eat all of this,” she says.

I walk over to the bed. I’m not especially hungry, but I take the yogurt anyway. “What did she say? Are you well enough to leave today?” She nods as opens a little cup of applesauce. “They’re discharging me.” “Good.” I look down at the cup of yogurt in my hand. “There are still a number of reporters outside. I’m going to see if I can make arrangements for us to leave discreetly. There’s already a plane waiting for us.” She nods, then frowns. “We’re leaving for Montovia today?” “What else would we do? We can hardly stay here.” I sit down in the little chair beside her bed. “If you’re worried about getting more of your things back in Los Angeles, don’t worry—you’ll be provided with anything you might need in Montovia. They’re recovering what they can from Atalanta, but you’ll need a new laptop and phone—and clothes, of course.” She’s still frowning. “Andrew—” “We’ll both be safer in Montovia,” I say. “The press will be after you, too, once they’ve identified you. At least in Montovia these things might be controlled.” “That’s just it,” she says. “Maybe we should let them see us.” Now it’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean?” “I mean it might be the easiest way of controlling the story. By giving them some of the information ourselves.” She sets down her spoon. “The entire world thought you tried to kill yourself, and now they know you’re here in this hospital —but have they seen you yet? Has anyone snapped a picture of you?” “No,” I say firmly. “I was very careful to—” “That could be a problem,” she says. “There’s no physical proof yet that you’re alive and well. We should give it to them.” “I’m not entirely sure what you’re suggesting, but I have no intention of staying in this country a moment longer than necessary.” She gives a small shake of her head. “We don’t have to stay here. Just…let them

see you as you leave. Give them a smile and a wave. Show them you’re okay.” “I’m not sure I see the benefit of this. Won’t it only cause more commotion?” “It’ll keep them from making up any rumors that this is all a sham or that you’re actually dead or something. It’ll give us the chance to control the direction the press takes this story.” She drums her fingers against the tray. “We should also probably tell them who I am. If we try to hide it, the media will only go digging. They’ll make it something it isn’t.” “What do you mean by that? That they’ll insinuate we have some sort of romantic attachment?” She shrugs. “Probably. And I can’t imagine that will look very good if you’re trying to find yourself a wife.” There’s something very strange in her expression, but before I can press her further, she rushes on. “So I think we should make our departure from the hospital through the main entrance,” she says. “Set the record straight. And we can deal with the rest when we get to Montovia.” I stand. I’m not sure I like this idea—not at all, to be perfectly frank—but Victoria has earned my trust. If she says this is the best course of action, then it is exactly what we should do. “I’ll make the arrangements for the car,” I say. “And find something for you to wear. I suspect they burned your old clothes.” I rub my cheek. “I’ll need to find a barber, or at least a razor—” “No, you should keep the stubble,” she says. I turn to her. “You cannot be serious.” “I am.” “I look like some sort of uncivilized—” “You look like a normal person, which is exactly how you want to look right

now.” She picks up her spoon again. “You don’t want to go out there looking perfectly polished, like none of this ever happened. The entire world will know it’s a front. But this…” She gestures at me with the spoon. “You look like an ordinary person. You look relatable. You’ve been through a hardship, and it’s okay to not be perfectly polished after a hardship. It will make everyone like you more.” “But—” “Trust me.” I give a small shake of my head. “I’ll do it if you insist on it, but I intend to return to my normal grooming habits the moment we set foot in Montovia.” “That’s fine,” she says. “But today, stay just as you are.” I’ve never been out in public looking anything less than impeccably groomed, and the thought of stepping out in front of the press looking like this makes my stomach tighten. But Victoria looks so sure, so certain, and I must bow to her expertise on this matter. If I weren’t willing to take her advice, then why even hire her in the first place? “Fine,” I tell her. “I’ll make the arrangements.” Within the hour, everything is settled and prepared—the car is ordered, the plane alerted, and a dress is found for Victoria. Once the paperwork is handled, she and I head to the main entrance of the hospital. She’s doing everything she can to hide her limp and the pain she must still be suffering. “Are you still entirely certain this is the best course of action?” I ask her. “Yes,” she says. When I glance over at her, though, I think she looks a touch paler than usual. This is new for her, I remind myself. She’s not used to being the one in front of the camera. And she’s about to be in front of many. When the doors slide open, there are nearly two dozen of the press

waiting outside. Some have cameras, some have microphones or digital recorders, and all of them start shouting the moment they recognize me. “Prince Andrew!” “Your Highness—why did you try to commit suicide?” “Look over here!” “Prince Andrew—are you all right? Were you injured?” “What happened? Why did you crash your plane?” The shouts come from every direction, but Victoria and I just smile and forge ahead, toward the town car that is waiting for us at the curb. The driver jumps out and quickly opens the door for us. Victoria and I discussed exactly what we would do, exactly what each of us would say. Neither of us utters a word until we reach the car, and only then do I turn, still smiling, and offer a small wave. “Thank you for your concern,” I say. “As you can see, I am quite well, and I’m looking forward to returning home.” The shouts come even louder now. “Your Highness—another picture!” “Are there any injuries?” “What does your family think about what happened?” But as Victoria and I discussed, I simply give them another wave and slide into the car. Victoria still stands at the curb, smiling at the reporters. “As you can see, His Highness is doing great,” she says to the crowd. “I’m Victoria Simpson, and I’m serving as His Highness’s personal press manager for the time being. Yes—I was on the plane with him when it went down. We were on our way to Montovia to discuss an exciting personal development for His Highness. Any further inquiries about the prince will go directly through me.”

The shouting starts up again—this time, with questions for her—but Victoria just slides into the car behind me. The driver pushes the door shut, drowning out the worst of the noise. “Distasteful leeches,” I mutter. “Have they really nothing better to do than follow people out of a hospital?” Only after the words have left my mouth do I realize they’re another insult against Victoria’s profession—and while I meant every word, I do not wish to upset her at a moment like this. When I glance over at her, though, she seems not to have heard me at all. She’s fiddling with her dress, frowning. “Victoria?” It takes her another moment to realize I’ve spoken. Suddenly she looks over at me. “Oh. Did you say something? I think that went well.” The wrinkle on her brow belies her words. “Do you?” I ask. It certainly could have gone worse, I suppose. “I do.” She sits back in her seat. “I do.” She sounds distracted. In spite of myself, I find myself reaching over to her, taking her hand in mine. She jumps at my touch but doesn’t pull away. Her hand is shaking slightly. It takes me a moment to understand, but then it all seems perfectly clear. “It can be overwhelming,” I say. “Especially if you aren’t used to it.” She glances over at me. “Huh?” “The shouting. The flashing cameras. All of it.” My thumb brushes against the back of her hand. “It can be difficult if you don’t know what to expect.” “I know what to expect. I am a reporter, after all.” “But you’ve never been on this side of it. It’s different.” She doesn’t say anything, only turns and watches the scenery rush past the

window. “You can see,” I say quietly, “why it would be preferable to find a wife who’s used to such things. It’s not something I would wish to thrust upon someone who isn’t prepared for it.” “No, I guess not,” she says, pulling her hand out of mine. “How far is the airstrip?” “Not far,” I say, sitting back in my seat. Still, the drive there seems to take an eternity—in no small part, I’m sure, because neither Victoria nor I say anything to each other the entire rest of the way. It’s a relief when we finally reach the airstrip—but that relief quickly turns to dread when my eyes land on our plane. This jet is larger than Atalanta, and a fine member of my family’s private fleet, and though I’m sure she’s perfectly safe, I find myself having a very strong physical reaction to the thought of stepping on a plane again so soon. When I glance over at Victoria, she looks rather pale, and I suspect she’s experiencing something similar. “What happened to us was a fluke,” I say. “Statistics would say we were more likely to die in the car ride on the way here than we are to experience another plane crash.” She looks up at me. “I didn’t say anything.” “I know you didn’t. But I thought I would enlighten you with the odds all the same.” I take a step toward the plane, and my gut tightens. “We’ve had enough bad luck for one week, wouldn’t you say?” I’m sure she can see through my false bravado, but in truth, I care little. I need to say the words for myself. Get on the plane. Go home. Handle this public relations disaster. Giving myself a checklist makes it a little easier to set one foot in front of the other toward the

plane. Please let there be some alcohol on board. Or, better yet—some sleeping pills. Anything to keep my mind off our last flight.

Victoria

One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. It isn’t that far to the staircase that sits in front of the small jet, but it feels like it’s a longer walk than the one Andrew and I made to that little cabin a few days ago. The throbbing in my foot with each step isn’t helping, but it feels like nothing compared to the increasing dread I feel with every inch as I move closer to the plane. And Andrew doesn’t look like he’s doing much better than I am. For as much as he tried to rush me on our two earlier hikes, he’s walking at least as slow as I am now, and I can tell it has nothing to do with my injury. He slips his hand into mine and squeezes it gently. Part of me wants to pull away from him. Hell, part of me wants to run away—as far away from this or any airplane as possible. And every step closer we get to the plane, it feels more and more like I’m trudging through waist-deep mud. “I…I don’t think I can, Andrew.” I stop, turning to him. My voice is cracking and I’m barely able to get out any words at all. “I know this is important to you. I know…” I press my lips together, trying to hold back what I’m sure are going to be tears streaming down my cheeks any second. “I just… I can’t do it.” He pulls my other hand into his and looks down into my eyes. He lets out a long breath—almost a sigh. “I’m not sure I can either, Victoria. But…” His voice trails off, almost as though he isn’t sure he should say what he’s thinking. He gives me a single nod. “But we have each other. And we have little choice if we wish to get to Montovia in a reasonable amount of time. I’m sure we can both agree that Montovia will be a better place at the moment, free of the reporters—” “Distasteful leeches, you mean?” I give him a weak smile. He grins. “You were listening.” I let out a small laugh. “Of course I was listening. I make it a point to listen—

most of us distasteful leeches do.” “I didn’t mean—” “I know.” I smile. “I’m still not sure about flying, though. I mean…” I lower my voice, though there’s no one around to overhear us. “Is there at least alcohol on board? I don’t want you to think I make it a habit to drink or anything, but—” He lifts a brow, smiling. “There’s only one way to find out. And believe me, Victoria, if there is alcohol on board, I’ll be the first one overindulging.” Something about his voice, the way he’s holding my hands is almost reassuring. But I know he’s doing it as much for himself as he is for me, even if he would never it it. He gives me another nod before releasing one of my hands and turning back toward the plane. I’m positive I see him gulp, though, as he looks back toward the staircase, but he’s covering his fear better than I can. It feels like it takes us hours to finally get to the bottom of the steps, and he releases my hand, motioning me up first. Damned gentleman. I climb the first step, but hesitate. It has nothing to do with my limp or the pain still throbbing in my foot. I just can’t seem to make my legs carry me up at all. I’m pretty sure I stand there like that for another couple of hours, frozen with terror, before I feel Andrew’s hand on my shoulder. He dips his head to speak into my ear. “I’m right behind you. I’m not going to leave you.” I close my eyes for a second. You won’t leave me now. But you’re sure as hell going to leave me eventually. I can hear the fear in his voice—the same fear I feel in my chest, making my heart race so quickly it feels like it’s about to explode. But there’s something almost reassuring about hearing his fear. Something about knowing he’s feeling the same thing I am gives me the courage to take the next step and the next and

the next. And he matches me step for step, his hand never leaving my shoulder. A man—a steward or something, probably—motions for me to take a seat in one of the leather chairs in the cabin of the airplane. This plane is larger than Andrew’s, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. It could be the biggest airplane in the world, and my head would still be spinning and the damned thing would still feel far too small—like the walls were about to close in on me. Andrew seems to sense my impending panic attack and he guides me to one of the chairs before he drops into the seat next to mine. He says something to the steward, but my ears are ringing so loudly I don’t hear anything either man says. It isn’t until the steward brings us each a drink that I realize what they must have been talking about. Each glass is about three-quarters of the way full of an amber liquid. I don’t even need to ask what it is—I don’t really even care. I grab mine and down more than half of it in a single gulp, barely even noticing the burning in my throat after I swallow. I down the rest a second later and hand the glass back to the steward. Andrew smiles before he does the same, downing whatever alcoholic beverage it is in the glass in a few gulps. I hurriedly fasten my seatbelt and squeeze my eyes shut, almost willing myself to out from the quick intake of alcohol, but it doesn’t happen. My hands are clenching the armrests of the chair so tightly that I’m sure my knuckles are white and my fingernails are leaving permanent indentations in the leather. Andrew does the touching thing again that he seems to like doing so much to me. He traces over the top of my arm, trailing the pad of his finger down to my hand before pulling it into his. Even though it does the same thing to me as it has every other time he’s done it, it’s hard to pay much attention to the shiver that runs through me. Instead, I let him take my hand and I squeeze it instead of the chair, probably leaving fingernail marks in his skin where they’re digging into his flesh. I barely pay attention to the pilot on the loud speaker—the alcohol is starting to kick in and my head is swimming again. I’m not sure if it’s the booze or the sheer terror of feeling the plane move, but I can’t open my eyes. Andrew’s grip

on my hand tightens as the plane picks up speed. Without opening my eyes, I turn to him, dipping my head to where I hope his shoulder will be. But instead, he pulls me into his arms as much as he can while we’re both seatbelted, releasing my hand to slide one arm around my waist and the other across my body to stroke my hair. It seems like he’s almost hugging me. I have no idea how long we stay like that, only that having him hold me somehow keeps my silent sobs to a minimum. We’re airborne after a little while, but it takes me some time to be able to open my eyes. Andrew silently strokes my hair the entire time until I finally lift my head and open my eyes. He looks down at me for a long moment before he dips his head, placing a chaste kiss on my lips. He pulls away after that, just far enough to gauge my reaction, I think. He looks at me for another moment before he does the same thing. He dips his head, gives me a short, closed-mouth kiss—for a little while longer this time—before he pulls away again. I search his eyes—we both know how wrong this is. How this can’t happen. Why this can’t happen. But it doesn’t seem to matter. Whatever this is—this pull I can’t seem to shake—he seems to feel it, too. And maybe it’s the fear of flying or maybe it’s the new respect we found for each other while we were out in the wilderness together. It’s probably knowing how he’ll never be mine, no matter what we feel. But I want him now in a way that I didn’t before. In a way I can’t seem to hold back. When he dips his head toward me again, I slide my hands up his chest, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into me. I part my lips, almost begging him to deepen the kiss. And he obliges, sliding his tongue against mine before he trails it over my bottom lip. I can taste the bite of alcohol on him and I pull him even closer. His hand slides up my back, fisting into my hair as his other fumbles with my seatbelt. He finally frees it and pulls me even closer to him, almost onto his lap. I gasp against his lips as his hand reaches behind me, sliding the zipper of my dress down. It’s not even a second before he’s sliding it off my shoulders, pulling

away from me only enough to help me slide my arms out. He groans when his hand finds my breast, his other arm reaching behind me again to unfasten my bra. He unhooks it with what seems like a flick of his wrist, and slides his hand underneath, trailing his fingers across my skin from my back around to my breast. He slides my bra off my shoulders, his fingers finding the sensitive skin on my nipples. I gasp again—almost moaning into his mouth. I think I hear him clear his throat, but I don’t stop kissing him. Instead, I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, trying to bare his chest the way he has bared mine. I hear another throat clearing and my eyes fly open at the same time as Andrew’s. His eyes widen and he pulls me toward him, shielding me against his body from the man standing in front of us. I can’t even turn around to look—I know it’s the steward. My face feels like it’s on fire and my chest is so tight I can barely breathe. I pull my bra back up—at least it’s still around my arms and hasn’t been thrown to the floor. Yet. I don’t even bother to hook it—I just pull it up and cover my breasts, turning myself off Andrew’s lap and back up against my seat, trying to get my arms back into my dress while my back is turned to the steward. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but the pilot has informed me that there is going to be some turbulence in a few minutes. He recommends…” He clears his throat again. “Buckling your seatbelts, Your Highness. Until the turbulence has subsided. He says he is trying to find a way around it, but it may last for some time. I apologize, Your Highness.” “Yes… Yes, thank you.” I still can’t bear to turn around—I’m pretty sure the steward got an eyeful of my bare breasts—and I’m sitting with my head against the back of the seat, my eyes closed as I’m almost head-butting the neck rest on the back of the chair. I feel Andrew’s hand on my still bare back a second later. “I’m so sorry, Victoria. Let me help—”

“No. I can do it myself.” I turn away from him as best as I can and pull the dress back up and over my shoulders before I reach back to try to zip it. “Here, allow me.” His hand is on my back again, and I stiffen, pulling away. I stand, my back still turned to him as I zip up the dress myself, not even bothering with trying to rehook my bra. What the hell was I thinking? “You… You should sit down, Victoria. Buckle your seatbelt.” He pauses. “I… That is to say that we may need to—” He’s interrupted by a lurch of the plane and my heart speeds up as I grab the arm rest. I turn to him, my eyes wide with terror. He motions back to my seat. “Sit. Please?” The last part sounds almost like a question and I can tell he’s just as terrified as I am. I nod and drop back into the seat next to him, fumbling again for my seatbelt. I’ve barely clicked it closed before the plane bounces a few times and lurches again. I close my eyes, leaning against the headrest and clutching at the sides of the chair, my fingernails digging into the leather once more. Another lurch and I feel Andrew’s hand on top of mine. “I’m sorry, Victoria. I’m so, so sorry.”

Andrew

My chest is tight. My stomach in knots. I’m beginning to think the brandy might have been a bad idea, because my gut is twisting so much I fear I won’t be able to keep it down. I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but that only makes it worse. In my mind, I see flashes of those last few moments on Atalanta—of her nose pointing down, of the ground rushing closer, of the suffocating panic in my chest as I realized I was about to be responsible for not one, but two deaths. My eyes fly open again. My fingers are clamped around Victoria’s, and my grip is so tight I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything. I loosen my hold, but the moment I do she twists her hand around and slides her fingers through mine, squeezing tightly. “Don’t let go of me,” she says, her voice strained. “I won’t.” I squeeze her hand back. The plane lurches again, throwing both of us to the side. Her shoulder slams into mine, and even when the plane steadies again, she stays leaning against me. I don’t mind—I find her nearness comforting, and I hope the does the same for her. A shiver moves down her arm. Even with the plane shaking and jerking around us, even with my stomach twisting and turning and threatening, I can’t help but notice how soft her skin feels beneath my fingers. The scent of her fills my nose—a scent like honey and autumn, sweet and sharp at the same time. Only a few minutes ago she was in my arms, melting against me. The tension of those short, heated moments still lingers in my body, making my skin feel hot and tight. Added to the tension caused by the plane’s jerky movements, I feel like a coiled spring. I don’t know how long we suffer through the turbulence. It might be seconds, or minutes, or hours. Time seems to stretch, to blur, to freeze around us as the plane dips and lurches.

And then, almost suddenly, the shaking stops. Neither Victoria nor I say anything for a long moment, but we both seem to have realized that the worst has ed. She visibly relaxes at the same moment a long, shaky breath escapes my lips. Her hand is still clasped in mine. Her shoulder still pressed against my shoulder. The pilot’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker. “We seem to be clear of the turbulence, Your Highness. You should be free to move about the cabin again.” Victoria leans away from me. She tries to pull her hand away, too, but I keep her fingers clasped tightly in mine. Part of me just wants to hold her hand until we reach Montovia. The other part of me wants to pull her back into my lap, to relieve this nervous tension in my body by finishing what we started before we were interrupted. With my free hand, I reach across and undo her seatbelt. When she’s free, I pull her toward me. She hesitates for the briefest of moments. Then she leans into me, her body melting against mine again. I pull her partway into my lap and then put my arms around her, holding her against my chest. Her face is nestled against my shoulder. From this position, I can breathe in the scent of her hair. Feel the heat of her breath on the skin of my neck. My arms tighten around her as my body responds. I need her. Now. I need someone, something, to take away the fear in my chest and to remind me of the pleasures of this world. I press my lips gently to her hair. Once, then twice, then a third time. So softly I’m not certain she even notices at first. She’s still trembling slightly, still probably trying, as I am, to free her mind of the horrors of our memories. I can help with that. I flatten one hand and let it drift slowly up her back, all the way to the base of her neck. My mouth continues to brush gently across her dark, fragrant hair. The strands feel so soft against my lips, and I can tell the exact moment she notices my kisses because another shiver moves through her. Her hand grips my shirt. “Andrew—”

“Shh,” I murmur against her hair. “We’re safe now.” I grip the back of her neck and tilt her head back. My mouth presses against her brow, her temple, and her eyelids before finally dipping down to find her lips. Her fingers tighten on my shirt, and her mouth falls open against mine. The kiss goes from soft to heated in less than a second, and hunger rushes through me as I slide my tongue into her mouth. I need her. Need to feel her against me, need to feel something besides this wretched tightness in my gut. She seems to feel the same way, because she moans softly against me and presses nearer, deepening the kiss. My hand falls from her neck down to her zipper. Before that wretched turbulence hit, I’d had her half naked on top of me, had her silken skin against me and her full, perfect breast in my hand. I want to see more of her. I want her fully naked against me. Want to feel her squirm beneath me. I tug at the zipper. It’s halfway down her back before she suddenly freezes. Her mouth pulls away from mine. “Andrew, wait,” she says. “We can’t do this here.” She throws a glance over her shoulder at the door to the front of the plane—where Christoph, the steward, stood when he interrupted us the first time. “We won’t be interrupted again,” I murmur. “And even if we are, it matters little. All of my family’s staff act with the utmost discretion.” I can hardly believe the words coming out of my mouth—they sound more like something Leopold would say. I’ve never put any of the household staff in a position like this—I’ve always cared first and foremost about my reputation, and that includes my reputation among those in my family’s employ. I’m the dutiful one. The responsible one. The one who exercises restraint and conducts himself with a certain amount of decorum. But I don’t care about any of that. I don’t know what it is about Victoria, but something about her makes me feel reckless. Makes me forget all the rules I’ve set for myself. It’s just the fear, I tell myself. You nearly died only a few short days ago. That’s what is making you feel so wild, so out of control.

I pull Victoria close to me, kissing her again. For a moment, she kisses me back, and then she pulls away again. “Really, we can’t.” Her cheeks are bright red. “I’m pretty sure your steward guy saw my breasts.” Her modesty is irresistibly charming. “That’s all right,” I tell her, letting my fingers drift up her arm. “There are still plenty of things we can do without removing any clothes.” I lean forward and press my lips to her neck. She sucks in a breath, and her hand grips my shoulder. I’m not sure whether she means to pull me closer or push me away, and she seems just as confused. “Andrew…” She gives another gasp as I nip at her lightly with my teeth. “We really shouldn’t…” “No, we shouldn’t,” I agree. “Which is, I suspect, why both of us want this so much.” I drop my hand from her arm down to her leg. She’s still halfway across my lap, and the skirt of her dress has fallen slightly aside, revealing a fair bit of her thigh. My fingers brush against the exposed skin, and a little shudder moves through her. “There are plenty of things we can do just like this,” I tell her again, letting my fingers drift higher up her leg. “And there will be nothing for Christoph or anyone else to see.” My mouth moves up the side of her throat, toward her ear, while my fingers slide toward the inner curve of her thigh, slipping beneath her skirt. Honestly, I’d much prefer to have her naked against me, but if she’s feeling nervous I don’t want to press her. Just touching her is enough. Just tasting the honey-sweetness of her skin. Just feeling the heat of her up against me. My lips close around her ear as my hand moves still higher up her leg. She bites back a moan. There’s a heat between her legs that gets more intense as I move closer to my goal. She squirms in my lap, and I can’t decide whether she’s trying to wiggle away from me or silently urging me to hurry, to touch her in that most sensitive

place. “Victoria,” I murmur into her ear. I like the sound of her name on my lips. I’d like a lot more of her on my lips, too. My fingers move that final distance up her thigh, finally coming in with the cotton of her underwear. It’s warm and wet beneath my touch, and when I press against it, I feel her quite clearly through the fabric. Slowly, I slide my fingers deeper between her legs, feeling the whole of her through the cotton. Suddenly she jerks back, nearly falling over herself as she struggles to get out of my lap. “Victori—” “No. No, we can’t do this,” she says. She’s standing, backing away from me. “If you like, I can speak with Christoph and tell him we require privacy—” “This isn’t about Christoph. Or anyone else. This just can’t happen. Period.” She shakes her head and turns away from me, clearly rattled. “I shouldn’t have let you kiss me again.” I stand. My body feels stiff, shaky, and for a moment I’m not entirely sure my legs will hold me upright—but they do, thank goodness. “Victoria,” I say, stepping toward her. “We’re both shaken. Both in need of some comfort. And, quite clearly, we’re both attracted to each other—” “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “This is stupid. For both of us. We shouldn’t start something we can’t finish.” Oh, I would make certain we both finished, the wicked, irresponsible part of my mind says—but I have a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate that lusty bit of humor. I step closer to her and touch her arm. She jumps at the . “Perhaps this is irresponsible,” I it. “Perhaps it is foolish, and ill-advised, and highly inappropriate. But frankly, after the events of the last few days, I couldn’t care less. We might have died, Victoria. And I suspect the knowledge of

that fact—that sickening fear—has taken up residence in your bones the way it has in mine. I have no intention of succumbing to that fear, but nor do I have any intention of ignoring it and pretending everything is as it was. Everything is not as it was. And I’ll be damned if I push away the small bit of pleasure the universe has offered me in the meantime.” Her nose wrinkles in what looks like disgust. “Can you even hear yourself? Maybe our little near-death experience has left you with some ‘seize the day’ attitude, but not all of us can afford to think that way. If you want pleasure or comfort, then get it from someone else. You might have the freedom to be reckless, but I don’t.” I frown. “Victoria—” “We’ll start the search for your wife as soon as we get to Montovia,” she says. “I’m sure there are plenty of noblewomen who will be more than willing to comfort the crown prince.” My body is still tight with need, but as much as I’d like to grab her to me and kiss her arguments away, I can tell by the look in her eyes I’m not going to change her mind about this, not now. “If that’s what you want, then I won’t try to convince you otherwise,” I say, returning to my seat. “But I see no harm in seeking comfort in the arms of each other, especially after what we experienced together. In fact, should you change your mind and decide you need any comforting—” “I won’t.” “Well, if you do, you only need to say the word.” I capture her gaze in mine. “I have a sneaking suspicion that this isn’t something either of us will easily shake.” “I can deal with it without your help,” she says, but beneath the determination in her eyes, I’m fairly certain I see fear. I don’t know why she’s being so stubborn about this, why she’s resisting this pull between us or denying the deep need for comfort I know she must feel, but I intend to discover the truth. Carefully, of course. In the meantime, I think, shifting and trying to ignore the ache in my cock, this is

going to be the world’s longest flight.

Victoria

I force a smile and walk over to take a seat on the other side of the plane. This area is less like a traditional airplane and more like a living room—there are four seats, two on each side facing the others with a small table in between. He stands and follows me over to this side of the plane. I look up at him with the same phony smile. “Would you like to discuss your potential brides? I assume you told your mother about this plan—did she have any suggestions?” He frowns, his brow furrowing and he stares at me for a moment before he takes a seat across from me. “I assume Princess Natasha will be on the list. I think people have wondered why the two of you haven’t already gotten together. She seems to have everything you want in a woman—she’s beautiful, she’s royal…” I try not to growl when I say the word, but I only barely cover my disdain. “She’s an idiot.” His face is expressionless and he merely stares at me. I wrinkle my nose. “She went to Harvard—” “And received a meaningless degree in French literature.” He stares at me again. “And she can barely discuss that.” “Well, you may have to lower your standards a bit, Your Highness. It isn’t like beautiful noblewomen are falling from the sky—” I stop, my mouth falling open as I realize what I’ve said. But he doesn’t react at all—not even flinch or a wince. He just stares at me, almost like he’s waiting for me to say something else. Maybe to it to my desires, the way he almost dared me to a few minutes ago. “I think she should be on the list, even if you know for sure you aren’t going to

choose her.” I pause for a second. “Did you have someone in mind already? The woman who will win the contest?” He narrows his gaze. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t bother doing this. I would merely propose and be done with it.” “And that would lose all the drama and buildup of the courtship, which your adoring public will want to watch. The thing is, Andrew, they usually like to watch it build over the course of years. Months, at least. You might want to consider that, too, after you choose your winner. That maybe you’ll want a longer courtship, even if you do intend to marry—” “Why wait if we intend to marry?” He lifts a brow. “What is the point of dragging a courtship out any longer than necessary? I will win the affections of the public and they will want to see a royal wedding. I intend to marry the winner within no more than a month or two. And—” “Wait—no more than a month or two? Why?” He glares at me again. “Because the people will want a royal wedding. They will want the full pageantry at the end of the contest.” I tilt my head and look at him for a second. There’s something in his voice that isn’t ringing quite true. “Even on those reality shows, the man doesn’t marry the woman right away. Most of the time, they never get married at all. It’s pretty hard to find a wife from a limited menu of options—” “She merely needs to be tolerable. If she can carry on a conversation, that will be enough for me. We’ll have already established that the public adores her, as they will have had some say in my final choice. And the public will be eagerly awaiting our royal wedding and we’ll not disappoint them.” I search his eyes, trying to figure out what it is about this story that is making the back of my neck tingle—a sure sign for me that there’s something more to it. And then I realize what it is—his brother. My lips press together—I’m not sure if I should ask him about it or not. But I finally muster up the courage to ask my question. “What does Leopold think of this plan of yours?”

I can almost see flames burst from his eyes when I say his brother’s name. “I haven’t asked him, Victoria. I don’t generally consult with my brother on matters such as this.” I smile. “I can’t imagine that you’ve really ever consulted anyone on matters such as this. It isn’t like it’s a typical princely activity, is it? Having a public pageant to choose a bride?” “Leopold’s opinion means nothing to me. It never has and it never will.” There’s something about the way he says it that is off. I can’t put my finger on it, but something isn’t right. We’re silent for a moment before I finally speak. “Well, you’ll at least consult him about when his wedding is, right? You won’t want to ruin whatever he has planned with Elle.” He growls and stands up, walking back over to the counter. He pours himself a half-glass of an amber liquid, downs it in a single gulp and fills it back up before he returns to sit across from me. He almost slams the glass down on the small table separating us. “Princess Natasha can be on the list.” “Okay.” I try to catch his gaze, but he’s staring at the floor. He lowers his voice. “And Lady Maria. I suppose that I now don’t care that she’s fucked Leopold.” “Oh…kay.” There’s something in his voice that is almost frightening. Something I’ve heard before, but can’t quite place. Something…wrong. He picks the glass back up and looks down into it. His grip is so tight on the thing that it looks like it might shatter in his hand. He works his jaw for a moment. “Hopefully my mother will have thought of one or two more women since I’ve spoken with her.” I nod, wishing I had a notepad to jot down my own thoughts on the matter. Like how this is the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever done. And how I know he’s going to regret it—I’m not sure how I know that, but I can feel it. I think we’re

both going to regret every bit of this. “Have you?” His voice jolts me out of my thoughts and I look over at him. His face is pinched, almost pained. My brow furrows. “Have I…what?” “Fucked him.” I frown, but I see now what’s going on. I shake my head slowly. “No, Andrew. I haven’t slept with your brother—” “But you would have. And once he sees you in the palace, he’ll try to bed you. We both know that. He… He…” I reach out and take his hand in mine, even though I know I shouldn’t. Even though I know that every time I touch him, I’m taking my own heart in my hands, knowing there will never be anything more than heartbreak if I allow things to progress any further between us. He looks down at our hands before looking over and meeting my gaze. We’re like that for what feels like hours before he finally speaks again. “I don’t care any more, Victoria. I don’t care if it’s Natasha or Maria or you.” He almost spits out the last word. “I need an heir. I need to marry as quickly as possible and have an heir. I cannot allow my brother to take the life that was promised to me.” He pauses, staring into my eyes for another long moment. “I cannot and I will not allow it.”

Andrew

It’s clear to me that even now, Victoria doesn’t understand. Perhaps I was wrong to trust her—how can she tell this story effectively if she doesn’t understand why it is so important? I must make her understand. Victoria is frowning at me. “How can you think Leo is trying to take anything from you?” “It’s not about what I think,” I say, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “It’s about what the world thinks. You know as well as I that the people love to make assumptions about those who live in the public eye. You must know they’ll make all manner of assumptions about why Leopold is marrying before I am. I won’t have such rumors undermining my position or my loyalty to Montovia. It’s too late to be the first to father a child, but if I have my wife pregnant within a few months, I think we can avoid most of the awkwardness, don’t you?” “I think you’re insane,” she says. I look down at my glass again. “Victoria—” “You’re the crown prince. The world knows that already. They don’t care about which of you marries first.” She squeezes my hand. I can only stare at her. “If you honestly believe that, Victoria, then I can’t believe you’ve lasted in your profession for as long as you have. The public loves to speculate—and they’re often helped by the media. Walk into any grocery in your country and read the headlines on the newsstands—one magazine will be claiming that two actresses are fighting over the same man, another will suggest that two reality television stars are in a feud over the respective sizes of their paychecks. The press loves drama and conflict—so much so that often they will create it where there is none. We must get ahead of any stories they would create about me.” Victoria is frowning again. “That doesn’t mean this is the best way to do that.”

“Then tell me,” I say, dropping her hand. “What is a suitable alternative? How else do we give them the drama they crave?” She just stares back at me. “This whole thing would be a heck of a lot easier if you just told me entire truth. I still don’t even know the reason you hired me in the first place.” “I’ll tell you everything when—” “When we reach Montovia. I know.” She turns away from me. “Then maybe we should wait to finish this conversation there.” “Maybe that’s a good idea,” I say, reaching out and touching her arm. She starts slightly at my touch, and I step closer, right against her back, and let my fingers move down her skin. “Perhaps if we—” “We’re not doing any of that, either,” she says, jerking away from me. “Not here and not in Montovia.” I frown. “Then how would you recommend we spend the remainder of this flight?” “You can do whatever you want,” she says. “I’m going to try and sleep. It’s been a long few days and I can’t imagine things are going to get easier when we get to Montovia.” She walks over to her seat and sits down again. I start to argue with her—if she’s simply trying to end our current conversation, then there are other ways to do that. But when I look at her a little more closely, the fatigue is plain on her face. She was only checked out of the hospital a couple hours ago, I remind myself. And we’re both still recovering from the days we spent in the wilderness. I go to the cabinet and grab a blanket and pillow for her—and a second set for myself. Victoria looks almost surprised when I hand them to her, but neither of us says a word. I take my seat next to hers and spread the blanket across my lap. The sofa in the plane’s seating area folds down into a bed, and I almost suggest that she sleep there—but given the circumstances, I suspect my words would be taken the wrong way. And judging by the way she’s fastened her seatbelt tightly across her lap again, I imagine she feels safer where she is buckled in. Fortunately, our seats are large and comfortable.

She leans her seat back and props the pillow beneath her head, her face turned away from me. I lie back as well, but I know it is futile to attempt to sleep. There is too much on my mind—and the memory of the plane crash is too fresh—to allow me to drift into slumber. Instead, I listen to her slow breathing. After a few minutes, she shifts in her seat, trying to find a different position. A few minutes after that, she moves again. I suspect it’s more than the fact that she’s trying to sleep in an airplane seat that keeps her tossing and turning. “Victoria,” I say softly. Her eyes open and she looks at me. “The armrest goes up,” I tell her. “If you want…” She nods, and I push up the armrest between us. She loosens her seatbelt and slides toward me, and I raise my arm and put it around her, allowing her to nestle against my side. Her head rests at the crook of my shoulder, and beneath our blankets, her hand settles against my chest. She lets out a soft sigh, and I can feel her physically relax in my arms. I press my hand against her back and hold her close. I feel better, too, having her in my arms. I don’t know if she sleeps, but I do not. My consciousness seems to drift in and out, but I never fully escape into dreamland—I’m too aware of where we are. And when I close my eyes, my mind flashes between images of the plane crash and images of headlines they will surely print about me if Victoria and I can’t handle this nightmare. Somehow, though, time drifts by. Eventually, the pilot’s voice crackles over the speaker again, telling us we’re approaching Montovia. Victoria stirs and sits up. But she remains sitting close to me as the plane descends. My fingers find hers, and we squeeze each other’s hands as we land. The moment the plane is on solid ground again, I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Victoria seems to feel it, too—there’s color in her complexion again, and there’s a bright look in her eyes as she rises from her seat. Neither of us can seem to get off the plane fast enough.

It’s the middle of the night here in Montovia. But the palace is lit up against the night sky, shining with lights to welcome me home. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to return. I feel as if I am safe again. As if I can breathe again. Victoria has been here before, I know. But I still catch her looking with wonder at the brightly-lit palace before us as the carts take us from the palace’s airstrip to the door. There’s quite an entourage waiting for us at the palace. Attendants of course, but also most of my family. My mother is here, as well as Sophia and my brother William. Leopold and Elle are also here, naturally—but the biggest surprise is probably my father, whose face remains carefully blank as my mother comes rushing forward. “Oh, Andrew,” my mother says, throwing her arms around me and hugging me close. I put my arms around her. She’d wanted to come meet me at the hospital in America, but it was decided it would be better to avoid the media circus that her visit would have caused. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmurs to me. “When we thought…” “It was an unfortunate accident,” I tell her gently. “But as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” She squeezes me again and then releases me, and when she steps back, I can see tears shining in her eyes. Sophia bounds forward next, hugging me before I even have a chance to greet her. I spend the next several minutes assuring everyone that I’m all right, that there’s no reason to make a big fuss out of my return. It’s clear they have questions for me, but fortunately, the of my family are well trained in restraint. Some even better than others, I think, my eyes going first to my father, and then over to my brother Leopold. My father is still wearing that imible expression, and though my brother is smiling, he has yet to say a word to me. “Oh, but I’m sure the two of you are exhausted,” my mother says. She clutches my hands so tightly I’m not sure she’ll ever let them go. “We’ve prepared a

room for Ms. Simpson. And are you two hungry? I can have the cook send something up to your rooms.” I glance over at Victoria. She looks a little stunned by the crowd of people around us—but the circles under her eyes are also plain to see. I suspect she got as little real sleep on our flight as I did. “Yes, I think we should get some rest,” I say. “And have the cook send up some things.” Victoria nods. “Thank you.” “I’ll take Victoria to her room,” my mother says. She gives me one more hug, squeezing me far longer that propriety dictates. “Tomorrow, let’s have lunch.” “Of course,” I say. I glance at Victoria over my mother’s shoulder, and she’s looking back at me. Something in her eyes startles me—if I didn’t know any better, it looks almost like apprehension. Fear. This is the first time we’ll be separated since the plane crash, I realize. Even though it’s only for a night, and even though we’re both going to be beneath the same roof, I feel my own stomach tighten at the thought. I don’t want to be parted from her, and from the look in her eyes, I wonder if she’s having a similar thought. “If you tell me where her room is, I can take her there,” I say. “Nonsense,” my mother replies, finally releasing me. “I think I can take over the hosting duties from here. You go get some sleep. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure she’s settled in.” She blinks again, tears still twinkling in her eyes. My mother thinks she’s doing me a favor, I realize. And playing hostess is her way of dealing with her emotions. “Well, if you would just tell me where her room is—” I start, then cut off abruptly when I realize how this must sound. Both Sophia and Leopold seem to be watching me very closely. “For tomorrow,” I add quickly. “She and I will have work to discuss—”

“Don’t you dare think about work just yet,” my mother says. “It would do both of you some good to spend a few days recovering first.” She slides her arm through Victoria’s. “I’ve put her on the east wing. Don’t worry—someone will point you in the right direction after you’ve both had a chance to rest.” Well, that’s all there is to it—I cannot press for further details without incriminating myself in some way. “Goodnight,” I tell them. Victoria glances back over her shoulder at me but doesn’t say a word. “I suppose I should be getting to bed, then,” I tell the others. “Don’t worry—I’ll tell everyone the whole damned story once I’ve had some sleep.” If I can even get to sleep tonight without her. After saying my farewells, I make my way up to my chambers. It’s a relief to be back home, to have my own bed waiting for me, but as I undress, the knot in my stomach just seems to get tighter. I know it will be impossible for me to sleep tonight without Victoria in my arms—and that if I do, by some miracle, manage to drift off, that my dreams will be plagued by plane crashes. I run my hand through my hair. What am I going to do? You can go to the east wing. Find her room. Spend the night with her. But I shake my head. It’s too risky. I’m not even certain she wants me to come to her in the first place. And should anyone see me, there would be no explaining my behavior. But then what the hell am I going to do? I feel restless. Anxious. I’m not sure quite what to do with myself. My head aches with exhaustion, but my body is tense. I pace back and forth across my sitting room, trying to calm myself. You knew this would happen eventually, I tell myself. You knew you wouldn’t be able to spend every night in her arms from this point forward. You’re going to have to manage it somehow.

But not tonight. Not yet. I turn and stride to the door. Maybe I’m being foolish, but honestly, I care little at the moment. I’m going to find her room.

Victoria

We barely step inside the door of the palace before Queen Penelope is called away. One of the many attendants takes over after the queen promises that we’ll all have lunch together tomorrow. It seems like a pretty long walk to my room, but between my throbbing foot and my exhaustion, it’s hard to tell if it actually is a long distance or if it only seems that way. I saw the way Andrew looked at me after his mother insisted she would show me to my room herself. It was a little hard to tell what it was on his face, exactly, but it looked like some combination of anger, sadness, and fear. Definitely fear. At least Andrew has his family—almost every single one of them was out there to greet him, to reassure him. To show him they care. The past several days have gone by quickly, but it can’t really be lost on Andrew that there has been no one who has been missing me. That no one showed up at the hospital in the middle of nowhere to claim me—not even the editor of the magazine where I’ve worked for the past five years. At least Andrew has his family and people around him who care about him. He can sleep tonight knowing he’s loved. And how the hell am I ever supposed to sleep again? Andrew can probably find comfort in the arms of someone tonight—and even if he can’t, at least he’s at home and can sleep in his own bed. I don’t have any of those things. The attendant—maybe he’s a valet—drops me off at the door to one of the many rooms. It might even be the same room I stayed in with Elle a few weeks ago, but it’s hard to tell since every door in this palace looks the same. As soon as I enter, I can see it definitely is not the same room—the decorations are different and I think this one is a little smaller. There is a tiny sitting area and a doorway to the bedroom on the other side of the room. As nice as sleeping on a real bed for the first time in days sounds, it isn’t until that moment I I have nothing. No clothes, no makeup, no…anything.

The dress the hospital gave me is fine, but it’s nothing I would have normally chosen for myself. I Andrew telling me that my every need would be met, but when I walk into the bedroom, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. There’s a bed, a large dresser, and a nightstand next to the bed. I walk over to the dresser and slide open one of the drawers—it’s empty, as are the rest of the ones I check. I walk into the closet, hoping that maybe someone will have thought to hang up the promised clothes. But when I walk in, it’s just as empty as the dresser. There are plenty of hangers, but nothing hanging on them. I close my eyes for a second. I should be grateful, I remind myself. I almost died. Again. Am I really going to let myself get worked up over not having any clothes to wear? It takes me a second, but I finally open my eyes and walk out of the large closet and back into the bedroom. I walk over to the bathroom on the other side of the room to see if maybe whoever was put in charge of getting me clothes might have left them in there. But there’s nothing here, either. There are some toiletries on the counter—shampoo, lotion, a toothbrush, and toothpaste—but nothing that looks like it was set out for me. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door as I’m walking out. I’m not sure what’s come over me, but I start giggling like a little girl. I grab the robe and strip out of my donated clothes before pulling on the soft robe. I tie it as tight as I can, almost like it’s giving me a hug. I have to close my eyes for another moment, forcing back the tears that seem to come from nowhere. A hug. When was the last time that happened? Andrew held me on the plane today. He’s held me in his arms every night since this bad dream started—how long ago has it even been? Five nights now? Five nights and I need to be held to be able to sleep. Five nights and I’ve gone from needing no one in my life to needing a hug? To needing to be held? What the hell is wrong with me?

I know we were in a plane crash. I know this is probably post-traumatic stress disorder or something. I know my foot is fucking killing me, and the hospital discharged me without so much as a pain pill or a how-the-fuck-are-youholding-up-after-you-almost-died. And I know that everything that has happened in the past five days is some sort of surreal dream—nightmare—that I’m probably going to wake myself from at any second. Because how the hell do you go from being a woman who doesn’t need a man, a job, a home, or any other fucking thing in her life to being some pathetic excuse for a little girl? A little girl who’s crying because her overly soft robe feels like a goddamned stuffed animal wrapped around her. Crying because what she really wants is some goddamned stuffy prince wrapping himself around her… Something is wrong with me. And the thought of being alone tonight in this room—on that huge bed—I don’t want to think about it, but it isn’t like I have a choice. It isn’t like I can go wandering the halls of the palace, looking for Andrew’s room to see if maybe he’s having trouble sleeping, too. And it isn’t so much the sleeping that I’m worried about. It’s that we can’t seem to keep our hands to ourselves when we’re together. But maybe it’s only because we’re so sleep deprived. Or because no one else can understand what we’ve been through. It isn’t like there can really be an attraction between the two of us. It isn’t like we have anything in common, other than how we were sitting next to each other when the plane crashed. Thinking about the crash brings tears to my eyes again. Even considering being alone makes my breath catch in my chest, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a panic attack, if not something worse. I’m just about to crumple to the floor in a puddle of tears when I hear a knock on my door. Dinner. The queen had said she was going to send dinner to my room. I had declined, but she had insisted, even after I had refused again. My stomach hasn’t been right since the plane went down, and I can’t even imagine trying to eat the rich Montovian food I’m sure she’s had sent here. At least the knock distracts me from falling apart and gives me a chance to pull myself back together. I walk over to the door, smoothing the robe down and

making sure no skin is showing before I crack open the door to tell the servant I don’t need dinner tonight. But it isn’t a servant and there is no dinner tray. Andrew is standing at the doorway and his eyes lock with mine through the small opening. We stare at each other for a moment, almost as though we can read the other’s thoughts. The expression on his face certainly seems to mirror what I’m feeling. I’m not even sure what that feeling is, only that I’m about to lose it in a very big way. The dark shadows under his sunken eyes tell me he’s probably slept even less in the past several days than I have. He finally breaks the silence between us. “May I come in, Victoria?” I give him a shaky nod and pull the door open for him to enter. I glance into the corridor—no one seems to have accompanied him. I’m not sure what it would mean if someone had—or what they would think of him, coming to my room like this. Or what they would think of me. Elle told me about her run-ins with some of the staff here, and I know they can be very unforgiving if they think someone is trying to take advantage of the royal family. And that just isn’t a complication I need in my life—things are damn well complicated enough without having Andrew in my room or having the servants talking about me. I turn to face Andrew and press my back against the door after I’ve closed it. He stares at me for a few moments before he clasps his hands behind his back and begins pacing. “I’ve been thinking, Victoria.” I lift a brow. “Oh?” He nods, but continues to pace the length of the small sitting room, a few feet from where I’m standing. “Yes. I believe I’ve come to a resolution regarding the predicament we find ourselves in.” “Predicament.” He has no idea. I watch him pacing for another few moments before I notice he’s changed his clothes, too. “What the hell are you wearing?”

He stops in his tracks and turns to me, his mouth slightly open. “I’m sorry?” I nod toward him—I have to almost bite my lip not to laugh. “Those pajamas. They’re… I don’t even know what to call them. Is that what you wear to bed? For real?” He looks down at the clothes—they’re pajamas, I think, but the shirt covering the baggy silk pants is so long it almost touches his knees and is so loose it almost looks like a bag. “These are traditional nightclothes, Victoria. And if you must know, I generally prefer to sleep in the nude. Which brings me to my—” Something starts to bubble up inside of me. It starts out as a laugh—a full-on belly laugh that makes me double over and clutch at my abdomen. I’m not sure how long I laugh—or what I’m laughing at, really. And I’m pretty sure there isn’t anything this funny about his pajamas—and this is the strangest laugh I’ve ever felt. But it doesn’t last too long—probably only a few seconds. The laugh turns into something else almost as quickly as it started. I hear the strangest sounds and it takes me a second to realize that they’re coming from me—choked sobs that almost rip my chest open. I sink slowly to the ground, my knees buckling underneath me as I slide down the wall to the floor. I close my eyes, wishing I was anywhere but collapsed in front of Prince Andrew. My client. My employer. I try to remind myself of all the reasons that this cannot happen in front of him, but it does nothing to stop me. I pull my knees up to my chest and sob into them. I’m not sure how long I sit there, but when I finally lift my head, Andrew is sitting next to me. And his arm is around my shoulder. I sniffle and shake my head. “I don’t do this.” He nods. “I know.” “How do you know?” I turn to look at him. “How could you possibly—” “I just do.”

My mouth falls open, but before I can argue with him, he speaks again. “A woman who can break her sandal to start a fire is not typically the type to sob over traditional night clothing.” I laugh again—a real laugh this time—but tears still spring to my eyes again. It takes me a second, but I’m able to control myself this time. I smile and rest my head against his arm. “Do you have a nightcap, too? One of those long ones with the ball at the end?” He chuckles. “I suppose if I wanted to, I could obtain one.” He pauses for a moment. “Would you like that?” I laugh again. “Would it matter?” I feel him shrug underneath me. “If it would make you laugh again, I might consider it.” I’m not sure what it is I hear in his voice, but my smile falls and I’m almost glad that my head is tipped against his shoulder as he holds me in the crook of his arm—I know he can’t see my face at this angle. And I’m not sure what it is he might see in my expression—only that I don’t want him knowing that he’s affecting me at all. We’re quiet for a few moments before I finally break the silence that hangs between us. “What are you doing here, Andrew?” He’s silent for a moment too long, but I feel his arm tighten around my shoulder. “As I was trying to tell you earlier, I believe I have a resolution to our predicament.” “Right.” I nod. “I’m sorry I interrupted.” I press my lips together to hold back my next burst of giggling at thinking about his nightclothes. “Enlighten me, Your Highness.” He sighs and shifts next to me, but his arm stays firmly in place, wrapped around my shoulder. “I propose that for the time being—until other arrangements can be made—we…” He clears his throat, almost as though he’s unable to say out loud what he really wants from me. “We both seem to be unable to sleep without the other in close proximity—”

“And we seem to have a problem being in close proximity, Your Highness. What happened on the plane—” He interrupts. “Doesn’t have to happen again.” He clears his throat. “Though it may kill me to restrain myself, I’m fully capable of doing so.” “Yeah, yeah—you’ve already said. If I want you to restrain yourself.” I press my lips into a line, but not because of laughter this time. I almost have to clench my jaw when I why I’m here—why he really needs me. Knowing that sleep has nothing to do with it—as soon as he finds his princess, he’ll have someone else to hold him at night. And I’ll be right back where I was before I came here. The same place I was before he came to my room tonight. Alone.

Andrew

Victoria doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Well?” I ask her finally. “Would you like me to stay?” I can’t see her face in our current position, but I can sense the uncertainty in her body. “Andrew…I don’t know.” My grip tightens slightly on her. I suppose I expected her to agree without hesitation, considering the way she’s currently nestled against me. “Would you like me to go?” I ask her softly. Again, she hesitates a moment before responding. “I don’t know.” But she doesn’t move, so I’m content to stay just like this for as long as she’ll let me. When I turn my face, my nose is right against her hair, and I breathe her in, savoring the honey-autumn smell of her. Even if we don’t sleep, I would be content to stay like this all night. At least the restlessness seems to leave my body when she’s in my arms. We sit there for some time, saying nothing and doing nothing. Just breathing and holding onto each other. And then she shifts. Her fingers tighten on my nightshirt as she lifts her head from my shoulder. “Andrew, I—” A knock sounds at the door behind us, making us both jump. Shit—I forgot they were sending up supper. Both Victoria and I scramble to our feet, and she starts to reach for the door, but I grab my arm and stop her. If someone sees me in here, the entire palace will know by morning. I won’t subject Victoria to that. The knock sounds again. “Ms. Simpson? Her Majesty asked the kitchen to send

up some food for you.” I release Victoria’s wrist and silently indicate that I’m going to hide in the bedroom. Victoria gives a nod, and I dart across the room to the other door, ducking behind it. It’s not until I’m safely hidden that I realize how ridiculous my life has become. Look at me—hiding from palace staff in a woman’s room because I couldn’t bear to spend a night away from her side. What has happened to me? On the other side of the door, I hear Victoria speaking with the woman who brought up her supper. Dishes rattle as, I assume, the attendant lays her food out on the small parlor table. A few moments later, I hear the door close again, and suddenly Victoria opens the bedroom door. “She’s gone,” she tells me. I nod and step back out into the parlor, still feeling a little absurd. My eyes fall to the table and the spread of food. My mother, it seems, expected her to be quite starved—there’s easily enough for three or four people here. “I… Do you want something to eat?” Victoria asks. “I’m assuming if the food is only just arriving then you probably missed your own dinner delivery.” And I can only imagine what the attendant will assume when she realizes I am not in my room, I think. But I quickly push my fears aside—if it comes to that, I can simply claim I went for a walk to stretch my legs after our long flight. Or that I had some business to attend to now that I am home again. I still don’t have much of an appetite, in spite of the fact that Victoria and I ate little on our flight. But I know I should try to eat—if only to encourage her to do the same. “It would probably be advisable to put something in our stomachs,” I say, sitting down on the little sofa in front of the table. Victoria sits down beside me. For a long moment, neither of us touches the food. And then I reach forward and grab the basket of buttered buns, offering it to her. She takes one and nibbles on it silently. I take another and do the same.

We fall into a strange sort of silence as we pick at the food in front of us. Neither of us seems to know what to say to the other. I am only eating for her sake—I wonder if she is only eating for mine. After a time, I set down my food. “Do you feel better now that you’ve eaten?” She gives me a wry sort of half-smile. “Not really. Do you?” “No.” I look down at the table. “Honestly, I think a solid night’s sleep in a real bed will do us the most good.” She nods, but a frown has appeared on her face again. “Andrew…” “Yes?” She lets out a long breath. “Maybe it’s best if you go back to your own room tonight.” I should have predicted this was coming, but I still don’t like it. “Are you certain you’ll be able to sleep without me?” “No.” She’s not looking at me. “I probably won’t sleep at all. It’s just that…well, it’s just a bad idea.” “We need sleep,” I say. “Proper sleep. And if the only way either of us can achieve that is by—” “This is about more than sleep,” she says. “And I’ve already promised you I would restrain myself.” She shakes her head. “Andrew, you had to hide when someone came to the door. If that’s not a hint we’re doing something wrong, then I don’t know what is.” “I hid for your sake,” I say. “So you wouldn’t find yourself the subject of rumors on your very first night here.” “But what about after tonight? Are you honestly planning on sneaking in here every night from now on? How long do you think we can keep this up? Where does it end?”

Honestly, I haven’t let myself think about that—which on its own should be proof that something has happened to me. I plan everything. Do everything in my power to maintain control over every aspect of myself and my life. “I don’t know where it ends,” I say finally. “But that doesn’t mean we should end it tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, or the night after that, we won’t need each other to sleep. Tonight, though, we do—and the only thing stopping us from helping each other is ourselves. We have a choice to help each other or not, and I, for one, would prefer to help. Tomorrow, we might make a different choice, but tonight, my choice is to be here.” She looks at me, and I can see the confusion in her eyes. Suddenly, she stands. “I—I don’t even have anything to sleep in,” she says. “That must be an oversight,” I say, rising as well. “I requested that you be able to select your own wardrobe upon arrival, but I assumed—wrongfully, it would seem—they would provide you with some temporary things in the meantime. Rest assured, that will be rectified first thing in the morning. For now, though, perhaps I might have a solution.” “I am not sleeping naked.” “That wasn’t my suggestion.” As appealing as that sounds. In response, I pull off my nightshirt. “I didn’t mean for you to get naked either,” she says, and I can hear the panic in her voice. “I assure you, that’s not my intention,” I tell her. “My pants are staying on, I promise.” I hold out the nightshirt to her. Her eyes shift from the offered garment to my bare chest. A flush of color rises to her cheeks, and she looks quickly away. “You live in L.A.,” I say. “Surely you aren’t offended by the sight of a man without his shirt.” “I never said I was,” she says, grabbing the nightshirt from my hand. She looks down at it. “You don’t have to give me your pajamas to wear.”

“As I told you before, I usually sleep naked. I will hardly be bereft without my nightshirt.” She looks at the garment a moment longer, then sighs and walks toward the bedroom. She doesn’t say a word to me, but I know better than to follow her now. A few minutes later, she appears at the doorway to the bedroom, this time dressed in my nightshirt. And my breath catches in my throat at the sight of her. She’s wearing a man’s nightshirt—she has no right to look this intoxicating. But despite the garment being far too large for her, the silken fabric skims over her curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination. I can see the swell of her hips, the slope of her breasts—even the points of her nipples through the thin fabric. My God, I am never going to make it through this night. She must notice me staring, because Victoria’s face has gone three shades of pink. “This is a bad idea,” she says, shaking her head in a way that makes her loose hair fall around her face. “No, it isn’t,” I say, crossing the room to her in three strides. Restrain yourself, I think. your promise to her. When I reach her, I stop just in front of her. My hand reaches out and brushes her hair back. “We’ve made our choice for tonight,” I say. “Tomorrow, we can make a different one.” She looks up at me and nods. Together, we go over to the bed. We’ve slept together several nights now, but never in a proper bed. Perhaps that’s why tonight feels so different, why this

choice seems to carry so much more weight. Victoria climbs in on one side of the bed, and I climb in on the other. Then I flick off the light, plunging us into darkness. The other nights we slept together, it felt natural, easy. Like there was no other choice. Tonight, I can sense her nerves. The air feels heavy between us. I reach out in the darkness. She jumps when my fingers find her arm. “Victoria, it’s no different than before,” I murmur softly. But it is—it is very different tonight. She shifts toward me. “I know.” I move closer to her, pulling her into my arms, twisting her so that her back is tucked against my chest and my arm is around her. Only then, when I’m wrapped around her, do I feel the sense of ease come back. This is how we’re supposed to be. This is how we fit together. Things feel natural—right—again. Victoria seems to sense the same thing, because she relaxes in my arms almost immediately. I tighten my arm around her, and my leg slides over hers, keeping her close against me. My God, the feeling of her against me is exquisite. The nightshirt is so thin I can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric. I ache to slide my hand up her body, to cup her breast and tease her nipple through the silk, but I resist the urge. I’m sure she can feel my desire for her pressed up against the soft curve of her ass, but if she does, she says nothing. I will keep my promise to her. I won’t do anything but hold her, even if it kills me. “Goodnight,” I murmur into her hair. “Goodnight,” she whispers back. If I cannot have her fully, then this is enough—just holding her, feeling the soft heat of her in my arms. Giving myself permission to find comfort in her. This is enough.

But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I’m not sure it is.

Victoria

I don’t know if I’ve ever been this uncomfortable in my life. Or if I’ve ever wanted a man as much as I do now. It would be so easy to turn over—to roll toward him and let him have his way with me. Smelling him on the nightgown he gave me is doing nothing to make me forget he’s pressed against me. And I’m pretty sure I can feel his own desire against my back. But I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to shift. If he wants to make the first move, I know it’s going to be hard for me to resist him again. God knows I haven’t been able to curb my own desires any time he’s touched me over the past several days. It’s only because it’s been so long. I haven’t allowed myself time to even consider being in any sort of relationship since I started working for the magazine. Not like this, anyway. I’ve had the occasional one-night stand over the past five years, but I went into those with my eyes open. And those nights were only because I needed to quench my thirst, so to speak. I didn’t want or expect anything more than one night with those guys, and none of them ever disappointed me by asking for anything else. I didn’t need anything more. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself all this time. Whatever this is with Andrew, it seems like it might be about something more than scratching an itch. And I can’t let myself go there again. Even if I could— even if what we’ve been through together has created some sort of temporary bond—he’s only going to end it with me as soon as something better comes along. And if by some miracle he woke up one day and saw me as more than a detestable leech of a reporter, we could never have a real relationship. I can never give him what he’s looking for—the one most valuable thing in the world to him. But he doesn’t try anything, just like he promised. He’s still holding me tightly, but his grip softens a little after several minutes and his breathing slows.

I relax and nestle into his arms. I could stay like this with him forever—there’s something about the way he holds me that makes me feel something I don’t think I’ve ever really felt before. Safe.

I must have been too tired last night to notice the windows that line the side of one wall of my bedroom, but when I open my eyes, sunlight is streaming in through the cracks of the curtains. I can see by the angle of the light that the sun is high—it has to be late morning or maybe even early afternoon. And Andrew is still wrapped around me. I must stiffen because I feel him shift behind me. We’re in exactly the same position we were when we fell asleep, his arms encircling me and his leg draped over mine. We fit together perfectly. My eyes widen and I’m glad he can’t see the panic I’m feeling as I squash that momentary thought back into whatever corner of my mind it escaped from. There will be no fitting together—not between me and Andrew, anyway. “Did you sleep?” He whispers into my ear and I can hear him draw in a long breath as he nestles his head against mine. I start to arch my neck, almost wanting to beg him to kiss it, but I stop myself in the nick of time. I’m still for a second, hoping he didn’t notice, but he doesn’t move. He simply seems to be waiting for my answer. “Yes.” I can barely even manage a whisper. “Did you?” “Best night of sleep I’ve had in a long time.” He speaks into my hair and wraps his arms a little more snugly around me. “Victoria?” I’m almost afraid to acknowledge his question. “Yes?” His voice is low, and if I didn’t know better, I would think it was a little uncertain. “I’m not sure I can make a different choice tonight.” “I’m not sure I can either.” My eyes widen again—did I really just say that out loud? Andrew doesn’t really acknowledge my answer in any way, other than by burying his head a little deeper into my hair.

He holds me like that for a long time, until I finally relax into his arms again. It isn’t until there’s a knock on the door and we both sit straight up in bed that I realize how late it must be. How people will be looking for Andrew—and when they find he’s not in his room, there’s only one place they’re going to come searching. And then the rumor mill will start to churn, and— My panic attack is momentarily interrupted when I hear the door open. Andrew and I turn to look at each other. His eyes are wide with panic, the same as mine probably are. He scrambles to his feet, running into the bathroom and carefully closing the door behind him. A pretty young maid walks into my bedroom and smiles. She gives me a tiny curtsey. “Good morning, Ms. Simpson. My name is Colette. Her Majesty thought you might require a lady’s maid and I’m here to help you in any way you might require for the length of your stay.” I manage a weak smile, trying not to glance at the bathroom door and give away the secret of who is hiding in there. “Thank you, but I don’t think I need anything.” “Very well, Ms. Simpson.” She smiles again. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering you brunch, and should you need anything at all, you only need pick up the phone and I’ll be here in a few moments.” “Thank you.” It occurs to me then that I’m wearing Prince Andrew’s nightgown —that fact can’t have escaped her. I can’t imagine there are many people in the palace who own anything like this except for the royal brothers, and I have my doubts that either Leo or William would be caught dead wearing such a thing. She pauses for a moment, almost like she’s read my thoughts. “Her Majesty suggested you might need some clothing, Ms. Simpson. I’ve requested several shops send over items you might want for your stay. I expect they’ll be here shortly after your meal.” “Great.” I force a smile again, unsure of how to get her to leave without being rude. It’s not like they teach lessons on how to dismiss servants where I come from.

She nods a few times and glances around the room. Her smile falls a little and she turns her gaze back to mine. “Pardon me, Ms. Simpson, but you wouldn’t have happened to have seen Prince Andrew this morning?” “No,” I lie. The word comes out sounding more like I’m choking on phlegm than an actual word. “Why?” Her smile never leaves her face, but I can see it’s forced. “He seems to have gone missing. His father is quite concerned, particularly given his recent behavior.” She lowers her voice, almost as though she knows he might be listening from the other room. “He isn’t usually like that.” I nod and force myself not to glance over at the bathroom and give his location away. I lower my voice to match hers. “What is he like?” She grins. “He’s usually quite charming. I mean, he’s not Prince Leopold—” She’s interrupted by a crash in the bathroom. I scramble to my feet and hurry her through the bedroom door. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Andrew. His Highness.” I force another smile as I open the door to the suite for her and usher her out. “Thanks for getting the clothes ordered. I’m looking forward to having something else to wear—” And then I realize what I’ve said—how I’ve called attention to what it is I’m wearing in the first place. Her eyes widen as she scans me up and down. I shake my head. “Please, Colette. It’s not what you think.” She nods her head slowly and a wide grin takes over her expression. “I see. If you would be so kind as to have His Highness let his parents know that he is all right, I am sure they would appreciate it.” She bites her lip for a second, obviously covering a giggle. “If you see him, that is.” I press my lips into a tight grin. “Yes. If I see him, I’ll give him the message.” I close the door behind her and walk back into the bedroom. “She’s gone,” I call over in the direction of the bathroom.

Andrew walks out staring at the ground almost sheepishly. “You’re supposed to let your parents know you’re all right—” “I heard.” He looks over at me and frowns. “I wish my mother had sent a different lady’s maid. Colette is one of the worst when it comes to gossiping in the halls…” His eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair. “Dear God, the halls.” He looks over at me. “How am I to get back to my room? Like this?” “Well, Your Highness, I was not the one who called you here last night. I also was not the one who chose which garments you would wear when you did come here. Though I must it, I’m beginning to understand why you wear this.” I glance down at the nightshirt. “It’s very comfortable.” He’s fighting a smile and he shakes his head. “This is not the time for jokes, Victoria. This is a serious situation.” He pulls his hands behind his back and starts to pace. I watch him for a moment—I haven’t really let myself look at him like this. Shirtless, I mean. I didn’t want to look last night for fear I might jump him, but his physique is pretty impressive. His shoulders are broad and his muscles are well-defined. For a split-second, I let myself think about what it would be like to run my tongue over his chest. What his skin might taste like— But he snaps me out of my fantasy, glaring at me like he can read my mind. “I think I have a reasonable explanation. I’ll simply tell anyone who might see me in the halls that we worked through the night. As that is the reason you are here, everyone should accept that. They all know me—they know that is something I would likely do.” He nods, his expression softening. “Yes, that is the perfect plan.” I shake my head. “Your Highness, while I ire all your planning, you don’t tend to think through consequences very well. How are you planning to explain working with me while you’re shirtless?” He shrugs. “You were not given clothing the way I had asked. I had to give you something to wear. It was me being chivalrous.” I can’t help but grin. “I’m pretty sure that there was not a chivalrous thought in your head when you walked in here last night.”

He doesn’t smile, but I can see the glint of one in his eyes. “Perhaps not, Ms. Simpson. However, I’ll remind you that I was completely chivalrous in the bed we shared last night. Regardless of what other thoughts I might have had.” It’s hard to argue with him, even if no one in this palace is going to believe that we worked last night. And it’s nice to see the dark shadows have mostly disappeared from under his eyes. But I’m sure we’ll both have to deal with other sorts of shadows when we try to sleep again tonight. He must see my smile fall because crosses the room and pulls me into an embrace. A hug. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he slides his around my waist. I bury my head against his chest and we stand there like that until we hear the knock at the door a few moments later. He pulls away from me slightly, looking down into my eyes. “That will be your brunch.” His smile widens into a grin. “There’s no time like the present to try out my plan.” He almost skips over to where I’ve discarded my robe from last night and he pulls it on, tying it around himself. He offers me his elbow and we walk out into the small sitting area outside the bedroom. He motions for me to have a seat on the sofa, exactly where I sat last night when we picked at our dinner. Andrew walks over to the door and opens it with a wide grin. But his smile falls instantly and I hear him almost growl under his breath. “What do you want?” I stand to see who’s at the door and it only takes a second to see it isn’t our lunch. It’s Leopold.

Andrew

I can’t believe my brother has the gall to show up at Victoria’s door the very morning after our arrival. “Good morning,” Leopold says cheerfully, grinning at me. “Why the hell are you here?” I demand. It comes out as a growl. “Well, clearly someone didn’t get much sleep last night,” Leopold says, looking far too amused. “I asked you a question. Why are you here?” “Why do you think?” he says, leaning against the door frame. “The entire palace is looking for you. And I had a feeling I knew where you might be.” I straighten, confused. Leopold was looking for me? Not Victoria? “I know you better than you think, Brother,” he says, glancing past me. “Good morning, Victoria. Elle is excited you’re here.” I hear Victoria shift behind me. “Good morning.” “I’m afraid I still don’t understand,” I say. “What’s there to understand? Everyone’s looking for you. Father is having a fit. And I assumed you’d prefer me to come tell you myself, rather than share with him my suspicions of where you might be.” He’s still got that insipid grin on his face. “Or have I misinterpreted things? Should I inform our family that you two will be sharing a room while Ms. Simpson is here?” “It’s not what it looks like,” I say quickly. “Victoria and I merely wished to get started on some work.” Leopold lets out a laugh. “Is that the story you have prepared for our father? You’re going to have to do a lot better than that. Our father might be willfully

ignorant and backwards when it comes to certain things, but even he isn’t an idiot.” My jaw tightens. “I assure you, I’ll take care of things with him. Was there something else you wanted?” He stands up straight again, sobering a little. “I wanted to see how you were doing.” “I’m doing just fine.” “Really?” His eyes flick to Victoria, then back to me. “You were in a plane crash. The whole world thought you were dead. Our family—” He stops abruptly. “I know. I’m sure I’ll get quite the lecture from our father for scaring our mother like that.” “For scaring all of us,” Leopold says. “Bloody hell, Andrew, you have no idea...” “I have some idea,” I say. “Tell me—were you more excited or more terrified by the thought that you were suddenly next in line for the throne?” “How is that even a question? I thought you were dead. We all did.” “But surely, you had to realize—” “Certainly it crossed my mind. But trust me, Andrew, I wasn’t excited by the prospect of potentially becoming king. Hell, have you met me? That’s the last thing I want. I can hardly handle the responsibilities I have now.” He isn’t wrong. Leopold has always been quick to shirk his royal responsibilities —though that has changed somewhat since Elle came into his life. Still, now that I’m standing in front of him, now that I’m looking him in the eyes, I’m beginning to realize I may have jumped to conclusions about his ambitions. If my brother had his way, he’d have probably abandoned the bulk of his duties long ago—assuming he’d still be able to keep the perks of his title, of course. I force my body to relax, letting my shoulders drop and unclenching my fist. How did I ever get it into my head that Leopold wanted to be king? The entire

idea is preposterous. William, maybe, or even Nicholas—but not Leopold. My next eldest brother has many faults, but he doesn’t want to steal my crown. My woman, on the other hand... I find myself shifting slightly, stepping in front of Victoria. But then I freeze. When did I start thinking of her as my woman? What am I doing? This entire situation has made me mad—I’m not sure whether to blame it on the plane crash, or Victoria, or the events that led me to seek out a reporter’s help in the first place, but I feel as if my sanity is leaking away. “Well, I can see this isn’t a good time,” Leopold says, and the look in his eyes belies the lightness of his tone. “You should let our father know where you are, though, before he tears this whole place down around our ears.” He leans around me. “Nice to see you again, Victoria. Elle will probably stop by later this afternoon. She’s been dealing with a bit of morning sickness these last couple of weeks.” And with that, he turns and goes back down the corridor. I frown as I close the door behind him, and when I turn to look at Victoria, she’s frowning, too. “What was that?” she asks. “What was what?” “I told you he wasn’t interested in being king. He came here to check on you and you practically bit his head off.” “I didn’t—” “You did. When are you going to get it through your thick skull that the whole world isn’t conspiring to take your crown away from you?” “Forgive me, Victoria, but the whole world declared me dead. Of a suicide.” “Did you even see your brother just now? Did you see the look in his eyes when he talked about how they thought you were dead? He’s still upset about it, even now.”

In truth, I didn’t notice—I was too busy trying to calm my own temper. “I know you have a lot on your mind right now,” Victoria says. “Trust me—I know that better than anyone. But your family is going through something, too. They thought they’d lost you. Forever. And then they realized they hadn’t. That’s a lot of shock to go through in just a few days.” “I understand that,” I say. “But understanding it doesn’t erase any of our problems.” She crosses her arms. “You’re right. So maybe you should go talk to your father before anyone else shows up at my door.” I stiffen. “Are you kicking me out?” “You’re the one who’s so concerned about people seeing you here,” she says. “What do you expect us to do? Spend the morning together cuddling? Share brunch like this was some sort of date? I thought you didn’t date commoners, Andrew.” Her sudden determination to drive me away doesn’t sit well with me. “I’ve already explained my views on commoners,” I say, “and you know as well as I that it’s not—” “Go deal with your family,” she says, giving me a dismissive wave of her hand. “Tell them we were taking care of business or whatever. I don’t care. I have things to do today.” My frown deepens. I don’t like this at all. “Victoria—” “Please, Andrew. I really think it’s for the best.” Only a short time ago, she was in my arms. Pressed against me like there was nowhere else she would rather be. But the warm spark I saw in her eyes earlier is gone, replaced by cold walls. You should stay and try to make things right again, I think. But the other part of me knows she makes a fair point—my priority must be to set things right with my father.

“Fine,” I tell her. “I’ll go.” I tighten the robe around me. “I’ll see you at tea with my mother.” She nods, avoiding my eyes as she sinks back onto the sofa.

An hour and a half later, I’ve finished explaining everything to my father. I’ve given him full details of the plane crash as well as explained my plan for changing the tone of the media’s dialog about me—which gives me the perfect excuse for why I was spotted in Victoria’s room this morning. “As you can see, we need to start preparations immediately,” I say. “We cannot allow the press to linger on speculations surrounding the crash. I know you dislike publicity stunts, Father, but I truly believe this will kill two birds with one stone.” My father leans back in his chair, rubbing his chin. We’re in his office, sharing a small lunch between us. My father even pulled out a bottle of brandy he was saving—it might seem a small thing, but from a man who shares little in the way of emotion, it’s quite a gesture. My father’s way of showing his relief at my return. “This seems very unlike you, Andrew,” he says finally. “A public pageant? I don’t know...” “We need to lead the media in a different direction. And it must be something big if we want to distract them from the story of my near death.” I take a sip of the brandy. “Besides—we both know I should marry sooner rather than later. The women will be carefully vetted, of course.” He studies me over the rim of his glass. “I didn’t think you could surprise me, son, but I was wrong.” “Do you approve or disapprove of my plan?” “It is...unorthodox, certainly. But I do not entirely disapprove.” He sets his glass back down. “You are right—we need to change the story. And you do need to marry. And, preferably, produce an heir quickly. I’d like there to be at least one legitimate royal grandchild conceived within the bounds of marriage. I understand that times have changed, but we have a responsibility to uphold certain standards of propriety in this family.” “I agree completely, Father.”

He rubs his chin again. “Your mother might take some convincing.” “I thought I might look to her for suggestions of potential brides,” I say. “You know how much she enjoys playing matchmaker.” “I do. And yes, I think it’s a brilliant plan.” He turns his gaze to me again. “I hope that I, too, might put forth a candidate.” I straighten. “You have someone in mind?” “Yes, actually, I do. In fact, I was thinking of suggesting an acquaintance between the two of you even before I heard this little plan of yours. She still must be vetted, of course, but I can’t believe our investigators will find anything unsavory in her past.” I sit forward, my stomach tightening with an emotion I can’t name. “Who is it?” My father takes his glass and lifts it in my direction. “That, my son, will be a surprise. In the meantime, let’s drink a toast to your future nuptials.”

Victoria

As promised, I’m brought a wide array of clothing to choose from—everything from business wear to cocktail dresses. I only take a few things from each of the racks. I definitely don’t want to abuse the hospitality of my hosts. And besides, I’m not sure how long I’m going to be here. Not long. I sort of hate that voice in my head, but I know I’m right. As soon as Andrew is done with this ridiculous show he wants to put on to find his bride, he’ll have no use for me. And I was dumb enough to not get anything in writing about the promised job before we left Los Angeles, so I know there won’t be any sort of permanent position waiting for me here when we’re done. Not that I would really want that now. It’s going to suck more than enough having to help him find the woman of his dreams—there’s no way I’m going to want to hang around any longer than I have to after this charade is over. I change into a simple skirt and blouse—professional wear—for my tea with Andrew and the queen. I try not to put much thought into it—I don’t really want Andrew seeing me as anything more than he did before the plane crash. If there was any way to go back in time and undo all the damage that’s already been done, I know we would both choose to do it. Nothing good can come from allowing whatever is going on between me and Andrew to continue. Nothing good for me, anyway. He might be able to restrain himself—keep himself from doing anything more than sleeping when I’m around—but I’m not sure I can. I think I’m already in trouble. The fluttering in my stomach as I’m thinking about seeing him again at tea is a terrible sign. The aching in my chest when I think about not being able to sleep in his arms again is even worse. I have to put an end to this. Now. I shouldn’t have even come to Montovia. I should have taken the opportunity to get out of this mess when I had it. I could have refused to fly on that airplane after they let me out of the hospital. I could have said I was too afraid—or that I

didn’t want the job after all. But there had been something inside me that hadn’t let me do any of those things. The same part that finds herself wanting to be held by the crown prince every night, no doubt. I don’t need to be held. I’m a survivor. I’ve faced death more than once now, and I’ve been victorious each time. I’ve lost more than anyone can ever imagine and I’m still standing. I’ve never needed to be held before, and I damn well don’t need to be held now. Somehow, I need to find that same steely resolve that’s allowed me to survive my past. I’m not sure where it went or how I came to lose it—I’m pretty sure it was there before the plane went down. Even after it did. I just need to go back to that place—that little space inside myself that is shielded from everything. The one that convinces me I’m safe, even when everything else says I’m not. I remind myself of why I’m here, but it’s no use. I had only taken this job to get out of celebrity reporting, not to create a new media circus. And that’s exactly where I find myself now—inside a circus of my own making.

I’m led to a small dining room—this seems to be a more formal tea with the queen than the one Elle told me about, which makes perfect sense. I’m not sure why I was expecting to be invited to her suite—it isn’t as though Andrew and I are involved. Not in the way Elle and Leo are. It isn’t too hard to cover my disappointment, particularly when Andrew stands up from the table as I enter the room. He’s wearing a grey suit that looks like it’s been custom made for his body, accenting his physique in just the right way. And the color makes his eyes look more blue than I’ve ever seen them. My heart does a weird pattering thing, but I try to ignore it even as his eyes lock with mine. He smiles and motions for me to take the seat next to him, which seems like a good idea—I won’t have to make much eye with him if he’s sitting right next to me. It occurs to me that not being able to make eye isn’t going to matter much as soon as he reaches over and caresses the top of my arm. My eyes flutter closed for a moment at his touch and I’m glad the queen isn’t here to see whatever the hell this is. “You look lovely.” His finger trails down my arm until he takes my hand into his under the table. “My mother should be arriving shortly.” I pull my hand away from his and keep my gaze fixed on the wall on the opposite side of the room. “Then you probably shouldn’t be doing that.” “Doing what?” I can hear the confusion in his voice. I shake my head—he can’t really be that dense. “Doing that touching thing. Holding my hand.” He reaches over and takes my hand in his again. “There is nothing inappropriate about holding hands, Victoria. If I were to do this…” He pulls my hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across my knuckles. “It would also not be inappropriate.”

I shiver as goosebumps form on my skin. He lowers our clasped hands under the table again. I’m silent for a moment. “If it isn’t inappropriate, then why are we hiding the fact we’re holding hands by keeping them under the table?” A woman’s voice rings out from the doorway. “Holding hands? Did I hear that correctly?” Andrew pulls his hand away from mine so quickly it almost hurts. He stands and turns to face the queen. “Good afternoon, Mother.” I stand, too, and force a smile before doing a small curtsey. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.” She motions for us to sit, shaking her head. “Please, Victoria, call me Penelope. We’ve known each other long enough that we don’t need formalities, even if my son insists on them.” “It’s a matter of tradition, Mother.” I can hear how his voice has lightened considerably in the presence of the queen. “And we all know how you feel about tradition, Andrew.” She playfully rolls her eyes and grins as she takes the seat on the opposite side of the table. “Now what is this I overheard about hand-holding?” I feel Andrew stiffen beside me, but he says nothing. For some reason, she drops the subject—maybe Andrew has given her a look that warned her she was treading too closely to a sensitive topic. She puts on a smile I’m sure is forced, but she seems to be a master at making her happiness appear real. “Well, regardless of what I must have misheard, I have to say I am delighted you have arrived home safely, Andrew. You put us through quite the scare.” Andrew nods, but says nothing. She also seems to know when to change the subject, though her smile falls a

little. The queen pours us each a cup of tea, motioning for me to take a sip before she sits again in the chair across from us. “Your father tells me you have some sort of plan for finding a wife?” Her voice is flat, but not quite angry. “I’m not sure that is a very good idea, Andrew.” His hand brushes against my thigh—and because of how far he’s sitting from me, I know it has to be on purpose. He pulls his hand away almost as quickly as he touched me. “It is a good plan, Mother. It kills several birds with one stone. I will find an appropriate wife. It will put me back in the good graces of the public. And I’ll be able to father an heir.” He pauses for a moment. “A legitimate heir.” Something about the tone in his voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His tone is condescending, for sure, but there’s something else in it, too, that is making me uncomfortable. But I can’t quite put my finger on what it is. The queen sighs, shaking her head. She holds out a tray to me, motioning for me to take one of the sandwiches on it. “Leopold’s child is legitimate, Andrew, in that it is his and in that he and Elle will be married before it is born.” Her smile falls away completely. “And Leopold’s child has little to do with you needing to rush into something like this. Honestly, Andrew, I fail to see what one thing has to do with the other.” He’s silent for a moment. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Mother.” His voice is low and I hear that same quality in it I did before. My brow furrows, trying to decipher what that tone is, but the queen must think I’m concerned about something else. “You agree with me, do you not, Victoria? That this…performance would be a little ridiculous?” I nod slowly, still not looking over at Andrew. He almost growls. “It is not ridiculous. What is ridiculous is expecting that either of you would understand. And how could you?” He pulls his napkin from his lap and slams it to the table before he stands. His voice is low and he’s speaking almost under his breath. “I should never have expected commoners to understand my needs in this area.”

The pain in my gut at his words almost feels like a knife being driven into it— and it’s at that moment I realize what it is about Andrew I couldn’t put my finger on. Superiority. Nothing about him has changed from the condescending asshole who showed up in my office almost a week ago. Even spending this week with a commoner did nothing to change his mind. He still feels some level of disdain for those of us who weren’t born into royalty—even his own mother. And it kind of makes me sick. He stands there in silence for a moment before he storms out of the dining room. The queen also says nothing, she merely stares down at her plate for a moment. I sip at my tea, pretty much uninterested in any of the food she’s set out. I haven’t even taken a bite of the tiny sandwich in front of me. She sighs. “Would you care for a pastry, Victoria?” My head snaps up and I look across to meet her gaze. “No, thank you. I think—” “Would you…” Her voice trails off and I see her blinking rapidly. I could swear she’s trying not to cry. “Would you think it terribly rude of me to cut our tea short, my dear?” I shake my head, feeling tears welling in my own eyes in response to hers. She gives me a weak smile before she stands. She looks at me for a moment, but says nothing before she turns and walks out of the dining room. I pick at my food for a few more minutes before I stand and leave, too, returning to my room. I thought he had changed. I suppose I knew there would always be some part of him that looked down on me—on anyone not born a royal—but I guess I had hoped what we had been through had helped him see he’s no better than anyone else. That he’s just as fallible as the rest of us.

It’s several hours before there’s a knock at my door. I know without looking that Andrew is standing behind it. I consider not answering for a moment, but then think better of it. There’s no time like the present to tell him what an asshole he’s being—that making his mother cry is almost unforgivable. I crack open the door. It is Andrew standing there, but whatever superiority complex he had going on earlier seems to have disappeared. He frowns. “I’ve already apologized to my mother for my poor behavior.” I nod, glaring at him through the slight opening. “Good.” “May I come in?” I shake my head. “No.” His jaw clenches for a moment. “Please, may I come in, Victoria?” My eyes narrow to slits. “No. I think it’s a really bad idea.” “It isn’t. I—” “Andrew, you can’t insult someone like you did and expect them to just forgive you. I saw what you did at tea. I saw who you were. And I have to tell you, I don’t like the person I saw in there.” He flinches like I’ve slapped him. “Victoria—” I shake my head. “No, Andrew. You don’t get to spit on a commoner and expect that she’ll just let you back in her bed. Even if it is only to sleep. Even if it is only for comfort.” I stare at him for a moment longer. “That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” He nods. “Only because I know you won’t be sleeping, either. And…” His voice trails off. I wait, but he doesn’t finish the thought. “And what?” His shoulders drop and I can see he’s hunched over the slightest bit, almost

defeated. “And because…” He winces again. “And because I owe you an apology.”

Andrew

She stares at me for a long moment, her face unreadable. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “Apology accepted.” Relief rushes through me. I know I behaved abominably at tea today—there is absolutely no excuse, and I can only blame the stress and exhaustion that seem to have attached themselves permanently to me since the plane crash. I start to step in the room, ready to take Victoria in my arms and show her how very sorry I am, but she blocks my path. “I never said you could come in,” she says. I blink at her, frowning. “You just—” “I accepted your apology. You’re still not allowed in my room tonight.” Now she’s just being ridiculous. “You know as well as I that neither of us will be able to sleep unless—” “I know, and I don’t care. It’s a bad idea, Andrew. We both know it.” She won’t look me directly in the eye, and I wonder whether it’s because she’s afraid she’ll lose her nerve otherwise or because she’s simply that repulsed by me. “Victoria,” I say softly, gently. I reach out, brushing my fingers against her cheek and tilting her face up so that I might catch her gaze in mine. She jerks away from me. “I mean it, Andrew. Not tonight.” I withdraw my hand, feeling as if I’ve been stung. “You’re still angry with me,” I say. “This isn’t about anger. This is about doing the right thing. The smart thing. And that means stopping this...this...whatever this is we’re doing.”

“Do you want to stop?” “It doesn’t matter what I want. If this were about what I want, then we—” She stops abruptly, shaking her head. “This is ridiculous. You’re not an idiot. You know we can’t keep doing this.” “Yes, we’ll have to stop eventually, but tonight—” “It will always be one more night. On and on until one or both of us can’t go back.” She swallows, her cheeks coloring slightly. “We can’t lie to ourselves forever, Andrew.” I frown. “I’m not lying to myself. Or to you.” She raises her chin, meeting my eyes again. “And that’s exactly the problem.” Before I have the chance to respond, she shuts the door in my face. I stand there, stunned, for far too long. Finally, I lift my hand and rap on the door again. Silence. “Victoria,” I say, knocking once more. “Victoria, please let me in.” There’s still no response. I almost knock a third time, but then I hear footsteps coming down the corridor. It won’t do to be seen outside Victoria’s chambers, begging her to let me in. I shouldn’t be begging at all, I think. What has happened to me, that I find myself outside a woman’s room, desperate for her attention? This is not appropriate behavior for a man in my position. I turn and stride quickly down the corridor, trying to put as much distance between myself and her chamber as possible. I run an agitated hand through my hair, trying to calm the tension coursing through my body. I shouldn’t have lost my temper at tea. I should have been more patient with my mother and Victoria. Though I’ve made my peace with my mother, I’m still not

entirely certain she understands why I must do what I’ve decided to do. My father understands. But my mother... She and Victoria are similar in some ways. There are certain things they cannot—or will not—understand. When I make it back to my suite, I throw my nightclothes on the sofa. I thought it wise not to wear them to Victoria’s room, in case I should come across someone in the corridor, so I’m still wearing the clothes I wore all day. I start to unbutton my shirt, then pause. Why am I even going to attempt to sleep? I know that slumber will not come, not when I’m this agitated. Not when Victoria isn’t in my arms. I turn and stride right back out through the door. In minutes, I am outside the palace, heading across the grounds. I don’t know where I’m going, but perhaps if I exhaust myself, I’ll find a way to sleep later. The sky is dark tonight, the moon and stars hidden behind clouds. There’s a crisp chill in the air, one of the first signs of autumn. My feet crunch in the gravel as I march down the path. The lights from the palace behind me light the way, but even if they didn’t, small lanterns line the path. This time of night, the outbuildings lie silent and dark. Except one. I frown when I notice the gymnasium lights are still on. Our groundskeepers aren’t normally so careless. A palace of this size inevitably uses large amounts of energy and resources, but we do whatever we can to operate it responsibly, and we make sure the same attitude is instilled in our staff. I march toward the gymnasium. It’s an old building—in my great-grandfather’s time, they’d hold ceremonial tourneys there so young noblemen could show off their skills in arms, but it sees less use these days. As I get closer, though, I realize I hear noise coming from inside. I freeze on the path. Has someone broken into the building? Crime rates are very low here in Montovia—certainly we have the occasional petty crime or act of vandalism—but the palace still has security measures in place. And I can’t imagine why anyone would break into a gymnasium, of all places. They should know we don’t keep anything of value in there.

Probably some teenagers, I think, starting for the door. I’ll scare them off and be done with it. When I open the door, though, I don’t find any teenagers. Instead, I see my brother William in the middle of the room, an épée in his hand. “Fencing alone?” I call out. He looks up at me, smiling. “Just practicing.” “Care for a partner?” “Go right ahead.” I walk over to the wall and select an épée. I grab two chest guards and head masks before walking over to William. He’s the middle sibling in our family, and while most of us take after either our mother or our father, William is somewhere in between. He has the same blue eyes as the rest of us, though. “I’m a little out of practice,” I say, handing him a set of practice gear. All of us received fencing lessons as children, but some, like William, took to it better than others. I’m fairly certain Leopold skipped half his lessons. “Me, too,” William says, pulling on his chest guard. “But I needed the exercise. And it was getting a little suffocating in the palace.” That, I understand. Even a building as large as the palace can feel too small when it comes to my family. And William has just completed his military training—if his experience was anything like mine, it will take some adjusting to get back to normal palace life. “Is that why you’re out here at this hour?” I ask. “I just have a lot of energy to work off,” he says, smiling. He cocks an eyebrow. “You ready?” “Yes.” We salute each other, then pull on our face masks. We each step into the engarde position, épées raised.

In our childhood lessons, we were forced to comply with certain traditions of the sport, but today, we’re just sparring. We move toward each other, looking for openings. While everyone in this family is encouraged to maintain a certain amount of athleticism—and considering our resources, there is no excuse for why we shouldn’t—William has always gone above and beyond. Though he’s the middle child—a good four years younger than I—he was always the fastest of us, the strongest, the one who showed the most proficiency in any sport we played. He’s not as tall as Leopold or I, but his shoulders are broader, and I hear he excelled at his training with the military, receiving the highest marks on his physical assessments. I take a stab at him, but he blocks me easily. I am definitely out of practice—but even if I weren’t, I suspect William would still outmatch me. “So you know why I am out here tonight,” he says. “But what about you? Why are you out here and not with that pretty reporter you brought here with you?” He doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, he strikes, breaking through my defenses and landing a hit on my chest. “Point,” he says. My jaw tightens as we square off again. Even though I know William is better than I am, I still hate losing. And his question is doing nothing for my mood. “Why would I be with Victoria?” I ask him as we move toward each other again. “Why not?” he replies. “She’s beautiful. You showed up here together. And—” He tries to dodge my strike, but I’ve managed to distract him. It’s not a very skillful hit, but I manage to touch the point of my épée to his chest. “Point to me,” I say. William is grinning behind his mask. “Point to you.” We start again. “Tell me you’ve at least thought about her,” William says. “You aren’t a robot.”

I frown, trying to maintain my concentration on our match. “I don’t see why it should matter to you.” He lunges, but I manage to block him with my épée. “Just curious.” He’s still smiling. “Though if you aren’t interested in her, maybe you wouldn’t mind if I—” “Absolutely not,” I say, a little too quickly. He’s managed to rattle me. The next time he lunges, he hits me again. “Point.” My head has started to throb. My exhaustion is catching up with me, and William’s conversation is only drawing my attention back to the one thing I’m trying to forget tonight. “I thought that might be your response,” William says, raising his weapon again. “Nothing wrong with having a little fun, Andrew, especially after what you’ve been through. This country won’t come crumbling down around you because you sleep with some reporter.” If I had my way, Victoria and I would have slept together back on the plane. And a dozen times since. “She’s here to help me with some business,” I say finally. “I don’t want things to get complicated.” “Is this the business our parents were arguing about earlier?” he asks. “You heard?” “I heard them arguing. I didn’t stay to listen.” I lunge, but he blocks my épée. I retreat. “I’m going to get married,” I say. “Really? To whom?” “It hasn’t been decided yet. But Victoria is going to help. There will be a public pageant of sorts. It will draw the public’s attention away from...certain unpleasant stories.”

William seems to consider this. “I’m not surprised our mother dislikes the idea.” “It’s the best way to manage my current situation.” “I’m not disagreeing. I think it’s a smart idea. Exactly the sort of publicity you need right now.” “Glad to have someone on my side besides Father.” William shrugs. “Mother thinks with her heart. Father thinks with his head.” “And Leopold thinks with his cock.” That earns a laugh from William. “There’s a reason our parents work so well as rulers. They balance each other.” I lunge at him again, but William is ready for the strike and escapes the point of my épée. “Victoria doesn’t understand,” I hear myself say. “She’s agreed to do the story, but she doesn’t like it.” “Why not? It will be the story of the year.” “You’ll have to ask her.” I block William’s strike then retreat a couple of steps. “She gets upset every time I try to explain that someone in her position couldn’t understand the responsibility I bear. She doesn’t understand why I insist that my bride must be a noblewoman.” “Well, you’re the one who has to live with your choice, not her, so you should pick the girl you believe is the best fit. God help you, though. I don’t envy you. I couldn’t do it. Noblewomen are terrible.” I frown. “You think so?” He grins. “Oh, I’m sure plenty of them are perfectly fine, but in my experience, there are two kinds of noblewomen—entitled little princesses with attitude problems, and those who want to ‘rebel’ against their lot in life. Both types are far too much work. No, give me a commoner any day. They’re much more fun.”

“But to marry?” “Fortunately, I’m in a position where I don’t have to concern myself with such questions. As I said, I don’t envy you, Brother. But I understand why you’re making the decision you are.” He strikes out with his épée, and this time, I’m not fast enough to block him. His point hits me on the chest again. “Point to me,” he says. I lower my weapon. “I think that might be enough for me tonight.” “So soon? You thinking about going back to Victoria?” I wish I could, but honestly, I still don’t think I’d be very welcome there. Besides, my brother’s words have given me something to think about. “Not tonight,” I tell him. “Then stay for one more round,” he says, grinning. “We can discuss which noblewomen would make the least insufferable brides.” Another night, I would have retreated to my room to think, but I must it, the exercise seems to be doing wonders for the tension in my body. And William’s cheerful mood is definitely helping things. “All right,” I say, lifting my épée again. “One more round.”

Victoria

Maybe I shouldn’t have ignored him after he asked to come into my room. It had seemed like the best plan at the moment, though I have to it I’m regretting it now—especially since he gave up on me so easily. Of course he gave up...you’re the one who told him to leave. I’m not about to sulk over his disappearing—it was my decision after all, and he had merely agreed. Instead, I walk over and take a seat on the small sofa in my sitting room and pull out the new computer the royal family has so generously provided me. I should try to think about how to start my story—Andrew’s story. We really should have talked this through today, but he’d been such a dick at tea that I hadn’t wanted to see him afterward—and he clearly hadn’t wanted to see a commoner like me until he was tired enough to need me to help him sleep. I think about his story for a few moments. There are so many different angles he could choose—so many different ways he can do this. I don’t normally write stories like this—I’ve covered more than my share of celebrity drama over the past five years and more faux-reality than I care to it. But even when I’ve been assigned to cover some scandal that was started by a publicity agent, it hasn’t been this sort of work-for-hire arrangement that I have with Andrew. Even when I’ve suspected that something was a stunt, I still wrote about the incident as though it was a news story. I’ve never made anything up. I’ve never needed to write fiction. Maybe that’s the difference in what’s going on here. There are dozens of celebrity relationships—if you can even call them that—arranged by publicists. It’s all done with a wink and a nod—the reporters know those couples probably aren’t actually dating, but they all put on a good show and we write about it because it’s what the public wants. With Andrew—I know. I know the whole thing is a sham and something about being dragged into it the way I was still pisses me off. If he had explained his plan to me before we left Los Angeles, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have agreed to come with him at all.

But I suppose when we were in Los Angeles he hadn’t really thought of this stupid plan yet—the whole pageant thing was hatched as part of his delirium when we were both so dehydrated we’d almost died. That is the only reasonable explanation for this dumb stunt. But there was something else—there is something else going on that he hasn’t told me about yet. Some coming drama or political quagmire that he’s refused to tell me about. The one and only reason we’d had to come to Montovia in the first place. Something he knew was coming and that he knew was going to hurt him in the eyes of the public. As much as I want to come up with headlines tonight—or at least possible story angles—I’m having trouble concentrating. And I know it’s useless to go try and sleep alone in the huge bed. It isn’t as though I’m going to get a wink of sleep without Andrew holding me in his arms. I really need to do something about that. Maybe I can get Elle to prescribe me a sleeping pill or something— My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on my door. I try not to hate myself too much for the fluttering that starts in my stomach and moves up into my chest. The almost giddy feeling at knowing he came back for me—that he’s as lost without me as I seem to be without him. Pathetic. I shake my head, deciding it’s worth ignoring that pitiful part of me that seems to need him, telling myself instead that it’s only temporary. As soon as I can land some sleeping pills or something, I’m not going to need him at all. I have to clench my jaw to keep from grinning as I walk over to the door. I only crack it open again, thinking I’m going to make him plead a little more before I just let him back in. But it isn’t Andrew on the other side. It’s his sister, Sophia. She grins. “Hi, Victoria. I know we’ve only met a few times and the last time I saw you was forever ago.” Her smile widens. “And this is a really weird question, but…” Her voice trails off and she presses her lips together, barely

covering her smile. “Would you care to go for a walk?” My brow furrows. “A...walk?” She nods. “Just a short one, I promise. I know it’s late and you’re probably—” She interrupts herself—maybe Andrew told her about our trouble with sleeping after the crash. “There’s something you need to see.” “Is this some sort of joke? Because I’m not really in the mood—” She shakes her head, interrupting. “I swear, it’s not a joke. I just you telling me something when we met a few years ago and then I saw something tonight that I think you might be interested in. That’s all.” The smile returns to her face. “So what do you say? Are you up for a walk?” I study her face for a moment. I know Sophia is the family prankster—always ready to lighten the mood with a joke. It might have something to do with her place as the fifth child of the family—or perhaps she’s the way she is because she’s the only girl. But I know her reputation, and something tells me she’s come to make me somehow earn my keep as the butt of one of her pranks. I frown. “I’m not sure I’m up to it tonight, Sophia. Maybe another time.” It might be fun at some point to go through this sort of family initiation, but considering the day I’ve had today, I just don’t want to. She grins. “Andrew will be there.” The butterflies start up again in my stomach at the mention of his name. I almost ask her why she didn’t tell me that in the first place, but then think better of it. Instead, I cover up the smile I can already feel forming on my lips and shake my head, pretending to be exasperated. “Fine.” I leave my room and begin walking down the corridor with her. She hooks her arm through mine. “I saw how he looked at you when you came home from that ghastly trip, Victoria.” I lift a brow, but don’t turn to look at her. “I have no idea what you mean.” “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean.” She’s quiet for a moment, not

speaking again until we make our way outside. We start to walk toward the smaller buildings in the distance. “You know, Colette and my lady’s maid are quite close.” I don’t say anything, but it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. “And I think it’s positively delightful that Andrew has taken a liking to you, Victoria. You’ve always been so kind to my mother and she simply adores you. And you’ve always been very fair to me and to Leopold in your stories.” She stops suddenly, turning to me. “I’m not sure that Andrew is the brother of mine I would have chosen for you.” She grins, lifting a brow playfully. “I would have likely chosen William.” I smile. “I don’t think I would have chosen any of them.” My smile falls. “I hope that it doesn’t sound like I’ve somehow chosen Andrew. Because that is not how it is at all. He hired me to write a news story and after our plane went down…” My voice chokes a little at talking about the ordeal. “After that, he decided it was time for him to get married.” “So I’ve heard. My mother and father were having quite the row about it this evening. If I might be so bold as to say so, I think Andrew is an idiot.” Her grin widens. “And if you like, you may use that as a quote in your story about his search for a bride.” I nod, trying not to laugh. “Oh, I’m sure he would love that.” She laughs. “He probably wouldn’t notice. He rarely notices a thing when it comes to me. I’ve spent much of my life trying to get my eldest brother’s attention, so if a quote like that will finally allow me to accomplish that goal, I would say it will be worth every bit of his disappointment in me.” Sophia turns back onto the path, hooking her arm around mine again. “What I want to show you is just up here.” We walk to a well-lit building, stopping in front of it. “I was out for a walk and I saw the lights on, so I came over. When I saw the two of them, I thought about going around the back to turn off the main electrical breaker and make them find their way out in the pitch darkness—the gymnasium doesn’t have any backup lighting and the windows are tinted, so they wouldn’t

get any of the light from outside, either.” She laughs. “But then I ed what you told me when we met…” Her smile falls a little. “I suppose I also wondered if you had shared that information about yourself with Andrew.” I’m only barely listening, watching the two men with their épées. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that Andrew might know how to fence—not that he would have shared anything like that with me. And definitely not that I would have shared anything about my own history of participating in the sport with him. “I think you might…oh, how do you say it in America?” Her smile widens. “Kick his ass?” She nods. “I thought that would be a much better way to embarrass my eldest brother than watching him try to find his way out of a dark building.” I smile, but I know there’s no way I can go in there. He wouldn’t believe me—or probably care—even if I did. But I don’t get a chance to wonder—Sophia links her arm with mine again and practically drags me into the gymnasium. She stops us in front of some practice equipment, motioning for me to put on the gear. I shake my head. “I can’t. Really. I haven’t touched one of these things in seven years. That part of my life is…” I’m almost shocked at the near-sob that comes from my throat. “Over.” She pulls down a chest protector and hands it to me before she pulls a mask from the shelf. I don’t even know what I’m doing—I slide the thing over my head, fastening it around my waist and take the mask from her. I shake my head again, keeping my voice low. “What if you and I—” “Oh, no. Father would never let me near the fencing lessons he made my brothers take. Something about a bullshit tradition from the eleventh or twelfth century, no doubt.” She smiles again. “I imagine William might be a better match for you.” By the way her smile falls a bit and her eyebrows lift after she says it, I can see that the double meaning was every bit intended.

“I imagine he would be.” She nods. “Shall I ask Andrew to leave with me so that you may engage William?” I shake my head slowly. I already know which brother I want. She looks into my eyes for a long moment. Her voice drops to almost a whisper. “I knew by the way you looked at each other when you arrived home yesterday.” I say nothing—there’s not really much I can say. I’ve been denying my feelings since…I can’t when. I’m pretty sure I realized something was flittering inside me when I sloshed into the water to try to find him after the plane went down—something was definitely there inside me when I turned around and saw him walking back from the forest with the armful of branches. And it was much more than relief at not seeing him floating face-down in the water. I wonder when it was for him? I could kick myself for thinking that. Even if he does fence—even if this is something we might actually have in common—it still doesn’t matter. He’s still going to be choosing noblewomen tomorrow to be the contestants for his little game show. I set the mask down for a second, tucking my hair into a makeshift bun before I pick it up and slide it over my head. Sophia pulls me toward the door to the main gym and swings it open. It’s a room built for fencing practice, just like in the gym I practiced in every day when I was in college. There’s more practice gear on the far wall. It takes a moment for the men to notice us, but they stop what they’re doing. Andrew pulls his mask up, cocking his head in confusion. Sophia grins. “William, I wonder if you might come and help me with something? It’s urgent.” I’m not sure why William believes Sophia, given her history, but he pulls off his mask and chest guard and walks over to hang them up before walking over to us. He hands the épée he’s been using to me and I walk in as the other two walk out.

I imagine they’ll be standing in front of the tinted windows in a few moments, but I don’t care. I walk over and take my place across from Andrew. He still hasn’t flipped his mask back down and I can see the confusion on his face. “Victoria?” I flip my mask up, saluting him with my épée, though I say nothing else to acknowledge his bewilderment. He shakes his head and holds up his own épée in salute. We both flip down our masks at the same time. “En-garde,” I call and begin my attack. Andrew doesn’t even take a defensive posture and I touch the middle of his chest with my weapon. “Point.” “What are you doing, Victoria?” I say nothing—I merely take a different line and attack again, scoring easily. “Point.” He straightens, flipping his mask up to reveal his face. “You can’t fence.” My jaw tightens and I glare at him through my mask. “On the contrary, Your Highness, it would appear that you can’t fence.” “I don’t understand.” His brow furrows deeply. “What are you doing?” “Attempting to fence. Considering you haven’t even taken a defensive posture, Your Highness, I think I’m the one who should be asking what you are doing.” “Women don’t fence, Victoria.” He lifts his mask off and shakes his head. I motion at him with my épée. “Put that mask back on and I’ll show you that women most certainly do fence.” He frowns, but puts the mask back on and lifts his weapon into an attack position. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” “Hm. I think that maybe you don’t know what you’re doing.” He shakes his head again and makes a move to attack. It’s a weak move—I

easily parry and make my own attack, scoring another point. “Point to you, Victoria.” He almost growls the words before he takes another attack position. He moves more forcefully this time, but again, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before and is pretty amateurish, considering. I barely have to engage him before I score another point. He lowers his épée and looks at me for a moment before he pulls his mask off. “It would seem I owe you another apology this evening, Ms. Simpson.” He makes a sweeping gesture with his free hand as he bows deeply. He straightens after a moment. “It would appear that you do know what you’re doing.” I lower my weapon and pull off my mask, looking across at him. “Do you care to explain, Victoria?” “Explain what?” He gives me the smallest of smiles. “How you have come to know the pastime of fencing—” “The sport of fencing, I’m sure you mean.” I lift a brow. “My uncle was an Olympic fencer. He taught me everything I know, which was enough for me to get a scholarship to Northwestern. So I could go to one of the best journalism schools in America. And it might have been enough for me to qualify for the Olympics myself if…” I stop myself from saying anything else. I’ve said too much already, and that is not a story that I will be sharing with Andrew. “If...what?” The same confused look has come back over his face. “If nothing. It just didn’t work out, that’s all.” He doesn’t need to know the rest of that story. I finished my degree and that’s all that really matters about that particular issue. “I see.” He stares at me for another long moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Tell you what? That I used to fence in college? How would I have worked that into the conversation, Andrew? Somewhere between which noblewoman will make you the best wife and why journalists are detestable vermin?”

He shakes his head and walks over to the wall where the other practice equipment is held and sets his mask down on the shelf before he hangs his weapon up. After he pulls off his chest guard he turns to me. “You should have told me.” I roll my eyes. “Why? So you could tell me that commoners don’t belong in the sport? That because of its long history, fencing is the domain of royals? That—” He narrows the space between us in an instant and pulls me into his arms, even though mine are still full with my equipment. “You should have told me because it’s something I would have wanted to know.” “And how am I supposed to know what you want to know, Andrew? How am I supposed to know anything you want in the way of brides or—” I don’t get another word out before his lips press against mine and he kisses me as hard as I’ve ever been kissed.

Andrew

For the briefest of moments, I’m afraid she might pull away from me. But then I hear the crash of her practice equipment hitting the floor, and before I can ask her if she’s all right, her arms are around my neck. I kick the equipment away from us and pull her closer, crushing her against my body. Her mouth opens further beneath mine, and I back her toward the wall beside us. She surprised me when she revealed she could fence. What more don’t I know about her? What secrets has she yet to reveal to me? The prospect of discovering those secrets excites me more than I want to it. She pulls her mouth away from mine. “Don’t think you’ve escaped having a proper fencing match with me.” “I fear I would find myself outmatched,” I say, tightening my grip on her waist. “But perhaps you could teach me a thing or two.” I don’t give her time to respond. Instead, I kiss her again, pressing my body fully against hers once more. It’s only been a couple of days since we last kissed on the plane, but it feels like an eternity. I barely restrained my desire for her last night, and now my hunger comes forward in a rush. I groan deep in my throat as my hands slide up her sides and over the sides of her breasts. Why bother with a bed? I should take her right here. Right against this wall. The way she’s kissing me, I don’t think she’d have any objections. Suddenly, there’s a cough and a laugh behind us. Both Victoria and I freeze. “I thought you said things weren’t like that between the two of you,” William says, the amusement clear in his voice. I step away from Victoria and turn to face my brother. Sophia is still with him, and she’s clearly trying not to laugh.

I straighten my clothes. “Can’t anyone get some privacy in this damn palace?” “Don’t look at me—I was practicing alone before you lot showed up,” William says. “You knew we weren’t far,” Sophia adds. “Don’t blame us for the fact that you two got caught.” Her smile widens. “Of course, if you’re asking for privacy, I’m sure William and I can leave you to it—” “Not necessary,” I bark. “It shouldn’t have happened anyway.” Not where anyone could—and did—see. I’m about to conduct a very public search for a wife. It won’t do to have half the household knowing that I’m having any sort of sexual feelings for the woman handling the press. Should my father get word...I can’t imagine exactly what he’d say. This is reckless. Foolish. Unfitting of a man in my position, especially one looking to marry for the good of Montovia. Behind me, I hear Victoria make a sound of disgust. When I turn back toward her, she pushes past me and out the door before I have the chance to stop her. What the hell was that for? When I glance back at Sophia, though, she gives me a look that suggests I should know exactly what I did. I don’t pause to ask her. Instead, I hurry outside after Victoria. She’s already far ahead of me on the gravel path. “Victoria!” I call. “Victoria, wait!” I stride after her, and though she doesn’t stop, she seems to slow slightly. “Victoria,” I say again. I’m finally close enough that I can reach out and grab her arm. “Why did you storm out of there so—” She spins on me. “Why does it matter? It shouldn’t have happened, right?” I frown. “That’s not what I meant.” “I think that’s exactly what you meant. And I think you’re right, too. It shouldn’t have happened. Not here. Not on the plane ride here. Nowhere. It’s all a mistake.”

“Not all a mistake,” I say, stepping closer to her. “You can’t kiss me like you kissed me in there and then tell me there’s not something very right between us.” “It’s called lust. And nine times out of ten, it is a mistake.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have come out here—” “You should have. And I’m glad you did.” “You didn’t sound very glad just now.” She crosses her arms. “Tell me—if you don’t think this is a mistake, then why are you so opposed to your siblings knowing there’s something going on between us?” “I’m not opposed—” “You told your brother nothing had happened.” “So you’d prefer me to tell the entire palace that we’ve slept together every night since the crash? Or that on the airplane, if Christoph hadn’t interrupted us, I would have—” “Are you just ashamed of this because I’m a commoner?” “I’m trying to protect you. Rumors spread very quickly in this palace, Victoria. And given the circumstances of our business arrangement, I thought we might conduct ourselves with some delicacy.” “Don’t worry, I get it,” she says. “And given the circumstances of our business arrangement, I think that’s my cue to go.” “Victoria—” “Goodnight, Andrew. If we’re to proceed with our business arrangement, then I request that all other arrangements stop immediately. I swear, if you show up at my door tonight, I’ll be on the first plane home in the morning.” From the tone of her voice, she means it. “Victoria.” “Goodnight.” She turns and marches back toward the palace, leaving me

standing alone on the gravel path.

Needless to say, I sleep little that night. Part of me hopes her night is just as difficult, that tomorrow she’ll find me and beg me to sleep with her again. But the other part of me chastises myself for such selfishness—and in truth, I wish no pain or hardship on Victoria. Quite the opposite, actually. After I shower, I survey myself in the mirror. The dark circles are quite visible under my eyes, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I have multiple counts of business to attend to today, including a meeting with my father to discuss the selection of my bride. I know I should probably invite Victoria to the meeting as well, but I’m not sure how receptive she’ll be. She made it clear last night that she’s only here for the story now, I remind myself. She should be there for these meetings. I call for a footman and scribble down a quick message: Meeting with my father to discuss my marriage in an hour. I’d like you to be there, if you’re available. If so, please meet me outside his office at ten til the hour. I frown at the message as I lift my pen from the paper—part of me hates to send her something so formal, so impersonal, but I have a feeling it’s the only way to get her to agree. When the footman arrives, I fold up the piece of royal stationary and hand it to him. “Please deliver this to my guest,” I tell him. “No response is necessary.” If she comes, she comes. The thought gives me little comfort. And in spite of my efforts to the contrary, I find my mind wandering back to Victoria constantly as I continue to prepare for my day. If she doesn’t show up, I have my answer about her. But if she does… If she does, there’s hope. Right now, hope is all I have.

The hour creeps by at an abominably slow pace, but finally, it’s time for the meeting with my father. I run my hands down my front, smoothing my clothes, then leave my room. I tell myself it doesn’t matter whether she’s waiting for me or not, that at the end of the day, I have more important things to worry about. But it’s not until I round the corner and see her standing there—and feel the relief rush through me—that I realize how tightly I’ve been holding my jaw. “Victoria,” I say, grateful that my voice sounds as steady as ever. “Thank you for attending this meeting.” Her eyes search my face, but her expression remains blank. I’m not sure what she’s looking for. I’m not even sure what I want her to be looking for. “This is my job,” she says finally. I simply nod. I have a feeling that’s the best explanation I’m going to get— though I also have a feeling she’s not telling me the entire truth. “Are you ready?” I ask her. “My father can be…intimidating at times.” “I’ve spent most of my professional life covering your family,” she replies. “I know what your father’s like.” I don’t point out that she didn’t really answer my question. Together, the two of us head through the double doors and into his office. My father is sitting at his desk, and he looks almost calm as Victoria and I enter. That worries me—my father never looks calm. “Father,” I say, bowing slightly. Beside me, Victoria lowers herself into a curtsey befitting her station. My father’s eyes flick to Victoria and linger on her for a moment. Then his gaze moves back to me. The wheels are turning behind his eyes, and my stomach tightens slightly. I still have no idea what’s about to happen, and with my father, that’s never a good thing.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he spreads his hands. “I think we should begin the proceedings immediately,” he says. I blink. “I… What exactly are you referring to, father?” “Your impending marriage, of course. Isn’t that what you’re here to discuss?” His eyes move back to Victoria again for the briefest of seconds. “I think it’s a brilliant publicity ploy, and it’s exactly what this country needs after your…” He clears his throat. “After the recent press surrounding you. We need to give them something to celebrate. And something to remind them that you are alive and well and ready to serve this country. I’ll it, it took me some time to warm to the idea—we must keep this respectable, after all—but I think your instincts are right. We need to do something bold, or our efforts will be drowned beneath the other noise.” I nod, and he stands, walking slowly around his desk. “Sometimes, a little drama is necessary to distract from unsavory rumors,” he continues. I swallow. Unsavory rumors? Could he have heard about that night in Prague and my business with Prince Reginald? But if he knows any more than the handful of vague details I told him, he makes no sign. If he knew the full truth, I doubt he’d look so calm. “So now all we need to do is decide on a few details,” my father says. He goes over to the sideboard and pours himself a drink. “You mother has made it quite clear to me that you get to select who will ultimately become your bride, but I wouldn’t be doing my job as your father and your king if I didn’t give you my counsel on the situation. There are a handful of women who might do, women who have the proper bearing and experience and…” He gestured in the air as he searched for the word. “…the right disposition for the job. But I thought I might make a recommendation. There is one candidate who I think you might do well to give special consideration to.” I wasn’t even sure my father would approve of this plan in the first place. The fact that he agrees with me, that he believes in this crazy plan enough to actually recommend a candidate… It should encourage me, but instead it only worries

me. I’m not entirely certain this will end well. “I’ll certainly put her under consideration,” I say carefully. “I’ll make sure someone reaches out to her and—” “No need,” my father says, raising his glass toward me. “I’ve already had her ed, and she seems very open to the idea.” Shock rolls through me. “You what?” “Don’t look so surprised, son. I’ve already told you I fully this little idea of yours.” He returns to his seat behind the desk and settles back down in his chair. “In fact, she was so enthusiastic that arrangements have already been made for her arrival. She says she’s looking forward to discussing her potential future with this family.” I don’t even know what to think, let alone what to say. Beside me, Victoria looks just as shocked—but her expression goes blank again the moment she notices me looking at her. “I…” I straighten, collecting myself. “I look forward to making her acquaintance —assuming I haven’t already. Who is she, exactly?” “That, son, is part of the surprise.” The hint of a smile plays at his lips. This is going to be even more complicated than I anticipated, I think. Maybe I’ll be able to get the information out of one of my father’s advisors later—at the very least, I want to make sure I’m prepared. “Will you at least tell me when she’s scheduled to arrive?” I ask. “I still need to make some arrangements.” “That’s the best part,” my father replies, setting down his glass and lacing his fingers together. “I told her that we wanted to begin as soon as possible, that there was no reason to delay. She should be here as soon as tonight.”

Victoria

My eyes widen when I hear the king’s words. She’ll be here tonight… It feels like a knife has been driven into my chest—I can barely breathe. Andrew’s father is choosing his wife. How can he not see that? How can he be so blind? I pretend to scribble some notes in my files, but really, I’m trying to keep myself from screaming at either of the men. At King Edmund for being a controlling douchebag. At Andrew for letting him. I stand, giving each man a courteous nod—I know it wouldn’t do for me to look like some foul commoner by not giving the men the respect they believe they deserve. Instead, I force a smile and look over at Andrew, not quite meeting his gaze. “Do let me know when this mystery woman arrives. I should at least be in the room when you meet her, Your Highness.” He stands, too. “I’ll escort you back to your room.” I shake my head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m sure I can find my way.” “I insist.” He almost trips over himself as he scrambles to my side. The king also stands, giving me a cursory nod. “Yes, you two should go over the details of Ms. Simpson’s notes from this meeting.” He almost glares at me. “I absolutely insist that my son sign off on every detail of anything you wish to publish.” My lips press together in response, but I fight not to clench my teeth. I did agree to this Montovian bullshit lack of any sort of freedom of the press. It isn’t as though I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I agreed to this thing. I nod at the king. “Of course, Your Majesty.” Andrew puts a hand on my arm to lead me out of the king’s office. “Thank you,

Father. Ms. Simpson and I will spend the entire afternoon together going over her notes and proposed first story. I’ll see you later this evening.” My mouth opens to protest, but I say nothing. Whatever it is Andrew is doing, it’s a pretty obvious attempt to get me alone again and I have to wonder why the king seems so blind to it. “A splendid idea, son. Though it is early—you should attempt to get some rest before our guests arrive. I wouldn’t want your future wife meeting you with the circles I can see under your eyes.” He lifts a brow. “A nap might be in order— after you and Ms. Simpson are finished with your business, of course.” Andrew smiles at his father and gives him a shallow bow. “Of course. Thank you again, Father.” He tugs at my elbow and almost pulls me out of the inner office. We walk for some distance before I notice we’re headed in the wrong direction. Even though this place is still a complete maze to me, I can tell we aren’t headed in the direction of my room. Andrew nods at a ing servant, but still hasn’t said a word to me. We walk for another minute before I stop and turn to him. “Where are we going?” His expression is blank—but it almost looks forced. “We’re almost there.” I frown. “That didn’t answer my question, Your Highness.” Something flickers across his face, but I can’t read what it is. He takes me by the elbow again and leads me down the hall. We finally reach a door at the end of the corridor and he pauses for a moment, glancing back and forth down the hallway several times before he pulls the door open and almost yanks me inside. “What are you—?” I stop myself from asking as soon as the door clicks closed behind me. It’s pretty clear where we are—it has to be Andrew’s suite. It’s a much bigger room than mine—the sitting area alone is almost the size of my entire space. It’s decorated sparsely in dark but neutral colors—exactly what

I imagined his tastes would be. He motions to the file in my hand. I lift a brow. “You can’t be serious.” He almost rolls his eyes and motions again for the file. I shake my head and hand it to him. He only opens it up, giving the sheets inside a glance before he hands it back to me. “Now I can tell my father I’ve looked at the notes.” “You could have just told him you looked at them, you know. You didn’t really have to—” He interrupts. “He would know.” There’s something strange in his expression— something I definitely do not recognize. I stare at him for a moment before I motion at the door. “I should be going, then —” “No.” He shakes his head, interrupting again. “I didn’t bring you all the way over here to glance at your notes, Victoria.” He lifts a brow. “And I only glanced at them so my father wouldn’t accuse me of lying.” “I don’t understand, Andrew.” He frowns again, his brow furrowing. “I imagine you’re as tired as I am.” I have to close my eyes for a second. “Andrew—” “Victoria, you have no idea how much it killed me, not having you in my arms last night.” “And yet, here you are still alive—” He almost growls. “You know what I mean.” He pauses for a moment. “One nap. Please. I wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t important—” I shake my head, forcing myself not to clutch at my stomach from what feels like

a sucker punch. “You want me to sleep with you so you’re all fresh and pretty for your new princess.” He tilts his head, but doesn’t disagree. “Fuck you, Andrew.” I turn on my heel and walk to the door. He catches me by the shoulder, spinning me back to face him. “Victoria, please. It’s not just for whomever it is my father has invited tonight. It is for both of us —for you and for me. I can see in your eyes that you’re at least as tired as I am.” “This is sick. You know that, right? That we’re both so fucked up in the head? That we both need psychiatric care—?” “Victoria, no one else can understand the traumas we’ve endured together. We owe it to each other…” His voice trails off and his expression changes again. His shoulders are hunched and his voice is almost shaking. “Please, Victoria. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t…” I wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. “If you weren’t what?” He searches my eyes for a second, and if I didn’t know better, I would say his were almost wet. “If I weren’t desperate, Victoria.” There’s something almost broken in his voice. And he looks at least as tired as I feel. As much as I hate to give in to anything he wants from me, this course of action seems at least mutually beneficial. If we’re going to stay up tonight—for Andrew to meet his future bride and for me to write about the meeting—we both do desperately need some rest. I press my lips together and try to hide all the other feelings I don’t want to it to myself that I’m having—the feelings I’m having for him that he can never know about. “Fine. But all clothing stays on.” He nods, his shoulders dropping with what looks like relief. “Yes. Yes, I’ll even leave my shoes on if you like.” “You can take off your shoes.” My voice is low, and I know I’m not hiding a damned thing.

But he either ignores the obvious desire in my voice or is oblivious to it, and he leads me into his bedroom, motioning for me to lie down on the bed. I kick off my shoes and he does the same. He pulls down the duvet before we both crawl onto the large bed. He covers us both before he pulls me into his arms. I turn and he nestles behind me in exactly the same position as we’ve slept the other times we’ve been together. It’s not a moment later before I hear his breathing slow. I shift a little, pulling his arm across me to rest on my abdomen before I close my eyes. And it doesn’t take me another second to finally fall asleep again for the first time in almost two days.

When I stir, the room is completely dark—there isn’t even light coming in from beneath the curtains. Andrew’s arm is still wrapped firmly around me and I can hear his slow, even breathing. I should leave—it’s probably late and I’m sure Andrew will need to get ready to meet his future wife. Heaven forbid he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow when he meets her—the world might come to a spontaneous end or something. I try to slide out from under his arm. I figure I can wake him up after I’m safely out of his bed. I know what seems to happen to us—or at least to me—when we’re anywhere remotely close to each other. But we just slept together for at least a couple hours. I’m not sure why I’m trying to convince myself that it’s somehow all right for us to sleep in the same bed, when it’s so clearly a mistake for us to be around each other at all. Hadn’t he just said that last night? Hadn’t he been so ashamed to have been seen kissing me that he basically told me and his brother and sister that I wasn’t good enough for him? Maybe I’ll just let him sleep. Let his perfect bride find him looking less than perfect. I think about letting him embarrass himself for about half a second before I I’ll have to run every bit of my story by either Andrew or his father before I’m allowed to publish a word. Letting Andrew embarrass himself might do something for my ego, but it won’t be anything useful as far as his story goes. I’ll be the bigger person here—I’ll wake him up so he can shower and get himself ready. I can return to my room and change my wrinkled clothes. And— My thoughts are interrupted by voices. Nearby voices. I’m pretty sure by the way the rooms are arranged, I shouldn’t be able to hear any voices from the hall. Which means only one thing. There are people in Andrew’s sitting room. My eyes widen, and I turn to him, even though I can’t really see more than his outline in the dark. “Andrew.” I shake his shoulder, but he doesn’t stir.

“Andrew.” I say it a bit louder, but it doesn’t seem to do anything. I sit up in bed at the same time as I see the door to the bedroom swing open and the lights turn on. I’m blinded for a second and I shield my eyes with my forearm, trying to see who it is standing there. There are two, maybe three outlines of people, but it’s too bright for me to see who they are. There’s only silence for a moment—too long a moment—before the king’s voice bellows through the room. “What the hell is THIS?”

ROYAL MISTAKE #3 will be available soon. the Royal Heartbreakers Reader Team to be notified when it’s available.

Royal Mistake

Royal Mistake unfolds over the course of six novels. Each follows the continuing story of Prince Andrew of Montovia and Victoria Simpson. Royal Mistake is the second of the Royal Heartbreakers Series. Royal Heartbreaker (Leopold) is available now. To ensure you don’t miss the next installment, sign up for the Royal Heartbreakers Newsletter. You’ll also receive updates from Montovia, character interviews, free books and other great surprises. If you loved this book, please leave us a review!

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