“And Wilhelm says it’s really important that Apollo becomes used to people. Will you come down to the mews today, dad?” The eagerness in Derrick’s voice melted my heart, but I feared it wasn’t enough to reach Nico in his current state.

“Maybe this afternoon.” It was the same thing he’d said yesterday… and the day before. We were eating breakfast together, and the twins were their usual, cheerful selves. Nico was anything but.

He’d been distracted ever since we got back from London. I knew he was upset about the paparazzi ambushing us—I was too. But it had been such an amazing weekend prior to that. I’d felt closer to him in London than I ever had before. It was like our relationship had crossed a threshold. We’d become a real couple.

But now he was distant.

“But dad, you said we’d go practice archery this afternoon.”

“Cara can take you,” Nico told his daughter absently.

“She’s a lousy shot.” Elyse gave me an impish smile—it was clear she’d just said that to get a reaction from Nico. It didn’t work.

A server approached him. “More coffee, Your Majesty?”

“No, thank you.” The server retreated and Nico pushed his chair back. “I have some work to attend to. Have a good day, everyone.”

His gaze fell on the twins and even—briefly—on me. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been pulling away from me ever since London.

After the twins finished eating and left to join their tutor, I walked slowly back to my room. I didn’t know what to do about Nico pulling away. Sure, he’d asked about my arm which was healing well. And he’d made small talk with the children. But his hazel eyes were no longer filled with light or life—and I didn’t know how to change that.

I’d gone to his office after dinner last night and the night before, but he hadn’t been there. I’d asked him yesterday if we could talk. He’d given me the same kind of answer he gave the children—empty words he that didn’t mean much.

Once in my room, I thought about calling Autumn. After that awful incident with the press in London, she was worried. I texted her updates about my arm and told her other details of my life. It was a defensive strategy. If I kept sending messages and calling occasionally, it might keep her from requesting a Skype meeting. Autumn already suspected something was wrong by the tone of my voice—if she saw my face, she’d know for sure.

I went to my desk and opened my laptop, trying to talk myself out of what I was about to do. Ever since learning that my new employer was the prince of Falkenberg, I’d avoided looking up anything about the death of his wife. Reading about it would’ve felt voyeuristic. It was the greatest tragedy of his life, not a human-interest piece. It was a gross invasion of his privacy and a line I hadn’t wanted to cross.

But now I needed to know. Something had changed between Nico and me—twice. In London, we’d grown closer together. But then after the paparazzi attack, we’d lost ground. Now I didn’t know where we stood, but my heart feared the worst. It had all changed after I’d been injured by the paparazzi, which didn’t make sense. I’d only needed eight stitches—it wasn’t that big of a deal for him to pull away like that.

I suspected the answers I needed might be contained in the accounts of that awful night over two years ago. With a sigh, I pulled up some results on my laptop and began to read.

As I’d known, Nico had been quite the party animal when he was in college. Even if there weren’t ample evidence online, Blake’s stories had confirmed it. After Nico met Lady Lisette, it seemed that his image cleaned up a little. There were still plenty of tales about his antics and his fun-loving ways, but fewer and fewer as he dated and eventually married her.

The marriage renewed interest from the press. A genuine prince and his bride living in the US were bound to attract attention. Though he frequently traveled back to Falkenberg, his home during that time period was California. The children were born there.

Every few months, another major paper or magazine would do an in-depth report on the fairy-tale family living in the US. Then the tabloids would gleefully document it every time Nico, his wife, or both went to a restaurant, party, or club. That kind of coverage continued up until that night at Lake Tahoe.

Nico had always loved boating and had purchased a boat when he was done with college. He and his buddies, Blake included, had spent many nights partying out on the water.

There were pictures online of the twins when they were toddlers, wearing little life preservers. There were pictures of Lady Lisette in a bikini, sunbathing on the deck.

The afternoon of the accident, the children weren’t with them. They’d just started kindergarten, and Nico and Lisette had arranged to spend the day out on the water before storing the boat until spring.

To my surprise, I read that there had been a few photographers on board with them. That seemed strange given how much Nico hated them. Perhaps he’d thought that appeasing a small number of them would keep the others off his back?

If that had been his plan, it hadn’t worked. Another group of paparazzi rented a small speed boat and dropped anchor nearby, taking pictures with long-range lenses. The papers said they were drinking and occasionally shouting things to Nico and his wife, trying to provoke a reaction. They stayed there long after the sun went down, as did Nico.

The accounts got a bit cryptic at that point, but apparently there’d been drinking on both boats. Nico had been tested later and was not intoxicated. The driver of the other boat had been.

Details were scarcer now, but at some point there had been an argument. Nico had gotten angry at the paparazzi in the other boat and had turned his boat toward shore. The other boat followed.

I could see it in my head—both boats glided quickly through the water in a dark, starless night.

No one was really sure what happened. Did the paparazzi boat try to get too close to get more pictures? In the dark, they would’ve needed to be close to get a photo of Nico at the wheel. Did they chase Nico and his wife? Were they going too quickly? The papers were quick to point out that alcohol and driving a boat were not a safe mix.

Or was had it been an honest accident?

No one ever found out, and I’d never know what Nico thought because it was far too painful a subject.

My hand was to my mouth, covering my sobs as I read the rest. The paparazzi boat had hit Nico’s. He and his wife and another photographer were thrown overboard. Nico, a strong swimmer, had frantically searched the dark waters Lisette.

He didn’t find her.

One or two of the paparazzi joined him in the water looking for his wife. The rest trained their cameras on him, documenting his anguish.

Her body wasn’t found until the next morning.

My eyes closed, and blindly I shut the laptop. I couldn’t read any more. I’d known it would be bad, but that… the image of Nico in the dark, in the water, calling for her… it was heartbreaking.

How had he even survived? Not the accident, but the aftermath. When I’d first met him, I thought he was closed-off and distant. Now I marveled that he wasn’t even more so. How could anyone recover from something like that?

But he’d been functioning enough to get himself and his children out of there. Out of the country that had robbed him of the woman he loved.

No wonder he vowed never to go back there.

I went to the sink and washed my face, my tears mingling with the cool water.

This was why.

I knew it with all my heart. He was pulling away from me now because of what had happened back then. Because I’d been hurt by those vultures whom he blamed for his wife’s death. My injury had reminded him of that terrible night.

But I wasn’t his wife. What had happened to her had been tragic. To have a beautiful young wife taken away from her husband, and a mother taken away from her children—it was the worst thing imaginable.

But Nico and the children had survived. They’d left the States and now they had a new life here. The past was over.

Surely I could make Nico see that? He’d been happy being with me in London. God, the memory of being in his arms… of him kissing me… of him being inside of me…. I’d never felt that close to anyone, ever.

It proved that he still had a future even though his poor Lisette didn’t. It proved that Nico could be happy again—that all of us could.

But I didn’t know how to make him see that.

Later that day, I couldn’t think of anything to say to him when he joined us for dinner, eating silently, making a token effort to participate in the conversation.

After dinner, I sat in my room, wracking my brain. There had to be a way to make him see that I was okay, that we were okay. That he shouldn’t pull away.

I sighed. Who was I kidding? I couldn’t even get him to talk to me, let alone really listen to what I had to say. But the former problem unexpectedly solved itself when I heard a knock at the door.

I looked at the clock—it was after ten. No one had ever stopped by this late.

With my heart in my throat, I pulled the door open. It was Nico.

I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek against the strong muscles of his chest. His arms encircled me, and for a brief moment, all seemed well. I was in his embrace and there was no place on earth I’d rather be.

But then he put his hands on my shoulders and I stepped back, letting him into the room. He closed the door behind him and turned to me.

And said the worst words in the English language: “We need to talk.”

Panic filled me, my breathing speeding up. But okay, I shouldn’t assume the worst. Of course we needed to talk. Everything had changed in London. We’d slept together. We’d spent days together. Of course we should talk about it—it was normal. So why did my dinner suddenly feel like a lead weight in my stomach?

“About London?” I asked, my voice less shaky than my trembling hands.

“Yes.” He looked at the dresser beyond me, then the bed—everything but me. But that was okay, right? He was just marshaling his thoughts. “Being together in London was amazing. But it wasn’t real. That was Dante and Bianca. It wasn’t you and me because it can’t be. They have the freedom to start a life together. You and I don’t.”

Anxiety welled up inside me. I knew something was bothering him, but I’d thought it was about the paparazzi, not our relationship. “Their lives are simpler, of course, but who knows what the future holds…”

“I know what the future holds,” Nico said firmly. “I know in a way you can never understand.” He looked at me and his face softened slightly. “It’s not just you. No one who’s not in my position could understand. You have no idea, Cara, what it’s like to have your future planned out for you before you were even born. I’m part of an ancient line and my life is here. I don’t have the option to leave my country and work on the other side of the world like you did. I don’t have the option to go back to graduate school. I don’t have options—period.”

Moisture formed along my lower lashes and I blinked rapidly. “All this was true before we went to London. You wouldn’t be saying this if those awful vultures hadn’t ambushed us.”

Nico strode away from me and looked out my window into the night. “That was just a reminder that nothing about my life is normal.”

“It was scary, but we’re okay. My arm doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“I’m glad,” he said. So why wouldn’t he look at me?

“Seriously, Nico, I know you’ve had bad experiences with them in the past, but—” The muscles of his back stiffened and I stopped talking. I wanted to go to him and touch him, but he seemed so closed-off. “I get now why you try to avoid those vultures, and in the future, I’ll be a lot more careful. But other than that, nothing’s changed—”

“Everything’s changed.” Nico’s voice was firm and final, and it scared me more than the press had. “Don’t you see? Pretending, even for just a few days, to be people who had options, people who could be together—that changed everything. It made me see how sneaking around, stealing kisses, perhaps a weekend away every so often—it’s not enough. It’s not a real future like Dante and Bianca had.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, my shoulders slumped. Part of me knew what he meant. People like Dante and Bianca were free to be together in ways that we weren’t. But that didn’t mean there was nothing for us. I tried to explain that to him. “Things between us can’t be as simple as it is for them, but that doesn’t mean—”

“It does.” Nico’s voice was so quiet I barely heard them, but it still sent shivers down my spine.

Finally, he turned, but he didn’t come to me. “Spending that weekend with you… it showed me what we can never have. And the longer we deny that, the more it’s going to hurt. We need to stop, now, before one of us loses their heart.”

Suddenly it was hard to breathe. He wanted to end things between us? Could that be what he truly wanted? My body shook and I placed my hands on the bed, leaning heavily on my uninjured side. I tried to speak but all I could do was to let out a long, halted breath.

“Cara? Does your arm hurt?” Now he sounded concerned, which seemed misplaced. His words were what hurt, not my injury.

He took a few steps toward me and then stopped, running his fingers through his hair in a distracted mannerism. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard. But we can’t keep sneaking around, spending a few minutes here and there together. It’s not enough—for either of us. You deserve more. You deserve a man who can be with you fully. That’s not me.”

It was only as I looked up at him that I realized tears were streaming down my face. “I know you have a huge responsibility here. That’s part of who you are.” I struggled to gather my thoughts. “That’s one of the things I like most about you. I know that you can’t offer me a straightforward path like Dante could Bianca. But you’re the one I want, not Dante. Whatever we can have together is enough for me.”

Nico’s face suddenly looked far older than his thirty years. “It’s not enough. It’s not a life.”

“It could be,” I rose and went to him. He stood his ground but didn’t reach for me, didn’t touch me. “I get it, we can never have anything normal. But the not-so-normal time I’ve spent with you has meant more to me than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Please, Nico, don’t give up on us. We can make something work, I know we can.”

“Like what?” His tone was bitter. “Should I abdicate the throne?”

“No,” I said, shocked. “I’d never want you to do—”

“Or should you quit graduate school and be a nanny for the rest of your life?”

“Not quit,” I said quickly, “But I could delay my admission. I could stay here for another six months or a year and we could see—”

“No.” He gripped me by the shoulders, looking deep into my eyes. “You can’t give up your life for something that can never be. I won’t let you.”

The hazel eyes I’d studied for so long looked foreign. “It’s my decision, Nico. If I choose to stay here with you—”

He let me go abruptly and strode away to the other side of the room, putting space between us. “You can’t throw away something positive in your life for this. Not when all we can ever have is stolen moments.”

“You keep saying that, but look where we started. Look how our relationship has grown in spite of the differences between us. Just let me stay longer, and we’ll see where it goes from here.”

“I know where it goes, Cara. It doesn’t go anywhere. I’m the crown prince, I can’t just casually date.” He backed away even farther until he was pressed up against the dresser. His eyes were on the floor, and it looked like he was thinking something over. I waited—praying that he wouldn’t shut me out. He cleared his throat, his face set. “The only woman I could officially date would be a woman that I’m planning to marry.”

I drew in a sharp breath, my brain racing in all directions. What did he mean? “Why are you telling me this?”

His eyes looked ancient when he looked at me. “Because I can’t marry you.”

My words came out in a jumble. “I never expected you to, Nico. God, the last thing I’d want to do is to pressure you.” I said the words but in the back of my mind, I knew that part of me did dream about being married to him. If he asked, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. “You’re thinking too far ahead, let’s just—”

“No. We can’t keep going the way we are and see what happens. Because I know what happens. You’re an American and I’m the crown prince of Falkenberg. There’s no future for us.” He hesitated. “My mother would never let me marry an American.”

A tiny bit of the tension drained from my shoulders. He was worried that his mother didn’t like me? That didn’t sound like an insurmountable problem. “You can stand up to her. If we get to that place, I mean. You stood up to her when she yelled at Elyse for cutting her hair.”

“You misunderstand,” Nico said. “This is not a disagreement between a son and his mother. She’s the monarch of this country and she has to grant permission for me to wed.”

I stared at him in shock. “That’s—that’s barbaric. She can’t dictate who you marry.”

“She can. It’s not uncommon. Queen Elizabeth had to write a letter of consent when her grandsons chose wives.” Tears flowed down my cheeks and I wiped them away. For a moment, it looked like Nico was going to come to me, to comfort me, but he stayed where he was. “I’m sorry, Cara. She would never allow me to marry an American. She told me that when I first left for the US and she’s never relented.”

I strove to speak through the pain. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I wanted to pretend that I’d never thought of marriage. I wanted to make him see that I could be fine with whatever he was willing to give me, but maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t enough—not if we could never truly be together.

He sighed. “I didn’t want to prejudice you against my mother. I know she hasn’t been kind to you, but she’s had the weight of running a country on her shoulders for decades. She has to do what she feels is right for our people.”

His people. As in people who weren’t Americans. The distance between us suddenly seemed wider than just the space of the room.

“Don’t you see it’s better to stop now?” Nico’s voice was almost pleading. “We have no future, so we need to end this now before it’s too late. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you.”

“But—”

“I won’t do it. I won’t hurt you.”

I stared at him, and a small, perverse corner of my brain gave a sad little laugh. Did he really not see how much this already hurt? Did he really think he was staving off pain by ending things now? “There’s that word again,” I said softly, almost in a daze. “Won’t. I can argue with you—plead with you—but I can’t make you do something you’re not willing to do.”

Now he did take a step toward me.

“Don’t,” I said, turning my back on him.

I could feel his hesitation. Would he come to me and comfort me? Or leave? It didn’t really matter. The end result was the same. There was no future for us. He’d been telling me that all along, but now I knew with certainty. There was no happily ever after. No raising the twins together. No growing old together.

None of that would ever happen.

The sobs I was working so hard to hold back took so much effort that I didn’t hear the door open. But I did feel the cool rush of air from the hallway. I didn’t turn around until I was sure he was gone. I didn’t trust myself not to throw myself at him, to beg. But I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

Once I was alone, I nearly collapsed onto the floor. The knowledge that we could never have our happily ever after felt like being hit by a train.

I made it to the bed and fell on top of it, not bothering to get under the covers. The tears flowed freely and my breathing came in uneven gasps. At the very least, I thought we’d have two more months together. And in my secret fantasies, I’d hoped for so much more.

As devastated as I was, I knew he was right that we couldn’t spend our whole lives sneaking around. But I thought we’d find a way. I thought that somehow we’d make it work.

I was wrong.

But he’d been wrong, too. He said we needed to stop before one of us got hurt. Before one of us loses our heart.

But it was too late.

I’d already lost my heart to him.

And now he’d broken it into tiny little pieces.