Easy navigation was not one of the advantages of castle living. I had a little map Dusty had drawn for me on a cocktail napkin clutched in one hand and her exhortations not to be late ringing in my ears. Heaven, patron saint of best friends, had thrown a very convincing fake tantrum about not being able to do the Scottish Grand March on camera at the wedding now that Anne Marie had arrived. She’d chucked a champagne flute at the wall in a fit of pretend pique, and I’d slipped out the door in the ensuing chaos, unnoticed by the cameras.

Up a flight of stairs, around a corner, down this hall, one more corner—Wait no, wrong way—back down that hall, one more corner, farther down the hall—and there it was. A door just like mine.

Knock-knock-kna-knock-knock-knock.

“Er, come in!”

I pushed the door open. Jamie was crouched on the floor in his formal dress kilt, drawing on a poster board with an enormous red Sharpie. I shut the door behind me and walked toward him, toes of my cream ballet flats lining up with the edge of the poster. He looked up and made eye contact with my ankles.

“Is that a…” I trailed off as I looked at the red splotch on the poster. “You know what? Never mind. I give up. I have no idea what that’s supposed to be.”

“It was supposed to be a whole…Beauty and the Beast…thing,” he said sheepishly, looking up at me from under a flop of dark hair. “But my rose looked nothing like a rose, and then I became concerned about the implications of Stockholm syndrome, so I attempted to turn the rose into a heart, which resulted in the splotch you see before you. Dylan. Wait. Why are you here? Am I late? Is it time for the wedding? Oh God, is it time for the wedding?”

He scrambled up to his feet, panic in his eyes.

“No! Relax, no!” I grabbed his forearms to steady him. “We’ve got, like, six minutes. Maybe.” Now would have been a great time to have owned a watch. “So don’t relax too much.”

“Not a moment to lose, then. Dylan, I’m glad you’re here. I am so, so—”

“Shh.” I placed my index finger in front of his lips. “Save it, okay? I understand why you didn’t tell me. And it’s okay. I promise.”

“Mmrph,” he said. I hastily took my finger away.

“And I hope you know this already, but you being a prince isn’t like any kind of incentive for me to try to be your friend or your girlfriend or whatever. I have no interest in being a princess.”

“You wouldn’t be. If we married, I mean. You’d be a duchess, like my mum. Not that we’re getting married. Right now. Ha!” His laugh sounded strangled and embarrassed.

“Duchess. Princess. Whatever,” I said. “I don’t care about being any of those things. I don’t want any of that. It’s kind of a major drawback, honestly.”

“That’s not any better!” he exclaimed. “That’s another reason why I absolutely should not have told you—”

“But that’s what I’m saying!” I insisted. “I understand. Why you didn’t tell me you were a prince in disguise. Sorry,” I interrupted Jamie before he could say anything, seeing the protest rise on his lips. “Prince. Not in disguise. Because if I’m being a hundred percent honest with myself, I probably would have treated you differently. Maybe not in the way you expected—like, I wouldn’t have fawned all over you or whatever—but things still would have been different. So I’m glad you didn’t tell me right away.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Because it meant I got to really know you. In exactly the same way you got to know me, the me I really am. Although you should have told me the truth before Florence outed you.” I glared at him. “That was not cool. Nobody wants to be scooped by Florence.”

“That is an excellent point. And I apologize profusely for that. I should have told you sooner.”

“But not too soon.”

“Not too soon,” he agreed.

“I’m sorry,” we both said in unison, in a rush, then smiled at each other. He pulled me into a hug.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he murmured into my hair.

“I’m sorry I overreacted,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

“Well, then.” He patted my back. “Everyone’s terribly sorry. Does that mean things can go back to normal?”

“Yes, please,” I said fervently.

“Thank God.”

He crushed my mouth with his, so excited to kiss me he nearly knocked the wind out of me. I clung to his arms so I didn’t topple over, relaxing into the rightness of Jamie’s embrace. Far too soon, we pulled apart.

“If we stand here snogging all day, we really will miss the wedding,” he said.

“And then Dusty would murder us.”

“And it really would be the most dramatic season of Prince in Disguise ever.” He did a pretty good impression of the voice-over from TRC. “First kisses. Long-lost fathers. A double homicide. This truly was the most dramatic season of Prince in Disguise…ever.” I laughed. “You have to say ‘the most dramatic season ever’ approximately twice a minute; otherwise no one will believe you that it actually was the most dramatic season ever.”

“For once, I don’t think the drama’s in doubt. Now we really do have to go,” I said nervously. “I think the wedding’s going to start really soon. Like, uncomfortably soon.”

“Right. Hang on a moment—just want to toss an extra hanky in my sporran for Ronan. I have a feeling today will be a four-hanky day for everyone’s favorite weepy Scotsman.”

“What’s a sporran?”

“This large furry, purselike item.” He gestured to the front of his kilt, where there was, in fact, a dangling furry purse.

“I’m sorry—I can’t look at it.” I shaded my eyes. “It feels obscene. It’s just, like…right there.”

“Well, look away, then, while I fetch my hanky.”

Obediently, I did and noticed the room for the first time. It had the same basic layout of my room, and the same tartan curtains, but there was something different about it. It looked like someone actually lived here. Books cluttered every available surface. A throw blanket printed with a fancy blue lion and a Chelsea Football Club banner lay draped over the end of the plaid bedspread. And in addition to the horse paintings, there were posters tacked up on the walls. I saw Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock Holmes, a couple hobbits, and then I snorted as my eyes landed on a somewhat sexy Emma Watson poster, from her post-Hermione days.

“Are you chuckling at my Emma Watson poster?” he asked, affronted. “I’ll have you know she’s a terrific actress.”

“Yeah, she just about acted herself out of her pants there.”

“She didn’t—I mean, she’s not—”

“Relax, Jamie, I’m teasing you. You have, like, a room here. I mean this is your room.”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you and Ronan really old family friends?”

“In a way. We’re also second cousins.”

“Aha!”

“Damn. I suppose I did outright lie about that, didn’t I? Far more ethically murky. I only didn’t want you to assume—”

“That you were also a Right Honorable Lord Whatever? When in fact what you are is so much worse?”

“Worse?” he asked, affronted. “Being a prince isn’t ghastly as all that.”

“It’s horrible. That’s why America had a revolution. To get away from ghastly princes like you.”

“That’s quite enough, you ungrateful Yankee. We started your bloody country. Now just try to get away from this ghastly prince. I dare you.”

“You’ll never catch me!” I shouted, and burst out of the room, laughing as I sprinted down the hall.

“Dylan, you’re going entirely the wrong way!”

“I knew that! Hiiii-yaaa!” I screamed as I blew past him and thundered down the hall. “You still can’t catch me!”

“Of course I can’t, you’re quite a bit faster than I am!”

I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but after a couple turns and long stretches of sprinting down hallways, the staircase appeared. I flew down the stairs, Jamie hot at my heels, and then something tugged on my tartan sash and stopped me in my tracks.

“Hey!” I turned to see Jamie holding on to my sash. “Stupid butt bow,” I muttered. “Unsportsmanlike conduct! Unhand me this instant, you blackguard!”

“Blackguard? I’m sorry, have I apprehended Charles Dickens by mistake?”

“Just let go of the damn butt bow.”

“There’s a better way. A faster way.” Jamie grinned and turned from the front door. I ran after him, absolutely no idea where we were going, until all of a sudden Jamie was pushing open a door and we were in the library.

“Oh God, don’t tell me: The Premeditated Trapdoor Returns?”

“That’s what we’ll call the television series,” Jamie said as he made his way to the center of the room and pushed the rug off the trapdoor. “Once The Premeditated Trapdoor has been turned into a film and I’ve gone Hollywood.”

“His Royal Shyness, a sellout?” I shook my head. “I expected more.”

“Hush, you.” Jamie swung the trapdoor open. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.”

“Why, exactly, are we climbing into a black hole right before the wedding?” I asked as I took the first few steps down into darkness.

“I told you the tunnel system was quite extensive. It’s a shortcut, Dylan.” The door swung shut behind us, then the flashlight clicked on, casting an arc of light in front of me as I made my way down the stairs. “I’m afraid we haven’t time to run across the grounds. And I’d die of mortification if our tardiness delayed the wedding.”

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Naturally.”

With his free hand, Jamie grabbed one of mine and led me down the tunnel, turning decisively this way and that. I wondered if he’d left bread crumbs down here or something; everything looked exactly the same to me.

“I feel like we just walked in a really big circle,” I said as we approached a set of stairs that looked exactly like the one we’d initially descended.

“Your lack of faith appalls me. After you.”

I climbed the stairs and pushed on the trapdoor. It didn’t move. I pushed harder. Still nothing.

“Jamie,” I said, dismayed to feel the first few beads of panic sweat, “we’re trapped! We’re going to be stuck down here and miss the wedding and die.”

“These are exactly the sort of dramatics we’ll need for The Premeditated Trapdoor Returns!” Jamie said cheerfully. “But for the moment, I’d suggest knocking.”

I banged on the ceiling. I heard scuffling noises and scraping, and then the trapdoor was flung open, flooding the tunnel with light.

“Dylan Janis Leigh!” Mom’s talons closed around my arm, and she lifted me up out of the darkness. I scrambled to stand. “What on God’s green earth are you doing crawling around under the church? Are you half possum, girl? You must have lost your damn mind.” Mom banged the trapdoor shut once Jamie was out and covered it back up again with the runner, straightening the corners. I waved good-bye to Jamie as Mom pulled me away from the chapel, down a hallway and into a little room. “Were you trying to give your sister a heart attack?”

“Hey, Dilly!” Dusty did not look like she was having a heart attack. She was sitting in her wedding dress on an armchair, feet up on Anne Marie’s lap, as she happily chowed down on a plate of french fries. “Mama, did you find any ranch dressing?”

“No, sweets, I don’t think they make that here,” Mom cooed, then immediately returned to glaring at me. If anyone was having a heart attack, it was Mom.

“Want a fry, Dilly?” Dusty held her plate out to me. “Everything go okay with Jamie?” she asked in an undertone.

I shot her a thumbs-up as I stuffed a couple fries in my mouth.

“Good,” she said smugly. “Well, ladies, should we get this show on the road?”

Mom thrust a bouquet of white roses, thistle, and heather, all bound with blue velvet ribbon, into my hands before taking Dusty’s french fries and helping her out of the chair. Dusty’s dress fell into its perfect bell shape as she stood. Her hair was simple, and soft—tossed up casually with a crown of white heather. She was beautiful, but completely unfussy. It was the opposite of her Miss Mississippi dress—not a single rhinestone or sequin in sight. It was perfect.

Dusty took her bouquet—an enormous cascade of white roses—from Mom, and smiled at the three of us.

“Well, line up, girls!” she clucked, like she was herding chickens. “Can’t keep Ronan waiting up there all day now, can we?”

As the organ music started, I took my place behind Anne Marie, and Mom led us out of the little room. She poked her head around the corner, then nodded at us.

As Anne Marie made her way down the aisle, I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and imagined that string coming out of the top of my head. Mom adjusted my arms to raise my bouquet a bit higher, then gave me a little shove into the aisle. Heaven, easily visible in the second row in her hot-pink dress, waved.

I saw Father Mackenzie, beaming beatifically down at me and the assembled congregation. Next to him was Ronan, snuffling as his lip wobbled dangerously, but dry-eyed for the moment. There was Kit—was he having a stroke? One of his eyes was twitching uncontrollably. A beat later I realized he wasn’t twitching; he was winking. Dusty’s high school cheerleading squad, sorority sisters, and a handful of pageant princesses from her year with Miss America filled up four spray-tanned, false-lashed, hair-extensioned pews, and he clearly didn’t know where to start.

Finally, my eyes came to rest on Jamie, standing tall and proud in his kilt. His hair was neater than I’d ever seen it before, neater even than when we’d gone on our date, combed back in a thoroughly respectable fashion. How had he fixed it so quickly after scrambling up through the trapdoor? Maybe he had a comb tucked into his sporran, too.

I made it up the aisle and to my spot next to Anne Marie with absolutely nothing calamitous happening, which seemed like the best possible scenario. Well, I did wave in a pretty undignified fashion when I spotted Meemaw in the front row, resplendent in a sequined purple pantsuit, but that was the only appropriate response, given the circumstances.

Then the congregation stood. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Dusty at the back of the church. Not just because she looked beautiful—which she did—but because she was standing in between Mom and Cash Keller. I may not have wanted Cash to be part of my life, but if Dusty did, that was her right. I was just glad Mom was part of today, too.

Ronan let out an enormous sob that caused every head in the room to swivel. Tears ran down his face. Wordlessly, Jamie handed him a hanky.

The only thing louder than Ronan’s crying was Kit’s singing, but somehow, the ceremony was beautiful. It all went by in a blur, until Father Mackenzie pronounced them husband and wife, Ronan kissed Dusty, and the whole church cheered. The organ struck up the recessional, and Ronan and Dusty practically skipped down the aisle, Dusty waving her bouquet around like a trophy. Kit offered me his arm, and we followed them. I looked clear over his head to wave at Meemaw, then Heaven, as we exited the church.

A line of Highlanders in kilts playing bagpipes and drums stretched all the way back to the castle. Kit hastily maneuvered away from me to walk with Anne Marie, and Jamie moved up to replace him. I certainly wasn’t complaining as Jamie tucked his arm around my waist.

“Do you feel Scottish now?” Jamie shouted over the din of the bagpipes.

“I thought bagpipes were supposed to be horrible, but this is actually pretty cool!” I shouted back.

We followed Dusty and Ronan past the line of bagpipers and burst through the doors of Dunyvaig. Staff members waited with trays of champagne and warm mugs of something. Jamie neatly grabbed two mugs and whirled us away from the cold air. He handed me a mug. Mmm. Hot chocolate.

“It’s not bad, Dunyvaig, it’s really no’ bad,” Kit said companionably, and loudly. I turned back to see him standing by the fireplace, a cozy arm slung around Anne Marie’s waist. He sure worked fast—not that I was surprised. “Terribly small, compared to the Kirby estate in Aberfeldy, but it’s verra quaint.”

“Wait just one minute—what are you in disguise?” Anne Marie asked excitedly. “Where are you the prince of?”

“Erm—I’m nothing in disguise, poppet.”

“Oh.” Anne Marie frowned, sighed, then said, “Honeybun, why don’t you tell me more about this estate of yours.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and steered me away from the fireplace.

“Can’t wait to hear that best-man speech,” Jamie said. “It’s going to be absolutely bonkers. That’s nice for you, though, isn’t it? I hadn’t thought of it before. No pressure.”

“No pressure?”

“For your speech,” he clarified. “Kit’s best-man speech is going to be insane, naturally. No matter what you do, maid of honor, it’ll be loads better.”

“Right.” I smiled weakly at him.

Speech.

My speech.

Crap.