I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like such a knob head.

I also couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen someone quite so distraught. Aly was wound tight, tension apparent in the stiffness of her shoulders and the way she fought her tears. Why? Why didn’t just let herself cry?

And why was she this upset? Francesca making a scene and spewing puke everywhere was nothing to scoff at, sure. But I knew that wasn’t all Aly was upset about.

“I don’t mean to make light of the situation, because I understand just how much work you put into tonight,” I said carefully. “But I’m relatively certain everyone very much enjoyed themselves, despite the bodily fluids incident.”

“Rob. Someone said—and I quote—it ‘went balls up’.”

I bit back a laugh. “Pretty sure whoever said that was joking. You did a wonderful job, Aly.”

She swallowed, an audible sound. “Not good enough.”

I looked at her. “You’re awfully hard on yourself, aren’t you?”

That gave her pause. She fell back on her haunches, removing her wrist from my grasp. I hid my disappointment, clearing my throat into my fist.

“I have high standards,” she said, shrugging. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“It is when you make yourself miserable.”

Aly shot me a glance. Her eyes were still wet. “I’m not—”

“You’re crying. On the floor. After throwing your friends the loveliest party and spending the evening with your boytoy Philip.”

A grin tugged at the corners of her lips. She fought that, too.

I wish she’d stop doing that. Had to be exhausting, waging war against yourself all the time.

“Seems to be an all right fellow,” I added. “Hair leaves something to be desired, though. What does he put in it to make it look so…lacquered?”

This time Aly did laugh. “I appreciate you saying that. The all right part, not the hair part. He’s a good guy. It’s just…”

My heart thumped in my ears as I waited for her to finish her thought. Just…that Philip was terrible in bed? That he was a complete and utter tosser and she actually didn’t like him at all?

I was very much hoping for the latter.

“Just what?”

She shook her head, looking at her hands in her lap. She plucked at the material of her dress. “Nothing. Never mind.”

I resisted the urge to reach for her. Wrap my fingers around hers to still them.

This was usually the point in a conversation with a woman where I’d politely but quickly excuse myself. We were veering into dangerous territory here. Thoughts. Feelings. Confessions.

But I’d already all but confessed to bringing Francesca as my plus-one because I was jealous of Philip. That line had been crossed. And Aly was still here, wasn’t she? We were both still here, her body inches from mine.

I wanted to make her feel better. I wanted to know her better. Know why she tortured herself like this.

I blamed my curiosity on guilt. It was the least I could do, wasn’t it, to listen to Aly after what had happened?

I hated the thought of her being this upset on my account. I’d fallen down on her before, and I’d sworn I wouldn’t do it again. But I had. Twice now. And I felt like a proper dickhead about it.

“You never answered my question, you know,” I said, doing my best to pass off the words as a nonchalant conversation starter. A harmless query I couldn’t care less if she answered. “About why you want to settle down so badly.”

Aly drew a breath. Let it out. Looked past me, like she was thinking.

“It’s time,” she said at last. “This is how things progress. My career is going well. I have a great little apartment in a great neighborhood. Finding the guy of my dreams is next.”

I tilted my head. “You make it sound like just another box to check off.”

“It’s not,” she said quickly. “I mean, it won’t be. Not after it happens. I’m just so ready for it to happen, you know? How am I supposed to feel if I’m stuck hooking up with random guys in bathrooms while some of my friends are on their first baby? Rob, they’re married. They’re mothers. They own their houses and drive Volvos.”

“Hey.” I puckered my brow. I was teasing her, but I also didn’t love the idea that our hook-ups had made her feel somehow…less. Less than great. “I’m not a random guy.”

Aly grinned. “I beg your pardon. Random royal.”

“Better. Thank you.”

I did not do monogamy. That’s how people got hurt. Probably why I didn’t really understand the pressure she put on herself to find it. But I sensed that pressure. Felt it radiating off her. It was real. Real enough to hurt.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking your time,” I said. “Your friends may be mothers, but do they live abroad? Do they own their own companies?”

“No.” She sniffed. I was relieved to see the tears that had gathered on the ledge of her bottom eyelids had dried up. “But there’s also nothing wrong with wanting a real relationship.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you want one for the wrong reasons?”

She speared me with a look. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

I adored it when she called me out. Challenged me.

But I wasn’t smiling like I had at lunch a few weeks ago. Maybe because Aly calling me out on my shit made me actually think about that shit this time. Think about the fact that I made a fuck ton of assumptions about relationships when I’d never really had one.

There was a reason for that, though. A good one.

I wasn’t going there. Not tonight. Tonight was about Aly. Aly and emergency vomit clean up.

I held up my hands. “Look, I fully admit I don’t have a ton of relationship experience. But I do have a lot experience with holes—”

“This should be interesting.”

“—and it sounds to me like you’re trying to shove a square peg into a round hole here. You can’t force these things, Aly. Otherwise you’ll end up settling for a situation that’s not right.”

She searched my face. Her eyes looked full. Thoughtful. I wanted to know, quite badly, what she was thinking. Who she was thinking about.

Aly was a good girl. A successful one. She knew who she was. Where she wanted to go. Is that why I’d never been able to satiate my appetite for her? Because she was exactly the type of girl I could not touch? The type of girl I could hurt the most?

Damn it, though, there was something magnetic about her. Her body, her laugh. Her hang ups. Even those had a pull on me.

“Maybe,” she said at last.

I blinked. Reminded myself she was answering her own question, not mine.

“Think about it,” I said. “Do you really want to drive a Volvo?”

She shrugged again. “The new ones are actually pretty nice.”

“Are you really telling me you’d rather have a station wagon than live in the best city in the world?”

Aly bit her bottom lip. Her eyes shone with the smile she was fighting.

“Well, when you say it like that, no. Absolutely not. London is so great. Wish I had more time to explore it.”

She yawned. It hit me again, harder this time—the guilt. She’d been here all day. As much as I wanted to continue this conversation, I wanted to get Aly home more. Girl was clearly knackered.

“I’ve got a driver waiting outside,” I said. “Why don’t you grab your things and head home? I’ll finish up here.”

Aly’s lips parted. “But how are you going to get back?”

“Let me worry about that. I assume you took a cab here?”

“I did.”

“Save yourself the seventy pounds and take me up on this.” I looked at her. “Please, Aly. Please let me do something for you.”

She shot me a look. “Why? So you can feel better about being a dick?”

If I was being honest?

“A little bit, yeah,” I said, trying on a grin. “But I also want to get you comfortable and in bed as quickly as possible. And no, I don’t mean that in the way I usually would. You’ve been working all day. You’re shattered, I can tell. Go home and put your feet up.”

Her expression softened. Showed just how tired she was that she’d even consider the offer. “You sure?”

“I’m sure. I promise I’ll have this whole house cleaner than when we found it.”

“You and your promises,” she said, turning her head to look at me from the corner of her eye. “You like making them.”

“I like keeping them.” I stood and held out my hand. “Off you go then.”

She slipped her palm into mine. My skin lit up as I pulled her to her feet. Here we were again, standing three inches apart. Three inches too far. My usual impulses were all there. The impulse to put my hands on her. Pull her close. Unzip this lovely little lace number she was wearing.

But I wanted to see her home safely more. I wanted to clean up the fucking mess I’d made more.

I dropped her hand. Turned to grab her shoes—I’d seen them by the doorway to the kitchen. I helped her gather her things. Helped her into her coat. I walked her out to the car and closed the door behind her.

I’d never felt much of anything when I sent a girl home. Tired, maybe. Relieved that the awkward morning-after talk was over.

But when I walked back into the house, hands shoved in the pockets of my trousers, I felt something acute, and pressing, and hard.

I felt Aly’s absence. The house was quiet. Empty. The silence seemed to shout her name. I kept glancing at corners and through doorways, willing her to appear.

Willing her to tell me this ache in my chest was just guilt. Not want. Want that grew every time we talked or she laughed or looked at me. Really looked the way she did, like I was a real person and not a prince or a piece of ass.

How many people had I looked at like pieces of ass?

That was my destiny, though, wasn’t it? Being looked at like that—being seen—it was just a tease for someone like me. I acted like an animal because, deep down, that’s what I was. And even someone as clever and quick and beautiful as Aly couldn’t change that.

Didn’t mean I couldn’t come through on my promises. I wasn’t capable of giving Aly the Volvo and the baby and the white picket fence. I didn’t want to give her those things. But I did want to come through on my promises. I may have been an animal, but I was a thoughtful animal. There were perks to being a prince. I’d be an idiot not to use those perks to impress a girl.

Especially a girl who deserved them.