It means you’re perfect.

The words waited in the little box above the keyboard on my phone, ready to be sent. My heart beat loudly in my chest. It was the honest answer. But that didn’t make it the right one. I was no better than that dickweed ex of Emily’s, talking to her like this. I was leading her on. Yes, she’d known from the start we had no future. She’d read the contract and signed it.

Still, I was doing her no favors by flirting with her. I’d texted her because I thought I’d finally be able to stop thinking about her. But it was doing the opposite. That Monty Python reference? I probably should’ve been offended by the comparison, but instead, I’d wanted to laugh.

I just missed her. Literally everything I did and saw made me think of her. The castle where we were staying? I wanted to show her around the labyrinthine hallways and rooms. Where this monarch had been murdered, where that one had died on the toilet. The kilt I’d had to wear for three days straight? Em would love hearing the history behind my family’s emerald green plaid. The scotch I’d sampled as part of a distillery tour I’d attended earlier? I’d wondered if she’d like it as much as I had.

“Christopher. What are you doing there on that mobile of yours?”

I looked up at the sound of my grandmother’s voice. She peered at me from her perch by the roaring fire.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just chatting with Jane.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Jane and I had been texting all day about the upcoming gala for the School for the Arts. Yeah, our conversation had ended an hour ago. But still.

Carlton tsked at me and shook his head. “Your generation is addicted to those horrid devices.” He turned to the Queen. “Hours every day, wasted on cat videos and the Snapgram.”

I held back an eyeroll. The three of us were sitting in the parlor at the Palace of Holyroodhouse, the Queen’s official residence in Edinburgh. Today was the third day of our royal tour of Scotland. We were exhausted. I just wanted to go up to my room so I could keep texting Emily, but I knew better than to take my leave before Her Majesty did. Rob had come down with a sore throat and a fever and had been excused hours ago. Lucky bastard.

“Oh?” The Queen was still looking at me. “And what does Jane have to say?”

I froze. “Uh. Not much. The usual. We’ve got the gala coming up, so…”

“So what?”

The Queen wasn’t usually so pushy. But I’d caught my grandmother watching me a few times today. She was suspicious. Of what, though? Was I wearing my feelings for Emily on my sleeve? I’d been especially outgoing during our engagements, trying to stay busy. Trying to think about anything other than the real feelings I had for my fake fiancée.

Maybe that had backfired.

I straightened in my chair. I was a goddamn adult. I didn’t have to cower before my grandmother, even if she was the sovereign monarch of England. “So that’s it.”

The Queen raised a brow. “How is Miss Kilpatrick? I was very impressed with the engagement pictures and interview. I imagine you were, too. The media is still going mad for them.”

It took every ounce of control to keep my expression impassive. “I agree that Miss Kilpatrick is settling into her role quite nicely. There hasn’t been a story printed about Jane in weeks.”

“Yes,” the Queen said. “Which is exactly why we brought Miss Kilpatrick on board. The only reason. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes,” Carlton added. “Don’t forget that, Christopher.”

Ah, Carlton. Always so helpful.

Anger rose up in my throat. I swallowed it. I resented the implication that I was careless or stupid enough to forget such an essential fact. Truth was, though, I had forgotten. Maybe I hadn’t forgotten the reason why Emily was around entirely. But I’d certainly crossed a line or two.

I needed to stop thinking about Emily. Texting her. Wanting her. I knew I did.

I looked down at my mobile. I definitely needed to not send this text to her. My eyes drifted over our conversation. The handsomest man in the room comment. I twisted my lips to keep from smiling when the image of the black knight appeared in my head, hopping around on one foot. It was not a kind comparison, and it was spot on.

It was Emily being Emily. Talking to me like a real person. A friend. (Maybe more than a friend?)

But it was reckless. Sending her a text like this was reckless. The Queen was right. She hadn’t survived six decades on the throne by being a fool in love. She’d done it by making one right choice after another. I’m sure she’d suffered her share of loneliness, too. That never stopped her from fulfilling her duty.

Taking things with Emily any further was not the right choice.

I hit the button on the side of my mobile and blanked the screen. The hard, small mass of my heart dinged around the hollow space inside my ribcage. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

But I was right. I was doing the right thing. It just didn’t feel like it at the moment.

I tucked the phone away in my pocket and turned to the Queen.

“I thought the roundtable went especially well today, don’t you?”

Her Majesty searched my face for another moment. Then she nodded her approval.

“I do indeed.”

* * *

Two days later, and I was back at Primrose Palace.

I was determined to keep my distance from Emily. I wasn’t sure what I’d do about the visit to the Rose and Thorn I’d promised her. I didn’t want to be a dick and fall down on her. Enough men in her life had done that, and I’d be damned if I joined their ranks. But it seemed I couldn’t spend five minutes with her without forgetting myself. What might happen over a couple pints? A couple of hours?

The air felt different the moment I stepped through the door to my apartments. It hummed with anticipation. Electricity. There was a warmth about the place that hadn’t been there before. Immediately I was looking around.

Looking for Emily.

I smelled the faintest trace of her perfume in every room I moved through. Time held its breath, like Emily had just slipped out and we were all—the furniture and the drapes and me—waiting for her to come back.

Fuck me, I was starting to think in Beauty and the Beast songs. I half expected a candlestick to jump off the mantel and ask me what I wanted for dinner.

My room. I just needed to get to my room. Then I’d be safe from Em.

I climbed the stairs, keeping my head down. I tried not to notice that the door to Emily’s bedroom was open.

I tried, and I failed.

My heart sped up. My legs slowed. I could hear the quiet, low tap of her typing. Emily sighed. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. It was so her. Feminine. Determined.

I stopped at the door, leaning my chest into the frame. Emily sat at the secretary on the far wall, her back to me. The glow of the computer screen was especially bright in the dark room. I got the impression she’d been working for a while and had forgotten to turn on the lights as dusk fell.

She had one leg tucked beneath her. Her hair was loose and a little wild. She typed furiously, stopped. Deleted, pounding on the delete key. Typed again. Was she churning through emails, maybe? Typing up a proposal?

I suddenly wanted to know, quite badly, how she’d been. What she’d worked on while I was away. If she was okay.

If she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her.

“Hello,” I said, turning on the light. My voice managed to be soft and gravelly all at once.

Emily turned, her head whipping around. Her eyes were uncertain, but her lips pulled into a tight grin.

“Hey, Kit. Trip back went okay I hope?”

“It was fine. Quick.” I nodded at her laptop. “How’s work?”

“It’s good. Busy. Really busy.” Em slid her hand onto her neck and rolled her head. I watched, transfixed, as the sinews and strong lines of her neck appeared. “Aly came down with strep throat yesterday, so I’ve been playing catch up on my own.”

I furrowed my brow. “Funny, but Rob has the same thing.”

“Must be going around,” she said.

I rolled my lips between my teeth. “Anything I can do to help? With your work, I mean.”

She scoffed. “You can take me out for that pint you were talking about. I could use a beer. Many, many beers.”

Emily was joking. I could tell by the noncommittal shrug she offered me. Still my heart leapt, even as the siren in my head screamed no over and over. I had my own work to do. Emails to answer. But the thought of spending the night alone in my room with only my inbox for company made me feel like flinging myself out the nearest window.

“Give me ten and I’ll be ready,” I said.

Emily started. “What? Kit, I wasn’t being—”

“Do you not want to go?”

She looked at me, her tongue poking at her bottom lip.

That tongue.

Jesus.

“No,” she said. “No, I want to go. Yeah. Okay.”

“Sheesh, Em. ‘Okay’? Way to make a guy feel special.”

Emily smiled. A big, genuine, happy smile that touched her eyes and blotted out the uncertainty there.

“Yes! I’d love to go.”

I should’ve known then it was over.

I was falling for this girl. And unless she was put in a rocket ship and sent to live on Mars, there was not a damn thing I could do about it.