Our chauffeured Jaguar slipped through the gate onto a gravel drive. Heart in my throat, I watched as the hulking mass of Buckingham Palace came into view. It was lit up like a glimmering beacon against the grey winter twilight that blanketed the city. Chandeliers twinkled from windows. Floodlights illuminated the columns and arches of the imposing façade.

“Holy. Shit.” Aly, my assistant and all around right hand woman, gave me a sharp nudge. “This is actually happening. Em, we’re interviewing with the royal family!”

If our chauffeur was put off by Aly’s very American enthusiasm, he made no sign of it. He just kept on driving, slowing as we approached what appeared to be the palace’s back entrance.

I managed a smile, even as the ever-present black mass of anxiety in my chest seemed to grow. Seeing Buckingham Palace up close was very cool, don’t get me wrong. But it was also a reminder that Aly and I had come to the end of the road. This would be the last interview we ever took for EP Designs, the interior design firm I’d started a decade ago in my parents’ basement.

We had no choice. Even if we landed this project, the firm I’d poured my heart and soul into was going under. I’d maxed out our last remaining credit card to buy our plane tickets for this trip. We had nothing left.

“Hard to believe we were just in Atlanta last night, isn’t it?” I said, ducking my head to get a better look out the window. “I feel like we landed on a different planet. I wish we’d landed on a different planet. Maybe then…” I swallowed and shook my head.

Aly turned to look at me. She slid her hand across the leather seat and squeezed mine. “It’s going to be okay, Em. We’ll figure something out. We always do, right?”

I nodded at the palace. “You think rounding up some princes and marrying them is a viable plan?”

The driver’s eyebrow quivered in the rearview mirror.

“It could work,” Aly said, tapping her finger thoughtfully against her lips. “Although didn’t you say you’d rather burn in hell while tongue kissing Gene Simmons for all of eternity than get married again? Your words, not mine.”

“I did say that, yes.” Having gone through a horribly messy divorce over the past year, I could say with certainty that being married once was more than enough for me. “Welp. There goes that idea.”

The driver’s eyebrow was now doing a full on jig. I bit back a grin. I loved the Brits and their sense of propriety.

I was going to miss this place. I’d have lived here full time if I could. Aly and I had been splitting our time between Atlanta and London for a few years now, thanks to some incredible projects we’d been hired to work on in the UK. I was a huge history buff, and I’d always had pipe dreams of renovating and designing historic properties. But I never would have guessed I’d eventually be hired to work on a handful of real-life English castles and manor houses. Or that my work on those properties would go on to be published in Architectural Digest and Elle Décor.

It sucked to think I’d never do work like that again. Even if I was hired by another design firm, I don’t think I had it in me to take on such ambitious projects anymore.

“Something will come up,” Aly said. “Just think happy thoughts in the meantime. Timothy Bardy thoughts. Although not the Timothy Bardy in that weird tundra movie you like. He was way too scruffy in that one.”

My smile deepened at the mention of my favorite broody British actor. “If only he’d buy a castle already so we could design it.”

I wasn’t afraid to admit that was my dream job. It was a running joke between Aly and I, the two of us taking bets on when Tim would call EP Designs to set up a meeting.

I’d had a lot of dreams once. Until, of course, my ex stole them. That bastard had stolen pretty much everything from me over the course of our divorce. My trust. My pride.

Now he was taking my business, too.

The car pulled to a stop underneath a stone portico. The royal family’s crest was carved into the archway above the entrance. My pulse skipped a beat.

I’d been stunned when we’d received the invitation from the palace a few months ago. Back when EP Designs wasn’t going bankrupt, I’d sent The Prince’s Foundation an annual donation. I loved the work the foundation did, especially their initiatives to help young entrepreneurs start up their own businesses.

I guessed those donations had caught the foundation’s attention. The young royals were remaking an old manor house they’d inherited into a school for the arts. Students would attend for free, no matter their background. The foundation wanted to interview us as potential candidates to design the school’s interiors. Staying true to their progressive beliefs, the royals were looking for “up-and-coming designers” with “fresh perspectives”, and apparently EP Designs fit the bill.

For anyone else, it was a dream opportunity. But for Aly and I, it was a last ditch effort to give something back to the community before I put my business to bed for good. I liked the idea of going out on a high note.

We were led to a spare but tastefully decorated room to wait our turn. Traffic hadn’t been nearly as bad as we’d anticipated, and we were a solid hour early for our appointment. So it was a surprise when a woman in a pencil skirt and blazer appeared at the door and asked for us.

“Are you ladies with EP Designs?” she said, glancing up from her leather-bound notepad.

I stood, smoothing my dress over my thighs. “Yes, we are. I’m sorry we’re so early.”

The woman smiled. “We’ve actually had a last minute cancellation. The firm with the four P.M. slot couldn’t make it. If you’re ready, Her Royal Highness will see you now.”

I glanced at Aly. She gave me a little shrug. Might as well.

It was a short walk to Princess Jane’s office. Ever since Prince Edward and his wife, Princess Caroline, had passed ten years ago, their four children had been at the helm of the foundation. Aly and I had been notified a few days earlier that Jane would be conducting our interview.

The woman motioned to an open door. “Here you are. Good luck.”

Princess Jane rose when we entered the office. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled. My stomach dropped. I knew those eyes. That startling, almost surreal shade of blue.

They were Kit’s eyes.

I’d blocked out the memory of that afternoon in his office ten years ago. It was too painful too revisit. Too embarrassing. Not only had Luke and I agreed that night that we were too in love to ever break up—which meant I’d technically cheated on him with Kit. But I’d also walked out on Kit the same day his parents had died.

I hadn’t known it then, but that was the last time I’d see him. Outside the pages of a magazine or newspaper, anyway. The semester had ended two weeks later. He’d been either too distraught or too busy with the funeral arrangements—probably both—to come back to class.

I felt for him and his younger siblings. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to lose your parents so suddenly. And at such a young age, too.

But one good thing came of it. Kit was officially going to be the next King of England. Recently, the Queen had named Kit her heir over the dowdy Prince Carlton. Across the world, people had gone wild. Kit’s parents had been hugely popular, and they’d passed on that fame to their orphaned children—Kit in particular.

“Your Highness,” I said, taking Jane’s outstretched hand. Behind me, the door closed.

She smiled. “Please, call me Jane. We are so glad you could make it. Your firm comes highly recommended.”

“Thank you,” I said. Compliments like that used to send me soaring. Now, they left me with a hollow feeling in my chest and a thickness in my throat. It didn’t matter how good we were at our job. And we were good. We were going under. Nothing short of a miracle would change that. “It’s an honor just to be considered.”

After introducing herself to Aly, Jane sat, and so did we. She opened a folder on her desk and flipped through several pages. “I’ve got your portfolio here. Very impressive. Castles are your passion, I take it?”

“My passion is renovating historic properties, so castles fit the bill, yes. But so does the manor you want to use for the school. We have a lot of experience working on projects just like yours.”

“But you’ve only worked on private residences,” she replied. “Why do you want to dedicate your time to a school?”

I nodded. “Good question. It’d be a new challenge, certainly. But more than that, I absolutely love the work your foundation does. I love how your family makes such an effort to reach out to people who’d otherwise be forgotten or invisible. It’d be an incredible op—”

The three of us jumped in unison as the door swung open, ricocheting off the brass doorstop with a dull thud. The hulking figure that filled the doorway had a familiar face.

I blinked, just to make sure it was him. Yep, it was definitely Prince Carlton, the Queen’s eldest son and the heir she’d passed over for Kit. His heavy brow and thin-lipped mouth were twisted in a scowl.

My gut clenched. I exchanged a worried glance with Aly. Something bad was about to go down.

Ignoring us, Carlton charged toward Jane and slammed a newspaper onto her desk. He tapped his finger against a picture on the front page.

“You little slut.” He bent at the middle to hiss into her ear. “What are you doing to this family?”

The color drained from Jane’s face as she looked down at the picture. I couldn’t see it, but I did make out the headline above it. SHAKEN AND STIRRED: PRINCESS JANE REBOUNDS WITH EAST END BARTENDER.

Good for Jane. I didn’t follow the royal family religiously, but I knew Princess Jane was in the middle of a nasty divorce. I could relate. Going through a divorce was horrible. But going through a very public divorce—that had to be the pits. I felt for her. So what if she made out with a hot bartender or two? She was probably just trying to move on.

Carlton clearly didn’t share my opinion.

“What were you thinking, associating with trash like that? And in front of the whole world!” he said.

Jane drew a shaky breath and squared her shoulders. “As you can see”—she motioned to Aly and me—“I am in the middle of an interview with honored guests. This is neither the time nor the place to discuss personal matters. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Carlton swung his head and speared me with a glare. The hair on the back of my neck bristled at the disdain in his eyes. He snorted. “Honored guests? Is that what you’re calling all these nobodies you’re bringing in for the foundation?”

Wow. I’d heard rumors that Carlton was as old fashioned a snob as you could’ve gotten. But I didn’t expect those rumors to fall so short of the reality. This guy was clearly the worst.

“Get out.” Jane’s voice rose as she stood. “Now.”

He turned back to her. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Now he was shouting, too. “You prancing around like some common trollop goes against everything we stand for! You’re destroying our family, one dalliance at a time.”

All the blood in my body went still at sound of another voice by the door. A man’s voice.

A very deep, very authoritative, very familiar man’s voice.

“Carlton, that is enough.” The words were delivered with icy calm. “Leave.”

I turned to see Kit standing just inside the room, a few feet from where I sat.

Oh my God.

Kit Thorne was here.

Oh my God.

A cold wash of panic seized my gut. My face prickled with heat. Thank God his attention was focused on Jane and Carlton. If he’d looked at me right then, I had no doubt I’d faint.

This was all too much. We were in a palace. We were witnessing first hand the family drama of what was arguably the most famous family in the world. And now, for the first time since running out on him over a decade ago, I was seeing the guy who’d been the best lay of my life.

It was a miracle my head didn’t explode.

Kit looked mouthwateringly good as he glowered at Carlton. He’d filled out a bit since college; his chest and arms were definitely broader. He wore his thick blond hair short and parted messily to the side, and sported a deliciously scruffy beard that gave him the look of an especially well groomed Viking.

And the suit. The suit. Jesus. This one was a dark blue that complemented his eyes. He was dressed simply—no bells and whistles, just a white shirt, tie, brown shoes and a watch. None of that hipster vest or jewelry nonsense celebrities sported these days. Kit was a classic. Always had been.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Carlton boomed. “Just because the Queen named you heir doesn’t mean—”

“As a matter of fact, it does mean I’m in charge.” Kit moved to stand between Carlton and Princess Jane. “You’ll defer to me, or so help me God, I’ll make you regret ever stepping foot in my sister’s office.”

Aly and I watched with bated breath as the two men stared each other down. Without looking away, I grabbed the handles on my bag. It was time for us to go. Whatever was going on here, it was none of our business. Even if I kind of did want to stay to see Kit play the white knight and defend his sister.

But as soon as I gathered up the courage to break the silence and excuse myself, another person appeared at the door.

“Everyone stop, right this instant!”

I blinked when I saw an older woman, dressed to the nines in a bright yellow suit and pink lipstick, step into the room. The enormous diamond brooch on her lapel caught the light, making me blink again.

“The Queen!” Aly hissed, frantically tapping my leg. “Em, it’s her! The Queen of England!”

I just stared. So did the three royals gathered at Jane’s desk. Carlton fell back from Kit, tucking the paper beneath his arm.

“I heard the lot of you shouting from upstairs.” The Queen’s eyes flicked to Aly and me. “This is not how we treat our guests. Ladies, allow me to apologize on behalf of these nincompoops. I promise, my children and grandchildren are not usually so…ornery.”

On instinct, I stood and fell into a curtsey. Even though I wasn’t supposed to meet Her Majesty today, I’d still done my research on how to properly greet her, just in case.

“No apology necessary,” I replied. “If Your Majesty had seen the way my uncles went at it at Thanksgiving over the Falcons, you’d know I’m quite familiar with family drama. Nothing new here to see.”

Was I imagining it, or did the Queen’s eyes—same blue as Kit and Jane’s—glimmer as she took me in? Like I’d made the wheels in her head turn.

“Indeed,” she replied after a beat. “I appreciate that.”

I hooked my bag over my shoulder. “We’ll give you all some privacy. I am more than happy to reschedule this meeting. Jane, you have my contact information.”

The Queen held up her hand. Her gaze lingered on my face “Wait, my dear. What is your name?”

“Grandmother, this is Emily Pace of EP Designs,” Jane said. “She’s here to interview for the England School for the Arts project.”

“I actually go by Emily Kilpatrick now,” I said quickly. “Pace is—was—my married name.”

I don’t know why I looked at Kit right then. Maybe I felt him looking at me, the strangely familiar heat of his gaze plucking at long forgotten strings inside my chest.

But I looked, just in time to capture the realization as it dawned across his face. His eyes caught on mine and refused to let go. His lips parted on a short intake of air.

Maybe his heart had stopped beating, too.

“Emily,” he said.

I swallowed. “Hello, Kit.”