By Thursday morning, thinking about Jessica—the way she laughs, the way she moves, the way her naked body feels when it’s pressed against mine, rocking together joined at the hip into the early hours of the morning—has very nearly driven me mad.

The second “date” did nothing to get her out of my system, nothing at all. Part of me knew all along that seeing her again would do nothing but stoke the flames, but like the idiot I am, I went anyway.

What does it say about her that she agreed to a second date without hesitation?

When I checked in with Nate yesterday—an act that seems more and more like a waste of both my time and his as this trip progresses since he tails me everywhere I go or has someone else do it—he gave me shit for not taking Jessica out on an actual date.

“If this woman is that amazing,” he said, giving me a slap on the shoulder, “you should have taken her somewhere upscale, not to the bar.”

“What do you want from me?” I shot back at him, keeping my tone light. “This is going nowhere, and you know it, yet you egg me on, you asshole.”

He’d shrugged, giving me a sly smile.

Bastard.

When I roll out of bed, I can’t ignore all the energy zipping through my body, so I pull out my phone. It’s a new one, with a new number, that I bought at the airport in Saintland for this trip so, on the off-chance the royal security corps decides to keep tabs on me through my regular phone, they’ll find that it’s parked in my bedroom at the palace. I tap the screen to type in search terms to help me find a gym.

In Saintland, there’s a gym in the palace that my brother, who is a bit of an exercise fanatic after his own year in the service, insists on keeping meticulously up-to-date with the best equipment available on the market. Never let it be said that he spends the royal fortune only on necessities, no matter what he tries to tell you. Here in New York, I’m looking for something of the same caliber. No guarantees I’ll find it.

I choose the place with the most stars, a place that caters to “exclusive clientele,” and happens to be located the next block down from my apartment.

That’s where I run into a guy named Christian, who’s giving the free weights a run for their money. He’s a typical American, loud and blonde and built, but after a few minutes of conversation, he lowers his voice.

“I’m a member of a club called the Purple Swan—it’s a good time and the food is top-notch. If you’re in town tonight, you should come out with my friends and me. I have a feeling you’d fit in with our crowd.”

For a heart-stopping moment, I think he must have heard of me somehow. Almost nobody has heard of Saintland, so I had been fairly certain I could remain anonymous in a city as large as New York City, a place with more than eight million people, according to the Internet. That’s twice the entire population of Saintland.

Then I remember that I paid $750 for a weeklong membership at the gym. It’s not royalty he’s talking about. It’s money.

“Fine by me,” I say, smiling. This will be a perfect opportunity to get my mind off Jessica and—if Christian’s friends are anything like him—easily make some connections in the United States. It’s a win-win. “What time? What’s the address?”

Christian grabs his phone off a shelf recessed into the wall of the gym where members can charge their phones while they work out—there’s clearly no fear of thievery in this place—and swipes a few times at the screen. “What’s your number? Also, I didn’t catch your full name…”

“Put me in there as Alec,” I say, pretending to be selecting a set of weights.

“Number?”

I rattle off my new phone number. I worked on memorizing it while I was in the air.

“I’m texting you the directions now. Mention my name at the door, although if I’m right about you, you could probably afford the membership.”

I laugh, not confirming or denying it, but I’m a royal prince of Saintland. Of course I could afford the membership.

* * *

At 7:00, Christian sends me a text.

Purple Swan. 8:30. Black tie. I’ll be there with some female company

Well. That will certainly be interesting. Is Christian hiding a woman that could be Jessica’s match? I’m dying to find out.

I take a cab to the Swan, arriving there a little after 8:30. The doorman ushers me in as soon as I drop Christian’s name and guides me through the lobby. He hands me off to a uniformed member of the wait staff, and I follow him through a wide hallway and into a massive space. For the first time since arriving in New York, I’m in a space that almost competes with the Great Hall in Saintland.

There are multiple tiers filling the cavernous space, each filled with tables covered in fine linen tablecloths, spaced far enough apart to ensure privacy. In the back of the room, there is a raised platform where a live band plays, the volume still relatively low at this early hour. Several couples are already dancing on the polished hardwood dance floor located in front of the band area.

As the waiter guides me across the room, I catch sight of Christian sitting at one of the round tables. He’s seated with six other people and there is one open chair for me. He laughs at someone’s joke, but upon glimpsing me following the waiter across the floor, he stands up and waves in my direction.

A woman with shining auburn hair spilling down her back sits facing away from me, next to the available seat at the table. I’m ten feet away from the table when she turns to look in my direction.

When her gaze meets mine, the faint smile on her face shifts into a look of shock, her mouth forming a round ‘O’, her eyes wide.

It’s Jessica.