We’re twenty minutes in to a skull-numbingly boring meeting about public relations strategy and a trip I’m supposed to take to a local school next week when my father abruptly changes the topic.

“Have you sent the girl home, Alexander?”

The girl.

Jesus.

There is no way on earth that she could ever go back to being “the girl.” Not after the conversation we had at dinner three days ago.

I learned something about her during our dinner date that I’m certain I would never have known otherwise. Jessica doesn’t seem like the type to wear past hardships on her sleeve—she’s too confident, too self-assured for that—but clearly she wanted me to know that the boundary she set on our first “date” wasn’t something she pulled out of thin air. She had her reasons.

I only wish we’d had more time to talk about the things that matter.

Instead, I’ve spent the last two days attending events all over the capitol city and throughout the rest of the country. It’s media appearance after media appearance. I know it’s part of being a prince, but the scheduling has been oddly heavy. I bet it’s to keep me away from Jessica.

That girl.

Aside from that, my father is the King of Saintland. He doesn’t need to ask me this question. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s had people keeping tabs on her since we arrived.

I look at him as he sits across from me at his desk and choose, at the last moment, not to make a snide comment. “No,” I answer.

He puts down his pen and looks up at me. “What’s causing the delay?”

“What’s causing the hurry?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Alexander,” my brother says, clearly agitated. “For once, can’t you—?”

My father silences him with a wave. “I thought my directive was clear, son.”

I look from him to Marcus with narrowed eyes. “What’s clear to me is that you find her presence distasteful and you want her out of the country. I’m not sorry to say I disagree with that assessment.”

The King of Saintland leans back in his chair.

“Alexander, this isn’t a personal judgment against the girl.”

“The girl,” I repeat after him, my tone acidic. “Her name is Jessica Reeves, which I’m sure you’ve already learned from Nate. I know he slips you pertinent information.”

He holds up his hands in deference. “I’m sure Ms. Reeves is a fine young woman, but the important thing to do right now is to rebuild your reputation.”

“My reputation?”

“Yes. It does us no favors if the tabloids—.”

“The tabloids will print whatever they want, and we all know it.”

“This is a matter of…”

His voice fades out as I’m gripped by an idea that rises in my mind like the sun, at first peeking over the horizon before popping forth and blinding me with its light.

I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.

I can’t believe I didn’t see all this for what it was.

I stand up abruptly from the table. “This discussion is over.”

“Sit down, Alexander, we’re not through—.”

“We are through, unless you’re ready to swear that you haven’t been manipulating my schedule for the past two days to keep me away from her.” If my gut feeling proves right, the breakneck scheduling will continue until Jessica is safely back in the United States, away from the prying eyes of the Saintland media, and I’m free to become another pawn in my father’s political games.

The silence hangs between us for one beat, two, and then my father cuts his eyes away from me to look at Marcus.

The glance tells me all I need to know.

“I see. Your Majesty,” I say, keeping my voice steady, its tone frigid, “I’ve been called away on urgent business. You’ll forgive my abrupt departure.”

Before he can say another word, I’m out the door and gone.

* * *

I can hear Jessica laughing as I approach her suite in the Northern Crown. It sounds like Claire is inside the room with her.

Sure enough, the companion I’ve contracted to make sure that Jessica wants for nothing while she is here answers the door. Behind her, Jessica sits on the floor amongst a pile of shopping bags and parcels. The two women have obviously been sorting through and admiring her purchases them.

“Your highness!” Claire says, inclining her head at me.

I smile back at her. “Are you two enjoying yourselves?”

“Yes!” Jessica says, although when she catches sight of my face, her smile slips a little. “Claire took me sightseeing earlier today, and then shopping. You’re too much, Alec.”

“Not possible,” I say, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss her cheek. When I straighten up, Claire has her purse slung over her arm and is standing next to the door. That woman can read a room.

“Goodnight, your highness,” she says, giving a little wave. “Ms. Reeves.”

“Please, call me Jessica!”

“Jessica.” With a grin, Claire slips out the door, pulling it quietly shut behind her.

Jessica rises to her feet and puts her arms around my neck, kissing me softly. The tension goes out of my shoulders at her touch, and after a moment she pulls back to look into my face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is it so obvious?” I ask, giving her a half-smile meant to throw her off the trail leading to my irritation with my father and brother.

“Yes,” she says, her expression serious.

For a long, silent moment, I search for the words to describe the situation with my father and brother, but there’s no way I can say it without further complicating things.

It’s then that I decide, once and for all, that this entire thing is bordering on the absurd. I am the second prince of Saintland. I will never be the king. I will represent the royal family, yes, but it’s my brother who will reign. There is no reason why I can’t have a private life of my own choosing.

There’s no reason why I can’t build that life with Jessica.

“You know, it’s nothing,” I say to her, leaning down to kiss the hollow between her shoulder and collarbone. “Now that I’m with you, nothing can be wrong. It’s all very right.”

“If you say so,” she says, a wicked gleam twinkling in her eyes.

That’s my cue.