I woke up where I'd fallen asleep – on Killian's broad, comforting chest. My phone was ringing – my mother. She must have seen the news. I answered it, worried about how she was going to react to finding out I hadn't told her a thing about my relationship with Killian.

"Hello?"

"Eva. I – Judy from next door just came over and she – Eva, why didn't you tell us? What's going on?"

I could hear the anxiety in my mother's rushed words – she always talks too fast when she's upset, all her sentences running into each other.

"Mom. Listen, I don't know what you've seen or heard – I haven't even seen most of it myself, so I don't know what –"

"Are you dating the Prince of Rhenland, Eva? Why didn't you say anything? This is what I was afraid was going to happen! That you would move away and lose touch with us! Why did I have to hear this on the news? Why wouldn't you –"

"Mom!"

I listened to my mother consciously slow herself down. "Yes?"

"I didn't tell anyone, not just you. And the only reason I didn't tell you is because – it's because I didn't know what it meant, I didn't know..." I trailed off, very conscious of the fact that Killian was right there. "Listen, Mom. Can I call you back later tonight? I can't talk right now, there's a lot going on. Just let me get myself together and then I'll call you and tell you everything, OK? I promise."

"Are you with him right now?"

"Um, yes. I am. But –"

"Why wouldn't you tell me about this, Eva? I saw you on the news, you looked so scared! I could have helped you, I could have given you some advice. I know you're an adult now but we're still family!"

"I know," I replied softly, trying to reassure my mother that my reticence to discuss the relationship with Killian had nothing to do with drifting away from my family – which it didn't. "Mom, please. Please don't worry so much. I'll call you later and we'll talk about everything then, OK? And please stop watching the news. Wait until I call."

When my mother finally conceded to waiting a few hours until we could talk I hung up and looked up at Killian. "My mom saw it on the news. In the States! What the hell? All my friends back home are going to see it. They're all going to see me bawling my eyes out and looking like an idiot. Why did this have to happen?"

He gazed down at me, concerned. "I should have warned you. I just – I don't know why, but I thought we could keep it on the down-low for a little longer, you know? I thought that's what you wanted, as well."

"That was what I was doing," I said, before stopping short as what Killian had just said sunk in. "Wait. Do you think I did this? Do you think I –"

"No, no, I don't think you did it, Eva. Of course not. But someone you know must have let the cat out of the bag. How many people did you tell?"

I sat up quickly and looked directly at him. "Wait a minute. How do you know it was someone I know? What about all the people you know? What about everyone at that party? What about everyone on your security team? What about – what about that woman at the pottery shop in St. Maves? It could have been anyone, Killian."

"No, it wasn't anyone on my team, Eva," he replied, in a tone of certainty. "I'm not just saying that, I know it. My social group is very tight – and they're very protective of me. I've chosen my friends carefully, they would never betray me. Everyone who works for me has signed an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement, too. Not only would they lose their jobs, they'd get sued. Trust me, I know this might sound a little strange to you but I promise you it wasn't someone I know. And there are photos of us on the beach in Woaden – how could the woman at the pottery shop have known we were even there before we stopped in?"

Killian wasn't being a jerk, and he didn't sound upset, but I didn't like what he was saying at all. He was just assuming, with seemingly no proof, that it had to be one of my friends who blabbed. "So that's it?" I asked, a little testily. "I'm responsible for this just because you feel like it?"

"No," he responded, sighing as I got up off the sofa and began to pace the room. "No, Eva. You're not responsible. You don't know how any of this works, you don't know how willing some people are to sell out their friends for a payday. It's not your fault – it's my fault. I should have been clearer with you – I should have warned you."

I walked over to the window and looked out over the street – wherever we were, it was a fancy neighborhood. Lots of big expensive cars and very well dressed people walking down the sidewalk. "So," I said. "That's just it, then? According to you? It was definitely one of my friends that betrayed me for a payday? There's no chance it was anyone you know?"

"No," Killian replied, not catching the sarcasm in my voice. "No chance."

I'm sure my snappishness had something to do with the day I'd just endured. But it was also his utter certainty that one of my friends, someone I knew, had done the dirty. He didn't even seem to be aware of how offensive he was being. Suddenly, I wanted to be alone. I wanted to call my mother. Without turning away from the window, I told Killian as much.

He came up behind me and put his arms around my waist. "Are you angry, Eva? I'm not trying to insult your friends, I hope you understand that. I just know that –"

"But you are insulting them!" I cried, turning around to face him and pulling away. "Don't you see that? It's not like I told a thousand people, you know. I hardly told anyone, and even then I didn't give details! I'm not an idiot, Killian."

"I know, Eva, that's not what I –"

"I'm not finished! I only told my three friends at work – they're basically the only people I know in Rhenland. And my boss. And believe me, we're not total rubes. You heard my boss say we work with celebrities all the time, so it's not like they don't understand discretion! I'm sorry I sound worked up right now but I am – you're condemning people you don't even know, and I don't think it's fair at all. Now, please. I would like to be alone."

"OK." Killian held his hands up. "OK, Eva. I'll leave you alone. I understand. But I'll be at Pritchard Palace, alright? It's not far from here. You can call me anytime tonight if there's anything you need. And if not, I'll stop by tomorrow. Someone will be around within the hour with a few things for you, and there's security outside so don't worry about answering the door."

He leaned down to kiss me and I turned my face away, a little surprised by how angry I was. But why shouldn't I be angry? Sure, he said he wasn't blaming me. But all of that talk about how he should have warned me, it all assumed that the leak was somehow on my side, that I was the naive girl from a small town who didn't understand how things worked for big, important people like Killian Chatham-Hayes.

When he was gone I went back to the sofa and sat down, holding my hands out flat in front of myself. They were shaking. I needed a drink – and not tea. I got back up and went into the kitchen, checking cupboards and the fridge – nothing. Damnit. I was hungry, too. After a little more fruitless searching, I eventually just ordered a pizza online.

When the doorbell rang about half an hour later it was one of the security team – I was starting to recognize them, always in jeans and suit jackets.

"Oh," I said, surprised not to see a delivery guy. "I don't have any cash, I was going to pay with my phone."

"It's been taken care of," the man replied, nodding curtly.

"Oh. Well. Um, OK then."

He shut the door and I took my pizza back upstairs, feeling strangely deflated. I'd told Killian to leave, but now that I was alone, I found it was the last thing I wanted. I ate a couple of slices of pizza straight out of the box and then, stupidly, decided to check the internet to see if the story was dying down at all.

It wasn't. If anything, the headlines were even more hysterical. The video, the one of me taken outside my apartment, was now everywhere. And because there had been at least ten cameras in my face, there were at least ten different versions of it. So I couldn't just watch one video of myself stumbling down the sidewalk like a helpless little mouse and then eventually bursting into tears, but multiple videos. I closed my eyes as the third or fourth version came to an end. How many people had seen it? To how many people was I now just Prince Killian's latest meaningless fling? I knew what people thought of those girls, because I'd thought those things myself, in the past. I'd gossiped with friends over the latest photos of some random girl doing the walk of shame after a night – or after a few nights – with Killian, uselessly trying to cover her face with her hands or her bag. I cringed just thinking about it, how easy it was to shrug and think 'well, she knew what the deal was' and not to stop and consider that that was a human being, a person. A person who may have had feelings for the charming, handsome, witty Prince. Feelings not unlike my own. I needed to talk to someone. Not my mother. I needed to talk to someone who might understand, even a little bit. Elsa. She knew famous people, she ran in those circles.

When she picked up, I could hear conversation in the background, the sounds of a family. "I'm sorry, Elsa," I said. "I didn't know who else to call. I'm just, well, I think I just had my first fight with Killian and he left. Then I was watching the videos online and, um, and..." I stopped, unable to keep going as my voice broke with emotion.

"Eva," Elsa soothed. "Oh, Eva. Today was a rough day for you, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I sniveled, embarrassed but unable to stop the tears. "I keep watching the video. I keep thinking about all the things I used to think about those girls – the ones who slept with the Prince, or with some rock star or whoever. And now everyone's thinking those things about me. People I know are thinking those things – my family, my friends."

"I doubt that," Elsa replied. "They know you. I know you. I know you're a smart, competent young woman. This is going to blow over, you know. It might not feel like it right now, but it is."

"I know. I just – I just feel so embarrassed. So ashamed. And then I feel ashamed for feeling ashamed."

"Why?" she asked. "You're young, Eva. The Prince is a charmer – and a looker – everyone knows that. It's natural for a young woman to be swept off her feet by a man like that, that's nothing to be ashamed of – it's happened to all of us. The only difference, this time, is that he happens to attract a lot of media attention – attention you weren't prepared for. Trust me, no one is going to remember any of this in a month."

"You think so?"

"Oh, I know so. All these people care about is the next big story. There'll be another one coming up tomorrow, or next week. You just need to stay where you are, take a few days. I think you'll be surprised by how quickly they lose interest. Some soap star will fall out of a limo with no panties on and everyone will forget this ever happened."

I probably already knew what Elsa was telling me, but it helped a lot to hear it from her as someone I looked up to and respected. I was already feeling a little better, less the sapling being buffeted by a hurricane and more the solid oak letting the wind ruffle my leaves as it passed through. Elsa spoke to me for a little while longer, reassuring me that it was OK to take a few days off, but making sure I knew how necessary I was to her team. When we hung up I got myself another slice of pizza and ate it on the sofa, feeling a lot more confident in my own ability to handle the situation.

What I wanted was to go back to my apartment. I wanted to be in my own space. But that was risking another paparazzi ambush so I stayed where I was – in Killian's luxurious, unused apartment. Before going to bed I even had a bath. The tub was so big it felt like a small swimming pool and I lay there for over an hour, floating and repeating four words to myself over and over: 'this too shall pass.'

It took a few minutes for the thought to dawn on me. The 'this' in 'this too shall pass' – what was it? Was it the media explosion? I thought back to the conversation with Elsa, the way she'd talked about what was happening, the same way I was now thinking of it, as something temporary, something that was inevitably going to end. No, it wasn't just the press interest. It was Killian himself – it was Killian and I, together. I pushed the thought away as soon as it came to me. No. Not that night. Not then. I needed sleep and I needed a clear head, and obsessing over the future – and whether Killian was in mine – was a bad idea. But still, it was there, lurking threateningly in the background of what had already been a terrible day.

* * *

I woke up early the next morning, experiencing that thing where, for a few groggy seconds, you assume a situation – for me, that Killian was still with me – and then quickly realize that it isn't the case. I closed my eyes against the harsh morning light and sighed as it all came back to me – the previous day, the video, Killian's blithe assumption that it was someone in my circle who was responsible for it all.

Then I reached for my phone, telling myself I was just going to check e-mails instead of checking the news. That quickly turned into allowing myself to check the news, but avoiding all the tabloids. I visited the Sentinel and was happy to see the headline was political, some trade negotiation or another. I scrolled down – more political news, more international headlines. And then, Killian's face and a headline: 'Archaic Royal Marriage Traditions Need To Go.'

Don't do it, my brain said. Don't do it, don't do it – even as my finger was tapping the story.

The writer was a woman, identified as the Sentinel's columnist on feminism and women's issues. The article began:

The article continued and I read it all, my heart pounding as it gradually sank in. All of my worries about how Killian felt about me, about how serious he was – none of it mattered. It didn't matter because he couldn't be with me anyway, even if he wanted to.

And he'd never said a thing. Even as he talked casually about a future in which I seemed to feature, even as he watched me falling for him day by day, he didn't say a single thing. At first, I felt an inkling of sympathy for him. But that sympathy was soon overtaken by anger – the kind of anger that comes when you understand that someone who has acted one way, someone who you thought cared about you, has been revealed as supremely careless. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe I still would have put that beautiful dress on and maybe I still would have chosen to go to Annesly Hall with him and spend the weekend in his arms. But he should have given me the choice. He should have told me. He should have said oh, yes, and by the way, this thing developing between us? It can only end one way.

I sat up in bed and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair was a matted mess and there were dark circles under my eyes. I had to face the truth. Killian Chatham-Hayes was everything I ever wanted in a man. Sexy, smart, funny, masculine, charming, I could go on and on. He seemed too good to be true – and he was. What a joke that I'd tried to convince myself I wasn't falling for him. I was – I had. And now I had two options. Continue on in a 'relationship' with him, fall even deeper and harder, all the while knowing that sooner or later the day would come when he married someone else – someone Rhennish and aristocratic – or end it. It wasn't even a choice.

From the very beginning, alarm bells had been sounding. Now they were so loud I could barely think. I could have my self-respect and my dignity, or I could have Killian, for however long that would be. I had to go. I had to leave his apartment and go back to my own. And I had to do it before I saw him again, because no part of me trusted myself to be able to resist if he tried to convince me to stay.

So I got dressed, grabbed all my things and took a taxi to the block I lived on, sneaking into the downstairs neighbor's back yard, knocking on their door and sheepishly requesting to walk through their apartment so I could get to my own without running into any of the paparazzi that may have been lurking outside the front door. Once inside, I lay face down on the bed, trying not to think about Killian. Trying not to think of the little half-smile he often had on his face when he teased me. Or the way it made me feel so safe and protected when he put his hand on the small of my back. Or how right and perfect and good it felt when he was inside me, looking into my eyes.

Something about being back in my own space made it OK to let go, and so I did. I curled into a ball, crying at first, then sobbing, knowing that all the pain wasn't going away anytime soon – that I had days and weeks and months of missing him stretching out ahead of me.

When the sobs had died away into shaky breaths and I was exhausted, the way you always are after crying like that, my phone rang. My mom. I answered it right away, immediately dissolving into fresh tears at the sound of her voice.

"Eva. Oh, sweetheart."

"Mom," I bawled. "I wish you were here. I just – I need you. I don't think I can handle this, I don't think I can do this on my own."

"Come home."

"What?"

"Just come home, Eva. It doesn't have to be forever, but come home for a little while. You need to be with your family. I can't stand thinking about you so far away, all by yourself. Come back and we'll take care of you."

Home. Oshwego. Our modest house on Harwood Street. As soon as my mother said the words, I knew she was right. That's where you go when life punches you in the gut – home. To the people who love you, to the place that nurtured you, the little town whose streets and avenues you know like the back of your own hand.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes. I'll come home."

"Don't worry about your apartment, Eva. Or your job – we can call your boss when you get here – if what you said about her is true she won't mind you taking a break. We'll sort all of it out when you get here, OK? We have some savings we can use if it comes to that, if you owe anyone money for leases or anything like that. Just come back, sweetheart. Go to the airport right now and come home."

Everything my mom said made sense. I had to go home. Of course I wasn't thinking clearly – I was panicked and my heart was broken – but that's just how it is when everything falls apart. You fixate on things, on certain places or people, and grab them like a drowning person grabs a life raft. And then you hold on tight.

It took less than an hour to pack my small suitcase and lock up the apartment. I hid the key underneath a broken piece of brick in the alley and took a taxi straight to the airport, telling myself all the way that I was doing the right thing.