That kiss… I can’t seem to stop thinking about it. I know it was meant only to distract me from getting the journal I now carry in my hand, but… My God. What is it about these Montovian princes that they can put a woman under their spell with a thing as small as a kiss?

Not that I am under William’s spell, nor will I ever be. Parts of me I thought would be dead forever seem to be waking up. Perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps when I return to America, I can learn to live again. Maybe I’ll even fall in love again…someday. It might even make the next three months of this sham of a marriage less agonizing if I can think about it as a means to an end. Learning to let my guard down once in a while might not even be so bad—I just need to remember to let it down only enough to enjoy myself. Any more than that, and I run the risk of having my heart broken again. Or worse.

And William has been all too eager to prove he wants nothing more than to torture me, even though he was the one who agreed to this marriage in the first place.

If I wasn’t still so angry about the entire situation, I could almost see myself learning to like him well enough. He may not be as funny as he thinks he is, but he seems intelligent. We could likely find something we have in common. Perhaps we could even learn to be friends. It would be more than my parents have done in their long marriage—they barely tolerate each other, and my mother is so rarely sober that it hardly matters.

But none of that is of any importance, as my father has assured me. In ninety-seven days, I’ll be free of Prince William forever. I may even go so far as to abdicate my title. At least then, I might have a chance at a normal life.

I make it to my office in the western wing and hide my old journal at the bottom of a desk drawer, underneath a stack of papers. I’m not sure why I even care if William reads this particular journal. If I remember correctly, this one is from a few years ago, before anything truly terrible happened. Of course, I do reveal many of my feelings in there, and it’s probably better if William thinks I’m completely devoid of emotion. He seems to think me the vapid noblewoman he’s always assumed of me, and for all I care, he can continue thinking it. It just seems easier to make him hate me at this point. For as angry as I am, I don’t want to cause him any lasting pain when this is over. I know all too well what that feels like.

I open my laptop and begin working. I suppose I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, trying to organize an international conference. It has grown exponentially larger than I ever expected it to—Rosvalia is a tiny country, even compared to Montovia—and I’m not sure we’ve ever hosted anything of this magnitude. It seems to grow larger by the day.

I shouldn’t complain. This is growing into the event I’d imagined when I started, but at the time it seemed like little more than a dream. Now, if I don’t get some help, it’s going to consume me.

Perhaps that won’t be such a bad thing, I think. It will at least keep me busy all day and away from my husband.

Yes, that is definitely the best thing for me, at least for now. Considering how William and I almost always end up in some sort of argument, my office is probably the best place for me. And if I schedule things just right, perhaps he’ll be asleep before I return to the suite. And if he should happen to decide he’s welcome in my bed, I’ll take one of the nearby guest rooms. I’m certain the servants will talk, but I don’t care. I’ll make some excuse about William snoring, and that should suffice. My own parents haven’t shared a suite in my lifetime—why should I be any different?

I must work for several hours—I’m jolted by the knock on my door.

William doesn’t wait for me to call him in—he swings the door open, giving me his dazzling grin. “Good afternoon, Princess.”

Afternoon? I hadn’t realized how long I’d been working—it hasn’t been just several hours, it’s been more like seven. I pull my thumb away from my mouth with a start. I haven’t chewed my thumbnail since I was a girl, when one of my governesses took to forcing me to eat a hot pepper each time my finger touched my mouth. I think I must have started doing it again around the time of William’s announcement of our impending marriage at the Montovian Salt Festival.

I slide my hand under my backside. “What is it you want, Your Highness?”

His grin widens and he pulls several books from behind his back—all copies of my book of poetry. He sets them on the edge of my desk.

I shrug. “So?”

“So, I found these. Unfortunately, I did not find any more journals. Even in our suite.” He tilts his head. “They’re in here, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Highness.” I frown. “I have a tremendous amount of work to do, so if you could leave me to it—”

“Shouldn’t we be preparing for dinner?” He sits in front of me and splays his hands on my desk. “Unless, of course, you’d rather we continue what we started earlier. I’m certain your parents—”

“My parents have nothing to do with anything. And we started nothing earlier.” Except that kiss. My God, how I long to have him run his hands the length of my body. Fist his hands in my hair and take me—

“Princess, deny whatever you like, but I felt the way you reacted. And I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh, really? A proposition? For me? Aren’t those the sorts of matters you should be taking up with my father?”

He flinches, but his smile never wavers. “I propose a truce.”

I lift a brow. “A truce? I wasn’t aware we were at war, Your Highness.”

“Oh, I think you know we’ve been at war for the past three weeks, Princess. But you are the only one fighting—”

“I’m not fighting you. I’m merely standing up for myself. I’m sure you’d rather I be the perfectly pleasant noblewoman, spreading my legs for my husband whenever he decides it is time for—”

“That is not what I am saying, Princess, and I believe you know it.” His smile falls, but only by a little. “What I am proposing is a truce. A do-over if you will.”

“If I will what, exactly?”

“I think we can be friends, Princess. I think—”

“And yet, you continue to call me Princess. Do you not think—?”

“And you continue to call me Your Highness. I believe we are even in that matter. And I have called you by your given name, if you’ll recall—”

“I do not recall. Unless you’re talking about during our vows, and I would say that hardly counts—”

“When you had my cock in your hand last night.” His smile widens. “Justine.”

My cheeks burn so hot, I’m sure they might catch fire.

“I thought as much.” I don’t know how it’s possible, but his grin widens even further. “Now, if you’ll listen to my proposal—”

“I agree, Your Highness. We don’t have to do this. We—”

“Good.” He slides the books onto my desk. “I found these in a few of the libraries around this wing of the palace. Of course, I kept one for myself.”

“Wonderful.” I take the books and toss them into the waste bin next to my desk. “Now, about this truce—”

“Yes, I have a few ideas. I—”

“I’ll take the guest room next door to my office. That will give you ample time to tear the other apart and search for whatever it is you think I’m hiding.”

His smile falls and his brows draw together. “That wasn’t what I was suggesting, Princess. I was going to—”

“You’ll need to order dinner. If you want to eat in one of the smaller dining rooms, I’m sure it can be arranged. I normally take dinner in my office on a day like this, or sometimes in my suite. But—”

“I thought we’d be eating with your family. I thought—”

“You’ll learn eventually.” If you learn in the next ninety-seven days. “If breakfast is canceled, so are the rest of the meals for the day.”

“Why—?”

“If I knew the answer, I would give it to you.” I shrug again. “Things aren’t run the same way here as they are in Montovia. You have to learn to be flexible—”

The grin that returns to his lips has nothing to do with being amenable to my parents’ oddities, I’m sure.

I shake my head. “Don’t even consider—”

“You still haven’t heard my proposal, Princess.”

“I did hear your proposal, Your Highness. At the Salt Festival, remember? Though, it wasn’t so much a proposal as a proclamation—”

“As I said, I think we need to call a truce, particularly to that. I’ve apologized to you—”

“Have you?”

“I…” His smile falls again and his forehead wrinkles. “I believe I have. But if I haven’t to your satisfaction, then I will again. I am sorry, Princess. Truly sorry.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t still be calling me Princess that way.”

“It’s a term of endearment, I promise you—”

“No. It’s no more a term of endearment than my calling you Your Highness. You may as well be calling me Spoiled Bitch. Which, come to think of it, I might prefer to Princess.”

He looks at me for a moment. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry. Particularly if I’ve offended you.”

I make a shooing motion toward the door. “Fine. I accept your apology. Now please leave.”

“I…” He frowns before he finally stands. “I’d like you to hear my proposal. My…idea.”

“I don’t have time for this, William. I…” My mouth hangs open as I realize I’ve called him by his given name. “I—”

“If dinner is truly canceled, it makes my idea all the more viable.”

“There is nothing viable about any of this. Now if you’d please leave—”

“I’d…I’d like us to have a date.”

My brows rise. “A…date?”

He nods. “A date. And I’d like us to start it now.”