This wasn’t how this night was supposed to go. I was hoping to bridge some of the distance between us. Instead, I’ve somehow convinced her that we need separate bedrooms.

What’s wrong with me? When did women get this difficult? I’ve had a number of relationships throughout my life—nothing serious, of course, but enough to give me plenty of experience—and I’ve never bungled any of them like I have this thing with Justine. Women love me—I’m as charming as my brother Leopold without any of his recklessness, and as responsible as Andrew without being brooding or serious. I normally don’t have to work nearly this hard to earn a woman’s affection, much less her respect.

But this isn’t over yet.

“Very well, Princess,” I say. “I’ll respect your request for separate suites, but on one condition—you answer one of my questions.”

She crosses her arms. “Our little game is over.”

“If you desire. But that will mean the difference between whether I make this whole ‘separate rooms’ thing easy for you or not.”

She frowns. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s simply a reminder of our bargain. This is a marriage, Princess. That means both of us get equal say in big decisions. My little game was, quite simply, a way to deal with our disagreements, at least until we find a more productive way to work together.”

She shakes her head. “Fine—ask your question. I just want to get this settled.”

I smile. “Very well. My question is—what is the name of the man who inspired your poetry?”

I can see the very moment she realizes she walked right into my trap—her eyes go wide in surprise, then flash with anger.

“You’ve already asked that one,” she says.

“And you never answered, which means it’s still fair play.” I lean against the wall, grinning. “It’s an easy question, Princess. I just want his name, not his life story.” Once I have his name, I’ll figure out the rest on my own.

“I told you I made all of that up.”

“And I know you’re lying.” I pretend to yawn. “Stall all you want, Princess—I’m prepared to stay here all night if need be. And I will be staying in the same room as you until you tell me his name, even if it takes the rest of our lives.” Or at least for the next ninety-seven days, whatever that means.

She turns away, probably trying to hide her flushed cheeks. “Why does it matter so much to you? It’s just a stupid name. From some stupid guy I knew a long time ago.”

“I don’t believe for a moment he was just ‘some stupid guy’.” I step closer, lowering my voice. “I believe he was very important to you—and that’s why I want to know.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I’m your husband.”

She’s still not facing me, but I see her back stiffen slightly when she hears my footsteps just behind her. She doesn’t turn around. She seems to be trying very hard to focus her attention on a little marble statue sitting on a pedestal in an alcove on the wall. “You’re my husband in name only. We’re not in love. We don’t even really like each other.”

“I like you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, actually, I don’t. Yes, we’ve gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but I’ve been doing my best to change that—to get to know you. Is there something so wrong about that?”

She turns quite suddenly. “Maybe there are things I don’t want you to know. Is that so hard to comprehend?”

The look in her eyes surprises me—it’s not anger, as I expected. Or even exasperation. Instead, it’s almost…sad. Pleading. There’s a profound pain in her expression, barely contained, and for the life of me, I don’t know how to respond to it.

“Is there nothing in your life that you’d prefer to keep hidden from me?” she goes on. “Nothing that you want to keep to yourself, safe in your heart? Has your life been so carefree that you have no secrets?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. Instead, she rushes on. “Marriage—even an arranged one—means many things. But it doesn’t give you open access to my heart. The sooner you accept that, the happier we’ll both be.”

For a moment, I’m stunned—and ashamed, for pushing her to this point, for dragging up such pain. But those emotions are quickly supplanted by anger. Who the hell did this to her? And what, exactly, did he do to cause her such pain? If I ever run into the bastard, I’m going to smash his face in. My questions about him suddenly seem a lot more urgent. I know she was trying to convince me to let it go, but instead, her words have had the opposite effect.

“Princess, whoever this man was—”

She holds up a hand, silencing me. “I’m not going to talk about him. Not now or ever.”

“Then you’re giving him even more power. Whatever he did—”

“I said I’m not talking about him.” She spins away from me again. “I’ve had enough of this conversation. And enough of this so-called date.” She starts down the corridor, not looking to see if I follow.

I don’t know how to stop her. I don’t know how to handle any of this—Justine is nothing like any of the other girls I’ve had relationships with, and none of my usual methods seem to work.

“Dancing,” I hear myself blurt.

She pauses, then turns back. “What?”

“Dancing,” I repeat, a little steadier this time. “Dancing is our common ground.”

She’s silent for a long moment. “You can’t build a relationship on dancing, Your Highness.”

“I disagree. Or have you forgotten our wedding dance already?” Slowly, I walk down the hall toward her. “For those few moments, we were perfectly in sync. Perfectly attuned to each other. We weren’t treating each other as opposition—we were treating each other as partners.”

“Only because we couldn’t really argue, not in front of all those people.”

“When we dance, there’s no reason to talk at all.”

She raises an eyebrow quizzically. “What exactly is your point?”

“My point is that maybe that’s where we should start. Dancing.” I stop a few steps away from her. “Since we can’t talk for five minutes without arguing with each other, maybe we should stop trying to talk at all. Maybe we should approach this a different way.” I hold my hand out to her. “What do you say?”

She looks at me as if I’ve gone mad. “Right now? Here?”

“Well, maybe not here. A ballroom might work better. Or anywhere, really, as long as we might play some music. I could pull something up on my phone.” I wiggle my fingers. “Come, Princess. Just one dance. So this date isn’t a complete failure.”

Justine hesitates, and I can’t tell whether she’s exasperated or impressed. “You are…”

“Charming?” I finish for her. “Irresistible?”

“You’re determined, I’ll give you that. And annoying.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s probably better than you would have said about me a couple of days ago. I’ll take it.” I push my hand a little closer to her. “So, Princess?”

She almost smiles. Almost. And then she puts her hand in mine.

“One dance.”