Ella was headed for the bar when the king entered the room.

Finally, she thought, glad for the distraction so she could nab some drinks without getting sucked into any more conversations with the surrounding nobility. Most of them were nice enough, but she was on a mission and they were the competition. Not that that ever stopped her from being polite. Which was why it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to get to the bar.

“Three merlots, please,” she told the bartender, ordering for her stepsisters and herself. She hadn’t given the stage more than a quick glance yet. Priorities were priorities; liquid fortification first, then she’d size up the king.

The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, miss, all we’re serving tonight is champagne.”

She slumped. She never drank champagne—it tasted disgusting plus it went straight to her head, and she couldn’t afford any giggling fits or finger-dancing scenes on the first night of the Summer House Party. “Just two, then,” she conceded, and stared morosely at the pale, fizzy liquid as the bartender poured it. She bet her mechanic didn’t drink champagne. He looked like a whiskey man. Scotch, maybe.

She wondered what he was doing right now. Probably fixing up another bike, covered in engine grease and managing to look all the sexier for it. She should’ve taken him up on his offer of a ride. If it weren’t for her damn sense of duty, she could be what he was doing right now.

Maybe she’d keep an eye out for him, see if the offer was still open for later. She could check “have a summer fling” and “learn to ride a motorcycle” off her bucket list, plus she’d get to see more of Danovar. She’d often been curious about her country of birth, and lo and behold, the chance to explore it with a local had dropped into her lap. It would be irresponsible, really, for her to turn him down if he made the offer again. In fact, maybe she should slip out to the garage right now. She was already wearing a black dress to help her blend into the crowd—it would help her blend into the shadows as she made her escape, too. But first she’d need to get these drinks back to her stepsisters and make sure they’d spend the rest of the night impressing the king.

The bartender slid the champagne onto the counter. She broke from her reverie and caught him just as he was about to turn back around. “Oh, and also, do you happen to have any macrobiotic snacks?” The man blinked at her, and she tried to explain. The snacks were for Daphne. Ella usually carried three or four around in her pockets, but of course this dress didn’t have any.

“Ah, sorry, miss, we don’t carry those. But we have some peanuts.”

She drooped. “That’s okay, I’ll go find the concierge and ask if he can have some delivered.” Another duty. Coming back from college had shown her just how many she’d taken on over the course of her life when it came to her stepfamily. It was her own fault, of course—she couldn’t stop her natural tendency toward helpfulness. But also, she was starting to realize, it was a little bit her stepmother’s fault too, for allowing Ella to take on duties that she should be overseeing herself. That was why Ella had to seal the deal with the king. If she wanted to get out from under this life of servanthood, she had to fulfill her bargain with her stepmother and marry off Anna or Daphne. Then Ella would be free to pursue her own dreams, instead of helping other people with theirs. And speaking of the people she was helping…

She turned and scanned the crowd for her stepsisters. Anna was skulking off by a potted plant, staring raptly at her purse. Surely her scientist stepsister hadn’t managed to sneak a research text in that tiny thing, had she? Ella groaned and started to swivel back toward the bar to grab the champagne…and then she caught a glance of the king, and froze.

His impressive muscles were hidden beneath a perfectly-pressed tux. His awesome man-bun had been rearranged, not a hair out of place. The oil and grease were gone but it was as clear as day:

The King of Danovar was her mechanic.

She cleared her throat weakly. “You know what, I will have another champagne,” she told the bartender, and downed Daphne’s. She glanced back up at the king/mechanic, remembering all those naughty things she’d thought about doing to him—and having him do to her. She set Daphne’s now-empty glass on the bar. Then she downed Anna’s too.

Oh God, this was so embarrassing. How had she not recognized him earlier? He’d had some oil on his face and he wasn’t wearing anything like what she’d expected a king to wear, but still. She could only think that she’d been too distracted by her mission with the stepsisters to realize who he was, plus she’d been out of the country so long she hadn’t seen his face on the news recently to jog her memory. What must he have thought of her, clueless and awkward as she tried to flirt with the king?

He was still giving the welcome speech. Rather dryly, she realized, even if he was well-spoken. He went on about duty for quite some time—his own duty to the country and how much it meant to him, and his future wife’s duties as queen and diplomat and philanthropist. Then he rattled off the qualities he expected of the woman he would marry like they were a list of groceries: kind, intelligent, discreet, charitable.

Someone cleared their throat at her side. Her stepmother, come to see what was taking her so long. Ella shook her head, unable to form words just yet, and her stepmother frowned and turned to check on the bartender, who was pouring the two new glasses of champagne.

The king scanned the room—and caught Ella’s eye. He paused for half a second in his speech, probably not long enough for anyone else to notice, but Ella felt it to her toes. And then he smiled, just for her.

Her answering grin spread over her face before she could think about it, and she shook her head. She wanted to be mad at him for not telling her who he was earlier, but who could be mad at him when he smiled like that?

Her stepmother elbowed her lightly. “Close your mouth, dear,” she murmured. Aghast, Ella let her grin fall into a small, close-lipped smile. That made two times she’d displayed her goofy grin for the king. Ugh.

But then again, what was she even doing, smiling at the king? She’d come to this party with the express purpose of marrying one of her stepsisters to him. Having a fling with him herself first would be wrong, no matter how delicious he looked in that tux. And anything bigger than a fling was impossible. He’d just spent ten minutes listing the ideal qualities of his queen, and had made it clear he expected the woman he chose to be a servant to the country first and foremost. Ella was trying to get out of a life of servitude, not add an entire country’s population to her list of people to wait on.

She finished off the glass of champagne in her hand and forced herself to evaluate him from a distance. His speech had been both intelligent and dry, so maybe Anna would be in the running. God knew she would respond better to a list of attributes than a play at love.

She scooped up her stepsisters’ champagne and made her way over to them, her stepmother trailing behind. Together the two of them pulled Anna away from her phone—yep, she’d been reading an emailed research document—and corralled Daphne, hoping to get the king’s attention so they could show him what a good match one of the girls would be. But as the night went on, it became clear that every lady there had the same purpose in mind. While the king made his rounds through the room, he was mobbed by the women, all of them simpering and laughing at nothing and finding excuses to touch him. Ella couldn’t get near enough to speak to him, but every time she caught his eye, she could see the faint gleam of panic.

At her side, Anna snorted and muttered, “I think the two of us are the only ones who understand this is a job interview, not some twisted version of The Bachelor.”

Ella ground her teeth. Anna was right. And with so many women all vying for the king’s attention, what were the chances he would choose one of her stepsisters? If she didn’t succeed here, her stepmother would keep dragging all three of them on more “royal tours,” trying to marry one off to bring the family name back to its old glory.

She straightened. She would just have to make sure the king chose Daphne or Anna, that was all. And she knew exactly how to convince him.