Phillip was on his way to his study when he was intercepted by Eric. His brother fell into step alongside the king, took one sideways look at him, and then laughed out loud.

“Good for you, big brother,” he said, punching Phillip lightly on the arm.

Phillip frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You, finally knocking boots with the not-maid.”

Phillip glared, exasperated. He’d showered, put on new clothes, and was on the other side of the Summer House from where Ella was. There was no way Eric should’ve been able to tell what had happened between them. Maybe his little brother had some kind of internal sex radar, honed over the course of his own legion of casual encounters. Phillip wouldn’t doubt it.

“Was it good?” Eric asked, and Phillip stiffened. “Oh, don’t worry,” his brother went on, “I know you don’t kiss and tell. But I can tell from that look on your smug face that it was good. Very nice.”

Phillip tried to keep his frown in place but a small smile broke through. He couldn’t help it, not after what they’d done together—and then what she’d said. “She’s going to put her name in the running for queen,” he told Eric.

The prince’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I thought she didn’t want that.”

“She changed her mind.”

Eric walked with him a few steps in silence. “That’s great,” he said at last.

Phillip bristled. “She did,” he insisted.

“How did she phrase it, exactly?”

“I was giving her a new pair of riding boots. I told her I thought she was ready for the best of the best, she realized I meant with our relationship, and she said she was ready.”

They turned left down a smaller corridor. Phillip was headed for his study, where he was due to do an interview for a puff piece. Royal duties continued despite the Summer House Party.

“I don’t know,” Eric said. “It kind of sounds like she might’ve just been ready for a new pair of shoes.”

Phillip sped up a bit, hoping he could leave his brother behind, but the little bastard kept up easily. “That’s not what she meant,” he said, but Eric’s doubt was starting to creep in and even he could hear the new uncertainty in his words. He growled, frustrated. “Fine,” he snapped. “Before I meet with this reporter I’ll send Ella a letter inviting her to the dinner tonight. It’s an official event between me and the eligible ladies, so if she accepts I’ll know she’s open to formally putting her name in the running.”

Eric nodded, accepting the idea as a good one, and Phillip couldn’t help but let his smile return. He had to have a qualified queen to help him serve his country, but he wanted a real relationship with Ella more than anything in the world. And now it seemed like both things might fall into his lap.

So long as Ella accepted his invitation.

The first appetizer was Quenelles of Pike with lobster sauce prepared by the five-star royal chef, but to Phillip, it was tasteless until Ella arrived.

A quiet murmur on the far side of the table alerted him to her presence first. He stopped chatting with one of the ladies mid-word—he’d have to make it up to her later, her father was the minister of something-or-other plus Phillip hated rudeness in general—to pivot in his seat and look for Ella.

And there she was, standing in the doorway. She was in a green dress that looked a touch too loose around the waist, probably borrowed from one of her stepsisters, but she was a vision nonetheless and Phillip drank her in like she might be a mirage in the desert, about to disappear at any second. But she didn’t. She smiled at him, a bit strained and shy but there anyway, as the footman showed her to her seat. He wanted to politely dump the nearest lady out of her chair and offer it to Ella, but seating at the official events was formal and went in order of whose family was closest to the royal line. Still, Ella wasn’t too far away—just three ladies down on the right, seated ahead of her sisters since she was the titled one.

“Miss Fernstone,” he said. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I’m glad too, My King,” she replied graciously, a small, secret smile flitting around the corners of her mouth. My King, she’d called him. Like they belonged to each other. His grin grew and hers did too—and then she blinked and snapped her mouth shut into one of those small, close-lipped smiles she too often wore.

Hmm. He couldn’t have that.

He raised his glass. “A toast,” he called, and though his voice was quiet everyone at the table instantly fell silent and turned to him. “To this table. It’s a new acquisition, and I’ve been looking forward to the special events I would hold here. I have all kinds of ideas on how to get started.” He looked straight at Ella during the last line.

At his reference to their letters—and the special events he planned for the table—her smile grew. She fought hard to keep it close-lipped, though, and hid her expression in her wine glass.

The rest of the table drank too, looking a little confused at his strange toast, but he only had eyes for Ella. Where was that grin, the one that lit up the whole room? And then he remembered…when they were in the bathroom and her stepmother had burst into the next room, hadn’t she said something about Ella’s “ridiculous goofy grin”?

His eyes narrowed. Surely no one could truly believe that. There was nothing at all ridiculous about Ella’s smile. Her stepmother must be trying to rein Ella in, not wanting her to outshine her biological daughters.

He made it his mission to get a real smile out of Ella for the rest of the dinner. He was willing to resort to knock-knock jokes if necessary. He usually took pride in his dignity, but he was willing to throw it to the wind for one glimpse of her happiness. But when all his attempts failed and his other dinner guests went from confused to politely disgruntled at his attention to Ella, he nearly gave up.

Finally, at the end of the dinner, he motioned the waiter over and murmured a special request. Two minutes later, everyone had a glass of champagne in front of them, even though the guests had been about to take their leave. “Please, you must indulge me and try some,” Phillip said. “It’s my new favorite beverage.”

Ella snorted in a very unladylike way and finally, finally, a true smile spread across her face as she remembered that night in the garage. At the sight, Phillip wanted to jump on top of the table and declare victory. He felt larger than life, like he could conquer the world just because this woman had smiled at him at last. Recklessly, he pushed out of his seat and approached her, taking her hand and dropping a kiss on her knuckles.

“Miss Fernstone,” he said, “I would be honored if you would grant me first dance at the ball tomorrow.”

Her smile dimmed. He’d put her on the spot. He swallowed, praying, hoping he hadn’t ruined everything.

But then Ella lifted her chin, looking him in the eye, rising to the challenge. And with one simple word, she granted all of his wishes.

“Yes.”