Right now, what Sam and Nina needed was to keep playing this very elaborate game of couture dress-up.

“I guess Beatrice and I just had some catching up to do,” she offered by way of explanation. “You know what they say, sisters before misters.”

Nina snorted. “I don’t think that’s a real saying, but I’ll let you have it.”

Sam took the reject gown, smoothing its straps over the velvet hanger, then passed Nina a soft blue one. It spilled out into the room around them, a waterfall of pale silk.

“And on the bright side, hasn’t Beatrice’s engagement diverted the media attention from you and Jeff?” Sam watched as Nina stepped into the dress.

“Some, yeah. It’s just disheartening, how many people hate me who’ve never even met me.”

Sam felt a fierce wave of protectiveness toward her friend. “Want me to send security to rough them up, teach them a lesson?”

Nina snorted, ignoring Sam, and turned back and forth on the platform. She looked, to be honest, like a blue-frosted wedding cake. “I cannot wear this.”

“Try one of these,” Sam suggested, pulling over a few column dresses. “And promise that you won’t read the online comments anymore. Those people are just jealous of how smart and poised and self-assured you are. And, you know, the fact that you’re dating a prince.”

“Sam …” Nina twisted her hands, seeming nervous. “Are you really okay with me and Jeff? I wouldn’t want to make you feel weird, or uncomfortable ….”

“My two favorite people in the world, realizing how awesome each other are? Why would I not be okay with that?” Sam asked, a wicked gleam in her eye. “Of course, I expect you to name your firstborn after me, since I’m the one who brought you together.”

Her friend’s face turned beet red, making Sam roar with laughter. “Fine,” she conceded. “Come to think of it, this family couldn’t handle another Samantha.”

Nina grinned, her face still flushed. “There could only ever be one of you, Sam.”

DAPHNE

There was no thrill quite like that of walking into a party and knowing that of all the young women present, you were unquestionably the most beautiful.

Daphne sailed into the ballroom like a swan at sunset, her eyes glowing with reflected stares of admiration—and several of envy. Her gown swished pleasantly with her movements. It was a soft color caught somewhere between champagne and blush, with delicate straps that skimmed over her shoulders, and layers of featherweight tulle cascading over one another like petals. Her hair fell in lustrous curls down her back.

She saw Princess Juliana of Holland speaking with Lady Carl, who looked dour in a long black gown—didn’t she know anything about etiquette? It was poor form to wear black to an engagement party. And here was the unfortunately named Herbert Fitzherbert, clumsily flirting with one of the king’s handsomer equerries. Snatches of conversation floated all around her.

“—I would fire my assistant, except that at this point he knows way too much about me—”

“—No, the best avocado toast is definitely at Toulouse; I’ll take you for brunch tomorrow—”

“—she’s not rude; she’s just French. If you wanted to be coddled, you should have worked at the Swedish embassy—”

“—I hear that Sedley intends to kill that bill the moment it hits the floor—”

They all paused to greet her as she passed, their breath catching a bit at her beauty. Daphne gave each of them a serene smile, revealing none of her anxiety, the way her muscles felt coiled and tense beneath her gown. She was like an Olympic runner poised before the gunshot that began a race. Waiting for Jefferson.

But then she saw Ethan Beckett heading toward her with long, loping strides, and Daphne’s smile widened into something real.

“Dance with me?” he asked with his typical abruptness.

Daphne knew better than to say yes. She had a prince to find, a relationship to break up, and always, always, an endless supply of people to charm.

Instead she placed a hand on his, letting Ethan lead her through the crush and glitter of the ballroom.

He looped one arm around Daphne to settle it lightly above the base of her spine. With the other he reached to interlace their fingers. “You look far too pleased with yourself.”

“Do I?” she asked lightly.

“You look as though someone just granted you an earldom.” He gave his usual sardonic grin, and Daphne felt her own lips curling up at the edges.

“So, are you going to tell me your plan?” Ethan went on.

Daphne didn’t deny it. He had a disconcerting habit of seeing through her no matter what she did.

“If I did have a plan, I would hardly share the details with you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Ethan’s movements weren’t showy, yet they had an unexpected grace. He was self-assured, easy on his feet for someone so tall. Other, less glamorous couples flitted and chatted around them, making Daphne feel more striking by comparison.

“You’re a good dancer,” she observed.

There was a twist to Ethan’s bow-shaped mouth. “Try not to sound so shocked, the next time you give someone a compliment.”