“They’ll get over it eventually. Stranger things have happened when it comes to royal weddings,” Sam declared, with more confidence than she felt.

“Such as?”

“Louis XIV had an affair with his brother’s wife. Henry VIII married his brother’s wife.” Sam laughed. “You’ve also got the medieval king Hardecanute—that means ‘Tough Knot’—who died of drunkenness at a wedding feast. I’m serious,” she insisted, at Teddy’s skeptical look. “He literally drank himself to death!”

“I believe you.” Teddy was clearly fighting back his amusement.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Never,” he said quickly. “I’m just thinking about how difficult it’s going to be, being with you. Difficult and unpredictable and never, ever boring.”

She flushed in pleased self-consciousness.

“Okay—why don’t I go out first, and then you wait a couple of minutes, just in case. Meet me near the bar?” Teddy suggested.

Sam nodded as he slipped out the door. Only a few seconds had passed before she darted out into the hallway, the hem of her dress dragging on the floor as she caught up.

“Oh—Teddy!” she cried out, with studied nonchalance. “I’m so glad I ran into you!”

“I thought we agreed that you were waiting a couple of minutes,” he whispered, though he was grinning.

“Let me have my way, just this once.”

“I have a feeling it’s never going to be just this once with you,” Teddy answered. “Though I have to say, I’m okay with it.”

DAPHNE

Daphne was chatting with the Countess of Cincinnati when Nina ducked past the doors to the ballroom. She looked pale and slightly shaken, though she wasn’t crying. Daphne felt grudgingly impressed by that.

She watched Nina cast one last lingering glance over the party, as if committing it all to memory, then leave in a swish of gray glass beads.

Daphne looked over at her mother, flush with victory. Rebecca had been right after all: the way to break them up had always been through Nina, rather than Jefferson. Rebecca met Daphne’s gaze and cut her eyes meaningfully toward the prince.

But Daphne wasn’t about to rush. The last thing she wanted was for Jefferson to feel pursued.

It wasn’t until the night was winding toward a close—the crowds at the bar thinning, the dance floor slowing down—that she went to find him.

Jefferson was, predictably, in the Reynolds Room: a small chamber down the hall from the ballroom. Its windows were lined with persimmon drapes, a massive couch curled up before them like some great sleeping animal. In the corner stood a built-in bar. It was rarely staffed, though on one occasion Daphne had seen the king himself back there, mixing martinis.

The prince sat on a gleaming barstool, his body slumped forward, his elbows propped on the bar. An expensive bottle of scotch lay before him. There were shelves of crystal tumblers along the wall, but tonight it seemed like the prince had dispensed with the niceties and was drinking straight from the bottle.

Daphne pulled the door shut behind her, and the sounds of the party were rapidly cut off.

Jefferson barely glanced up at her arrival. “Oh, hey.”

“Rough night?” she asked sympathetically, undeterred by his tone. She’d always been able to charm Jefferson out of a maudlin drunk mood. “Looks like you could use a friend.”

“What I could really use is a drinking buddy.”

Daphne pulled herself onto the barstool next to him. “Where’s Samantha? She was a fantastic drinking buddy in Telluride.”

She saw Jefferson’s flicker of recognition. “That’s right. Weren’t you two taking shots?”

It was nice to know that he still couldn’t look away from her, even if he wanted to. “Who, me?” Daphne asked, with false innocence. She kicked off her rhinestone-studded heels and hooked her feet over the lower rung of the barstool. “What are we drinking?”

He slid the scotch toward her, something challenging in his attitude, as if he didn’t really expect her to join in.

“Cheers,” Daphne said lightly. The bottle felt heavy in her hand. She took a long sip, then set it on the bar, slowly and with some style.

Now she had the prince’s attention.

“Everything okay?” Her gauzy champagne-colored dress cascaded around her as she leaned forward. In that moment, Daphne knew, everything about her seemed soft and angelic, from the pale curve of her neck to her rose-colored lips to her fingernails, painted a translucent pink.

Jefferson heaved a sigh. “You’ve probably heard, but Nina broke up with me tonight.”

“No,” Daphne breathed. “I hadn’t heard.”

He shot her a curious glance. “She said some pretty weird things about you, actually. She accused you of sending the paparazzi to her dorm, to break the story about us.”

Daphne let her mouth fall open in a perfect O of shock. “I had no idea that you guys were dating. Let alone what dorm she lives in,” she said, with a confused laugh. “Besides, I would never do something like that. You know how much I hate the press.”

“That’s what I told her. But … where would Nina get an idea like that?”