“Look, it’s her,” someone whispered. Nina glanced up and saw two women staring at their phones, then at Nina, and back again. They began snapping hurried photos of her.

“Jeff could have had any woman in America, and this is who he chose?”

“Is she seriously about to take the bus with us?”

They were no longer even pretending to keep their voices quiet.

Nina brushed past them with her head held high, stepping out onto the curb to hail a taxi. She couldn’t remember ever being so grateful to slide into a backseat. She told the driver her home address and closed her eyes.

Her phone kept buzzing. Nina fished through her purse for it and saw that Samantha was calling, again. She started to accept—but her finger paused over the bright green icon. Did she really want to talk to Sam right now? Part of her longed to, if only to unload some of this onto her best friend. But she knew she would also have to explain why she’d kept a secret this big. She didn’t have the energy for that conversation right now.

“Miss? Are you sure this is the right house?” the taxi driver asked hesitantly. Nina looked up, and cursed aloud when she saw her street.

It was flooded with paparazzi.

Their townhome lacked any sort of gate or fence, so the photographers had flocked all the way onto the front lawn, in a cluster that was at least six people deep. The moment they realized she was pulling up, they swarmed toward the car, their bulbs flashing in a steady eruption of light.

“This is the right house,” Nina said hoarsely. She thrust a wad of cash toward the driver, then threw open the car door and tried to run toward her porch.

The paparazzi shuffled alongside her, thrusting their cameras into her face, bombarding her with questions. Nina, baby, are you in love? Nina, what’s the prince like in bed?

She ducked her head and tried to move faster, but several of them had darted ahead to get in front of her, circling her tighter and tighter, like a noose. A few of them actually grabbed at her with rough hands in an attempt to slow her down.

Nina pushed through to her front door, fumbling with her keys, which she dropped in her confusion. She knelt down to scramble on the front step for them, and just as she picked them up, Julie opened the door and pulled her swiftly inside.

The door slammed shut behind her, and the entire world went from roaring chaos to blissful silence.

“Mom,” Nina said, broken. She started to step forward, but her mom’s expression stopped her.

“Nina. You have a visitor.” She nodded to the man poised on a wingback chair, one leg crossed over the opposite knee. It was the king’s chamberlain, Lord Robert Standish. His graying hair was close-cropped, his mouth drawn into a harsh line.

Isabella sat across from Robert, the two of them staring at each other—two sets of warring brown eyes, one fierce and protective, one cool and disdainful.

“Miss Gonzalez,” Robert began, which was oddly formal; on the rare occasions he’d addressed Nina in the past, it was always by her first name. “Please, have a seat,” he offered, as if this weren’t the Gonzalezes’ house.

Well, technically this house did belong to the Crown. It was a grace-and-favor house: a property owned by the royal family, and leased rent-free to those who worked in their service. Nina and her parents had lived here for twelve years, ever since her mamá took the job as chamberlain.

Nina remained standing. “Can’t you get rid of them?” She jerked her head toward the front door, to indicate the raucous hordes of paparazzi outside.

Robert held out his hands in a helpless gesture. “If you were a minor, you would be protected by the privacy laws of the Press Compliance Commission, but now that you’re eighteen, there’s very little I can do.”

Nina sank onto the deep blue couch across from him, next to Isabella. Her mom took the spot on her other side. It was reassuring, Nina thought, having a parent on either side of her. Defending her flanks from the attack that was surely coming.

“I’m here to discuss your relationship with His Highness Prince Jefferson,” Robert began. “But before we get started, let me say that I am here in an unofficial capacity. The palace can’t officially be seen encouraging this sort of behavior.”

“What sort of behavior? Nina has done nothing wrong!” Isabella challenged him. Julie wordlessly reached for Nina’s hand and squeezed it.

“We can’t condone premarital relations,” Robert said carefully. “Which you should know, Isabella. You’ve been in my position before.”

Nina squirmed. “We haven’t—I mean—” She couldn’t believe she was saying this, but she felt the need to clarify. There had been absolutely zero premarital relations between her and Jeff.

Not that she hadn’t been considering it.

“Miss Gonzalez, that part of your relationship is none of my business,” Robert hurried to say. “I’m simply here to discuss appearances. As long as you and His Highness are together, we’ll need to strictly regulate any trips that you attend with the Washington family, make sure you stay in a separate building. If I had known,” he added forcibly, “I would have housed you in the guest cottage at Telluride, along with Lord Eaton. But you were supposedly there as a guest of Her Highness Princess Samantha.”

It was irritatingly pompous, the way Robert couldn’t talk about anyone without using their full titles.