My head is swimming with Mila all day long as we do press interview after press interview. It’s exhausting, nonstop, and a real pain in my ass, but it’s important and I can’t turn back.

I think we’re starting to have an effect. My PR team is in contact with a polling company that operates out of Switzerland, and they say that there’s a slight uptick in the royal family favorability based on their polling data plus internet data mining. If that’s true, I think it must be because of all the time we’re spending pushing the royal family’s good qualities and combating all the bullshit lies that Perko has out there.

I’m exhausted at the end of a long day. Mila is still stuck debriefing with the PR team, probably dissecting every single thing she said, plus trying to teach her a little more Bellestanian. I have to admit, she’s taking to the language surprisingly well. I thought it’d take her much longer to pick it up, but she’s starting to be able to string really simple sentences together just from basic tutoring at night.

I’m alone in our room, reading a newspaper, though really I’m holding the newspaper and staring at the print while I slowly drink a whisky. I could go online and kill time that way, maybe check in on how my fucking company is doing, but I just can’t bring myself to try. It’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m going to wait until Mila gets back before going to bed.

As I sip my whisky, there’s a soft knock at the door. I know that’s not Mila, since she’d just come in right in, and I doubt it’s a guard since it’s so soft. Curious, I stand up, glass in hand.

“Come in,” I call out.

The door opens and shuts, and my mother steps into sight. She smiles at me. “Hello, honey,” she says.

“Mom,” I say, surprised. Last I heard, she was back at the castle bunker, doing whatever the head of our spy agency does. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my son, of course.” She walks over to me and I kiss her cheek. I notice that she’s holding a thick file folder in her hand, and she’s wearing her black dress uniform. She looks like she’s here in some sort of official capacity, though I have no clue for what.

“Well, let’s sit,” I say, gesturing over toward the little side table. ‘Do you want a drink?”

“Please,” she says. “Whatever you’re having.”

I pour her a glass and top mine off before sitting down across from her. It’s strange to be in a hotel room with my mom, since I’ve barely ever seen her outside of the castle. At least it’s a nice hotel room.

“Cheers,” I say, and we clink classes. We drink before she puts her glass down and puts the file folder on the table between us.

“Okay,” I say. “You have my curiosity.”

“Hard not to be curious about a folder like this,” she says, smiling slightly. “All I had to do was put it down in front of you to get you talking about it.”

I grin at her. Mom is the master of the spies for a reason. “I assume that’s why you’re really here.”

“Of course.” She frowns at me suddenly. “Bran, we have to talk about your fiancée.” She stresses the last word.

“What happened?”

She spreads open the file folder and begins to lay out some documents. There are receipts for trips I don’t recognize, receipts for dinners I never went on, and a bunch of photographs of Mila and I that I’ve never seen before.

“There have been… questions,” she says to me.

“Questions?” I raise an eyebrow.

“The press isn’t as stupid as you think they are,” she says, chiding me. “Your little paper trail didn’t hold up to scrutiny, as it turns out.”

I don’t know if I should be insulted. “I spent two days faking all that.”

“You should have spent a week.” She sighs and gestures at all the papers. “This is your relationship with Mila. I’ve taken the story you’ve told the press and fleshed it out. My team planted fake evidence all over the internet, including these doctored photographs.”

I pick up one of the pictures. In it, I’m wearing sunglasses and a bathing suit, and Mila is wearing a bikini. We’re embracing somewhere on a beach. I have no clue who took the picture, but I guess that’s a worthless question to ask, considering it’s completely fake.

“Creepy,” I say.

“Lucky,” Mom corrects. “You’re lucky you have me and my team. If it weren’t for us, the press would have seen through your ruse a few days ago.”

“Did you have to bribe someone?” I ask her.

“Threaten, actually,” she says casually. “But don’t worry about that. Memorize this story. Make sure Mila learns it. And don’t fuck up again.”

I feel like a little kid again getting scolded by his mother. But in this case, my mother is the Queen of our country and the head of our spy agency. She’s one scary lady, and when she tells me something, I typically listen.

“What about Dad?” I ask her. “Is he still in the dark?”

“He is,” she confirms. “I think your judgment was right. The King has enough on his mind right now. He doesn’t need another secret to carry around.” She pauses a moment and glares at me. “Especially a very, very stupid secret.”

I grin at her. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m doing it for my country. If it were up to me, I’d let you get caught.”

“Harsh,” I say.

“Yes, well. You could use a little reality check sometimes, Bran. You’re not immune to the world’s harshness.”

“I was almost killed recently, if you remember,” I say.

She grins at me and finishes her drink. “Please, honey. Don’t exaggerate. Surviving an assassination is a rite of passage for royalty. You got off easy.”

I sigh and smile at her, drinking my whisky. “Are you in town for long?”

She shakes her head. “Just long enough to see you. But there’s one more thing.”

“Yes, mother?”

She leans back in her chair and watches me for a second before speaking. “Branimir, you really do need a wife,” she says.

“I thought we were done with this.”

“We’re far from done,” she says. “I don’t know how you feel about Mila, but I’ve come to a conclusion about her.”

“And what’s that?” My heart is beating fast in my chest and I realize that I’m nervous to hear her opinion. If she says that I should end things with Mila and find someone more suitable, I don’t know what I’ll do. My mother’s opinion is important, especially since I’m a royal and family controls a lot of what we do. More than that, she’s a good judge of character.

If she says Mila is no good, I might have to listen, even if that rips me apart.

“I want you to be happy,” she begins. “There are plenty of suitable matches out there. Hell, I have a list, if you’re ever interested.”

I can feel myself sweating a bit. “I’m not interested.”

“I thought not.” She purses her lips. “Mila is from a poor family. She’s a foreigner. She’s an American. She doesn’t speak our language. She knows nothing of our customs. You barely even know her.”

I feel like my world is crumbling. “Okay,” I say. “I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” She sighs. “Mila is too good for you, idiot boy. All of that is true, but she also came here and helped you when she didn’t need to. She’s smart, beautiful, and the country loves her despite all of those failings. Bran, if you have any feelings for her at all, make this fake engagement a real marriage. And do it soon.”

I stare at her, surprised. “You approve of her?”

Mom stands up and laughs. “Approve? Of course I do. I just hope she’ll have you.”

I stand up, relief flooding through me. I don’t know if my mother knows how much I value her opinion, but this just confirms everything I already suspected. Mila is incredible, and I’m lucky to have her. And I’d be stupid to let her get away.

“Thanks,” I say softly, kissing Mom on the cheek.

“I’m going back to the capital now,” she says. “Please be good. And send Mila my love.”

“I will.”

Mom gives me a look and heads to the door. She pauses before she exits and looks at me. “One last thing.”

“Yes?” I ask her.

“Don’t fuck this up.” She smiles at me, winks, and then she’s gone.

I watch the door for a moment and feel relief flood through me. I head back over to the table and sit down in front of the files. I slowly start to page through them, trying to piece together the story of my fake life with Mila while thinking about the real life I actually want to build.