“This is amazing and I have to say that I am quite blown away by all you have done for me tonight. I can’t imagine what it would be to live like this all the time—I really can’t,” I blurted out the words before I even realized what I was saying, and I quickly put my hand over my mouth.

I was riding alongside Antonio in his personal yacht, wondering what sorts of surprises he had up his sleeve. Part of me had a guilty feeling that I was doing something wrong, going to a romantic dinner with an engaged man, but another part of me was thrilled at the prospect of getting to dine out with a prince.

We arrived at the restaurant, and the waiter took us to our seats immediately. I was amazed at the atmosphere of the place, and kept looking around. There were all kinds of paintings adorning the walls, and ornate windows revealed some of the most beautiful scenery I had ever beheld. It was sunset, and the horizon was illuminated with the red orange color of the fading day.

The rays spilled into the room, but the other patrons were all so absorbed with their own conversations that they didn’t seem to pay any attention. Immediately, I was engrossed in Antonio’s conversation, and felt lost in the evening. The waiter poured glasses of wine as though it was on tap, and the appetizers were fancier than anything I had ever seen.

As the dinner continued, I felt more and more connected with Antonio, and it became harder and harder not to say what I wanted to say. There were so many things on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed my words and let him continue talking.

Antonio described his life to me—from the normal things he would do in his day to the dreams he had had when he was younger. It seemed that he was cutting loose and telling me things that he had never before told anyone else, and I felt my heart begin to pound.

But I couldn’t bring myself to tell him what I wanted to, and the more time passed, the quieter I became. I felt as though I was guarding a secret, and I hoped I was doing the right thing by not telling him. The harder it was for me to think of something to say, the more it seemed Antonio was concerned with me. He watched me every time he spoke, and I could sense he was looking for something.

Finally, it was as though he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

At first, I did my best to brush it off.

“I’m just tired. You know, it’s been a long day with a lot of travel. I’m not used to doing so much in one day, and it’s taken a lot out of me.” I smiled at him as I spoke, but I could see that he didn’t believe a word I said.

“Come on, sweetheart, you know you can tell me anything, and I would prefer it if you did.”

I leaned forward, then, and at last the words started coming out—all my concerns about Sophia, how I felt about the union, and how I thought there was something wrong with the situation.

Antonio sat silently, and I could sense that he was feeling moved by what I had to say. I didn’t want him to think that I was trying to come between him and his fiancée—he was the Prince, the man who was going to be King one day, and I was nothing more than a wedding planner.

If there was anything I was trying to accomplish with telling him the truth, it was that I didn’t want him to get stuck in a marriage that he was later going to regret. Of course, I would have been happy if he were single, and interested in me, but I honestly didn’t think that was going to happen. I wasn’t the kind of girl who went out with a prince.

He sat and listened to everything I had to say, and by the time I was done, I felt that I was making a fool of myself. If there had been a way for me to get off the island and go back to my hotel, I would have done it, but there wasn’t. I was stuck here, and that was that. I had to listen to his response, and I had to hope that he wasn’t angry with me.

Antonio sat in silence for a few moments, and I waited for him to say something. Part of me was dying, trying to guess what was going to come out of his mouth, but another part of me hoped that he would just stay silent, and I could go on with my life without any more thought to this.

“You know, I have a confession to make,” he said, his speech slightly slurred from the wine. “We are going to be married, yes, but it’s not what you think. I need to find a wife by the time I turn thirty—which is only six months away—or I am going to be disinherited.” He spoke with a sadness in his voice, and I could sense there was more resignation to what he was saying than joy.

I listened as he described the situation with his family, and I could only hope that I was the compassionate ear he needed. He continued to talk about what he had hoped to accomplish in life, and how he had made so many mistakes. He talked about how his younger brother was such a success, and how, by his age, his parents had settled down and had their children.

I felt that he had shared with me every little detail in his life, but my mind was spinning. If he was going to go through with this marriage, then I was right—it was a marriage that had nothing to do with love. But, at the same time, he was right. This was a royal affair, and it was bigger than the both of them.

He was going to have to go through with things simply because it was expected of him. There would be no room for discussion, no room for anything but what was supposed to happen. If he wanted to be king, he was going to have to follow the rules.

And if I wanted to go on with my life like I should, I was going to have to follow my own set of rules. He was royalty; I was not. He was going to be king; I was going to go back to my life in New York.

He would forget about me. He would live the life he was meant to live, and I was going to limp along with the life that I had always had. He was going to forget about me, but I would never forget about him.

Not as long as I lived.