Cherry was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her laptop resting on her knees. There was a white ear bud in her left ear and a pink one in her right, and a smile on her face.

“Ooh, shit. I felt that.” Maggie’s voice came through the pink ear bud. A sickening crunch came through the white one, as Jessica Jones crushed some gang member’s fist with her bare hand. Then Maggie said, “Would you fuck Jessica Jones?”

Cherry thought. “Hypothetically.” Her mild interest in women had never developed into anything more concrete, but Jessica was cute enough.

“What if she, like, accidentally killed you?”

“Ummm…” That was actually a good point. “Okay, maybe not. Imagine the obituary. Mum would die of shame.”

“Exactly. I’d fuck the actress, though.”

Cherry hesitated. Talking about sleeping with a fictional character was one thing. Talking about sleeping with an actual person, even if they’d never meet, felt the tiniest bit more… real.

And for some reason, kind of like a betrayal. Which was weird. Very weird.

“What?” Maggie demanded. “You wouldn’t fuck her?”

“Ah… No, I would.” In theory. But when she tried to imagine it, her mind threw up different images. Memories rather than fantasies. Dark hair that wouldn’t stay in place and rough hands and hard words.

“Oh, God,” Maggie said. “Are you too in love to think about fucking other people?”

“What? No. I mean…” She should probably say yes, right? That’s what she wanted her family to think. But lying to Maggie felt like that moment when a dentist put cotton or whatever in your mouth to stop it from closing, and you couldn’t control your own spit and everything tasted disgusting and you kind of wanted to choke or hit something or down a litre of water all at once.

“You are,” Maggie insisted. She sounded delighted. Cherry’s sister was 23 but she had never been in love and insisted that she never would be. She was probably planning years of sibling torture based around this very moment.

“Oh, shut up. We’re missing the show.”

“I can multitask, sis. And I am finding this conversation far more interesting than Netflix right now.”

“You’re the most annoying person on earth, do you realise that?”

“You literally ran off to a foreign country to marry a prince without warning. You won’t tell me shit about him, and I had to use Biblical quotes about judgement to stop Mum from Googling him, and I’m the most annoying person on earth?”

Cherry winced. “Okay, fair.”

“Right.” Maggie paused. “So he’s had it kind of rough, huh?”

“Wait—did you Google him?”

“Of course I did. And you should thank your lucky stars I got there before our parents, cuz Jesus Christ—“

“What? What did you find?”

There was a slight pause. Then Maggie said, clearly shocked, “You don’t know?”

Cherry stiffened. Her sister meant well, but the incredulity in her tone was threaded with something else—something dangerously close to concern or worry or pity, as if Cherry was in the dark. As if she was a fool. She wanted to say, I know what I’m doing. She wanted to say, You don’t even realise how in control of this situation I really am. But she couldn’t, and not just because she’d signed a non-disclosure agreement.

She couldn’t say either of those things because she wasn’t sure that they were true.

So instead, she tried to sound casual and unconcerned as she said, “Oh, I know about all of that stuff. Just, I heard it from him. I didn’t want to invade his privacy.” She sounded casual, unconcerned, totally confident.

It worked. She felt her sister relax through the phone, through the miles between them. “Fair enough. Honestly, I feel really sorry for him. I mean, that Kathryn bitch…”

Cherry paused Netflix. She remembered the headlines she’d seen, the one and only time she’d Googled Ruben.

Prince’s Perversions Exposed: View Kathryn Frandsen’s Social Media Live Stream!

Pushing the memory away, Cherry shut her laptop with a click.

“I should go. I’m getting a migraine.”

“Oh, God, really? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’ve spent too much time looking at screens today. I’ll probably go to bed early.”

“Okay.” It was a flimsy excuse, but Maggie seemed to believe it. Probably because Cherry didn’t lie. Usually. “Hope you feel better in the morning, sis.”

“I’m sure I will,” Cherry said. “Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.”

Cherry put the phone down and stared at her laptop for a few minutes. It felt like an hour.

But she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t. Of course, she probably should; Maggie’s reaction proved that. Researching Ruben would be the sensible choice, and she could do it while avoiding headlines like the one she’d seen.

But when she thought about his smile and his sweetness and the warmth of his hands against her skin…

Then she sighed and turned away. It was time for bed.

* * *

He crept into her room like it was a habit. Two nights, and they’d fallen into some kind of illicit routine. Cherry lay on her back, staring into the darkness and wondering if she was weak for wanting a man she hardly knew. Maybe.

She wasn’t concerned about the fact that she wanted his face between her thighs, because that was simply to be expected. He was… Ruben.

But she also wanted him to lie here and tell her everything. Anything. All of it. Like they had that kind of relationship—like they ever could, in this sort of situation.

Yeah. She was probably weak.

She’d never had a chance to be weak before. Maybe she should enjoy the freedom of it while it lasted.

His weight made the mattress dip, and she allowed herself to roll towards him—just a little bit. As if she couldn’t help it. But he didn’t touch her. He lay down, close enough for the sensation of almost-feeling to prickle across her skin, like that sense of wary excitement before a summer storm, when the air became hot and electric.

If he was surprised to find the blankets turned down—as if waiting for him to appear and slip inside—he didn’t say anything. He just lay there. He was going to let her speak first. He was going to let her dictate the tone of this midnight meeting.

So, since she was being weak and all, she said, “Tell me about Kathryn.”

He paused. Then she felt movement beside her as he… shrugged? Maybe. That would fit the vague tone of his voice as he said, “We slept together. Repeatedly. It was fun, until it wasn’t.”

“You got bored of her?”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Like a child with a toy. I got bored of an entire woman. That sounds just like me.”

She smiled into the dark. “Sorry. You are a prince.”

“Hardly.”

“Definitely,” she said firmly. “Don’t let anyone convince you that your birthright is in question.”

When he replied, he sounded surprised but pleased. Like an early sunrise, unexpected warmth slowly dawning. “Cherry Pie,” he said. “Have you come over all monarchist?”

“Well, no. But as long as you weirdos aren’t running the country—”

“Charming, I’m sure.”

“—I see no reason for anyone to deny the reality of who you are. Your existence is just as valid as your brother’s and your sister’s.”

For a moment, he was quiet. She started to worry that, in the midst of her unexpected passion on this topic, she’d said the wrong thing. But then his hand came groping towards hers in the dark, bumping against her hip, her shoulder, her forearm. She helped him out and slid her palm into his. He squeezed. He didn’t let go.

“Kathryn and I had a disagreement with regard to the, ah, future of our arrangement. She wanted something more serious. I didn’t. We argued. It wasn’t over—not in my mind, anyway. But clearly it was in hers. She invited me over, initiated our usual… activities. Encouraged me to be particularly vocal throughout, not that I noticed at the time. It was only after, when I came home, that I found out she’d recorded the whole thing. Live. It’s all the rage on social media. There wasn’t much to see in the video, but there was plenty to hear, and she’d added a few helpful comments. Enough to convince the world of my… perversions.”

If that last word sparked an inappropriate flare of curiosity in Cherry’s gut, it was overpowered by the wave of outrage she felt as she processed that information. “What the fuck? That’s horrible. Really fucking horrible. When was this?”

“About eight months ago. Most of the attention died down recently, but…” Ruben laughed. The sound was bitter. “It’ll certainly stay with me for a while.”

“I see. Is that why, when we were caught together…”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I’d gotten over it. Weathered the storm and whatever. But when I saw that fucking camera I felt like I was choking.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.” Cherry bit her lip, her stomach twisting. “Kathryn sounds like a fucking delight.”

Ruben squeezed her hand. “I can feel you fuming over there.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said brightly.

“I have a theory,” he said, his voice mild, “that under the right circumstances, you would be capable of murder. I should add that this aspect of your personality is one I appreciate.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Good to know. I can count on your support at my trial then?”

“Cherry.” She could hear the smile in his voice, saw him in her mind’s eye shaking his head. “Listen. As easy as it would be to let you think that I’m the victim... I’m not. I deserve everything Kathryn did to me.”

She frowned. His words made no sense, but his voice was steady. She sensed his unease in the way his hand curled around hers, the way the mattress shifted as he fidgeted. He was serious. He really believed that he deserved it. As if anyone could ever deserve it.

“Ruben,” she said, voice soft. It was a voice reserved for delicate things, injured and afraid, but she used it with a man big as a mountain, because he needed it.

People are many things at once; that’s the beauty of humanity.

“I’m assuming,” she said carefully, “That by perversions you mean—”

“Kinks,” he interrupted, his voice clipped. “And bisexuality. And… no, I think that’s it.”

Cherry swallowed, her chest tightening as she imagined what that would be like. To have your private self exposed to a nation already slavering to tear you apart. She was starting to think that back in England, when he’d dragged her into his mess, when he’d trapped her and tied her to him… he’d somehow been trying to protect her. Wasn’t that a novel fucking idea?

She licked her lips and tried to make him see. “You can’t possibly think that anyone deserves that kind of treatment.”

“I used her.” He said it plainly, without hesitation. “I used her, and I let her think... God, I don’t know. Kathryn is a difficult woman. I won’t pretend she’s pleasant, but no-one forced me to sleep with her. I did it, knowing I felt nothing for her, because I convinced myself that she and I were the same. And really, I was right; we are the same.” He barked out a laugh. “We’re both pieces of shit.

“When I told her that I didn’t want a relationship, she assumed it was because of her position. She’s new money, her family is messy, and she doesn’t care. That’s one of the reasons I wanted her; I respected her attitude. But she thought I didn’t want something more because I looked down on her or something. What was I supposed to say? No, I just don’t like you? What the hell was I doing, sleeping with a woman I didn’t like?” He sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not here to listen to my twisted ramblings.”

“I’m here to get to know you,” she said softly. “And I don’t know if you have much experience with the whole friendship thing, but it usually involves listening to twisted ramblings.”

He rolled onto his side, the mattress dipping as he faced her. She could feel the ghost of his breath against her cheek as he whispered, “Is that what we’re doing? The friendship thing?”

Her throat felt dry, scratchy, but she forced the words out anyway. “Isn’t that what you want?”

There was a pause. A long, long pause. But finally, he said, “I would be grateful for your friendship.”

She didn’t miss the way that he’d manoeuvred around the question. And she definitely didn’t miss the hope that swelled within her at that realisation.

Fucking ridiculous. He’d just given her a thousand more reasons not to trust him.

Then he lay back and said, “I hope it made her feel better, at least. That would be something.”

Cherry sat up, suddenly infuriated by his attitude. She’d heard the waver in his voice when he’d described the situation, but still he acted as if this Kathryn woman was some delicate fucking flower, innocent of all responsibility.

“Are you telling me that you’d do this to someone?” She snapped. “That you’d expose someone’s intimate moments like that? Spill secrets and… and do your best to humiliate someone who’d trusted you?”

He shot up too, the mattress squeaking under his weight. “Of course not! I would never!” She’d never heard him sound so vehement.

“Right!” She said, exasperated. “Because it would be fucking reprehensible, and you know that. Some people like to say that all’s fair in love in war. Those people cannot be trusted with power. It sounds like you were an absolute arse, and you can feel guilty about that—you should. But what she did to you is a separate issue. You didn’t deserve it. No-one deserves that. Do you understand?”

He reached for her. She felt it, the same way she felt his gaze or his smile. Even before his fingers brushed against her cheek, she knew what he was doing.

“You sound so fierce,” he murmured. “Cherry Pie.”

“You have to stop calling me that.” She’d meant to be firm, but her voice was worryingly soft.

“Why?”

“My dad calls me that.”

“I could say something inappropriate, but I’ll restrain myself.”

She burst out laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Fine. No Cherry Pie. How about… Cherry Blossom?”

She faked a gag as his hand slid from her cheek to the nape of her neck. “No. Another dad name.”

“I don’t think it’s fair of him to monopolise all the cherry-related nicknames. I’m going to file a complaint.”

“He did mention wanting to speak with you…”

Ruben froze. “Fuck. How long do you think I can put that off?”

She laughed again. Her chest felt light all of a sudden, but the weight of his hand against her skin felt heavy. Deliciously heavy.

“I don’t know. I’ll figure something out. He’s really not that scary.”

“So you say. What about Cherry Pop?”

“Taken.”

“Of course it is,” he sighed. His fingers found the knot of her scarf at the base of her neck. “What’s this?”

“Scarf.”

“To sleep in?”

“Yeah. It’s silk, so my hair doesn’t dry out.”

She could hear the smirk in his voice as he said, “So delicate, hm? A born princess.”

She rolled her eyes. Tried not to think about the fact that she was a fake princess. A fake princess-to-be. Whatever.

“Cherry,” he whispered. “I like touching you.” His finger trailed down the back of her neck, along her spine. It dipped under her T-shirt, dragging down the fabric. She arched her back and shivered.

“I know you do.”

“Oh you know, do you?”

“I noticed, yeah.”

He wrapped a hand around her throat and pushed, gentle but insistent, until she lay back against the bed. Cherry tried to ignore the way her nipples tightened and her clit throbbed, brought instantly to life by… What? By the casual way he controlled her? By the restrained strength in his grip? Or by the way he lay down beside her, his chest against her side, his muscled forearm lying between her breasts?

His lips pressed against the hollow just beneath her ear, finding the sweet spot with unnerving precision in the pitch-black. “Do you like it when I touch you, Cherry?”

She swallowed, her throat dry. And even though her mind was scrambling and bright white stars were bursting behind her eyes, she forced herself to speak. “It’s obvious that I do.”

“Is it?” His voice was low and soothing, but with a thread of command that had her pulse quickening. “I don’t think it’s obvious. Not until you tell me. So tell me.” His grip on her throat tightened, his fingers pressing against her pulse.

White fire shot through her veins as she gasped out, “Yes, I like it.”

“Tell me what you like. Tell me exactly what you like.” Always, he wanted more. More of her.

She loved that.

“I don’t know,” she smiled, her voice hoarse. “Show me what you can do, and I’ll tell you what I like.”

His tongue slid out to trace circles against her skin, the place where it grew thin and sensitive at the base of her throat. “Is that a challenge, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “It is.”