So, I have not exactly taken Bram’s advice. Instead, I have slept with Arthur every night for the last four glorious weeks. We’ve shagged so much, I can’t even think straight. I find myself both completely exhausted and deliriously happy, probably in much the same way as a new cult member during the indoctrination phase.

I honestly don’t know how he has so much energy. I’ve had to replace my morning run with night sex, and occasional morning sex, oh, and yesterday, we did it in the middle of the day in his office. Mmm. That added thrill of getting caught seems to do something unexpected for me. Anyway, Arthur still gets up for his morning workout with Ollie, manages all of his obligations throughout the day and evening, then comes knocking on my door all freshly showered and delicious for round after round of orgasmic fun.

Almost better than the sex are the little romantic moments we’ve shared. We’ve managed to sneak away to the rooftop terrace twice now, and both times, it was wildly romantic. Arthur brought up a bottle of wine and some cheese, crackers and grapes, and we had a little picnic while the sun went down. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do with a man—the right man, that is—and it’s as perfect as I imagined it would be. The rest of the world dissolves, and it’s just the two of us alone. No phones, no laptops, no money problems, no referendums, just us.

This may all sound like a dream come true, but it’s clearly very wrong. And it wouldn’t take a Lars to figure out that this is going to end badly for me, both emotionally, when my heart is smashed to smithereens, and career-wise, if anyone finds out.

The one other negative, and it’s a biggie, is that now the King is back, I haven’t had access to any meetings. Everything is done behind closed doors, and I find myself wandering the palace grounds half the day taking photographs of flowers and interesting architectural elements of the buildings for my photography site. Even though my Royal Watchdog site is getting a decent number of hits every day, I’m spinning my wheels instead of moving forward.

I should just go home. That would be the smart thing to do. But I’d hate to kick Nikki out when she’s expecting to have two full months to herself. Also, she hasn’t fixed the wallpaper yet, and I really should give her a chance to do that. It has nothing to do with the fact that this entire fabulously exhilarating secret affair will end the moment I walk out the door. Nothing at all.

I’ve been sitting at my desk all morning making lists of the pros and cons of the monarchy. But what it really reads like is a list of all the things I was wrong about over the past two years since I started the Royal Watchdog, because most of what I thought I knew was actually a result of misinformation and assumptions made by other royal-haters like me. Turns out, I don’t hate them. They neither loaf around during the day, nor drink and party all night. They’re a hard-working bunch, seven days per week.

Who knew?

Their real fault is in neglecting to communicate this with the public, but they are attempting to fix this, and even if it is the eleventh hour, at least they’re trying. Now that I’ve gotten to know them (especially Arthur, obviously), I can see that more than anything, they’re so private because they’ve been through a horrible tragedy, and not because they all truly believe themselves to be unaccountable to the public.

I’ve had ample time with the recipients of the many charities they support, and not one person had anything negative to say about anyone in the family. In fact, they all said that without the family’s fundraising and awareness campaigns, most of these charities would have folded long ago. Now, of course, I don’t expect them to be unbiased (or even truthful) when they’re the recipients of big wads of cash, but still, they wouldn’t need to gush about the members of the family, either.

Then, there’s Troy. Dexter would be lost without him. And where would Troy end up if not for Arthur? Back at some dingy warehouse, getting yelled at? Not if I have anything to say about it.

But now what? I can’t very well go public and tell the world I was wrong.

Can I?

* * *

Text from Lars: Would you be able to arrange for Tabitha’s class to be given a tour of the palace? They’re learning about our system of government, and it would be a huge deal for her if you could make that happen.

Voicemail message from Mum: Tessa, is that you? (Long pause.) Oh, I’ve got your machine again, haven’t I? Grace, next door, said that you posted something about getting a good deal on a gown for the ball, and since her daughter is getting married this fall, she was wondering if you could introduce her to the designer for a mother-of-the-bride dress? Call me back as soon as you get this, please.

Voicemail message from Charles Porter, building manager: Hello, Tessa. The work has been completed on the shrubs out front. I’m sliding the bill under your door, even though I know you’re still living at the palace. The board does not consider that an excuse for non-payment. You have thirty days before interest starts to accrue. I also wanted to mention that your lease is coming up for renewal at the end of May, and I would like to discuss it with you.

Voicemail from Jack Janssen, Prime Minister: Tessa, it’s me, Jack. Just checking in with you to see if you’ve given any thought to my offer. Call me back. I’d love to have you aboard.

Message from KingSlayer99: You haven’t been online for days. What’s going on? I expected that you’d be leading the charge. Avonia needs you, Tessa. Where are you?

* * *

It’s late at night, and Arthur and I are wrapped up in each other’s arms. Despite basking in the rush of endorphins at the moment, there is a niggling feeling of unrest that is threatening to spoil my good mood. The Prime Minister’s message has everything to do with it. I still haven’t told Arthur that, in a vague sort of way, he’s offered me a job.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve been this conflicted over anything. The very reason I’m here is to advance my career, which aligning myself with the Prime Minister would ultimately do—maybe. But when I think about Arthur, I just can’t bring myself to do it. Also, I really haven’t uncovered anything newsworthy to give Jack Janssen anyway. I called him back earlier and left a message to that effect, and tried to sound both non-committal and definitely interested at the same time, which resulted in my tone of voice rising and falling at the strangest places and ended with me saying I was coming down with a sore throat.

Arthur sighs happily and laces his fingers through mine. I turn to face him and just stare for a long moment, taking in his perfection in this moment of contentment. God, I like him so, so much. I should tell him about the Prime Minister. But how can I trust him? I mean, really trust him? He was very plain about trying to seduce me to get me to vouch for his family, and I’ve bloody well let him do it. The smart thing to do is to keep the Prime Minister’s offer a secret. That way, when this fantasy with Prince Arthur ends, I’ll at least have a soft place to land as far as my work goes.

Or not.

It’s all a big gamble. The truth is, I’m in over my head. I do not belong here in the palace, and I certainly don’t belong in the middle of a feud between our nation’s leaders.

“What’s wrong, Ms. Sharpe?”

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” I smile sweetly at him.

“Because you’re making that little clicking sound with your tongue that you do when you’re deep in thought.”

“I don’t click my tongue.”

“Of course you do.” He kisses me on the cheek. “Don’t worry, it’s endearing.”

“I think I should go home,” I blurt out.

“Do you mean back to your room?”

“No, back to my flat. Back to my real life.”

He lifts himself onto his side and stares down at me, his face lit by the moon outside the window. “Why on Earth would you do something like that?”

“Because, I’m supposed to be here in a professional capacity, and now that your father is back, I’m not accomplishing anything in that regard. Besides, sleeping with you isn’t exactly smart. If word got out, it would crush any credibility that I have.” I sigh. Also, I feel very guilty every time I see you, knowing I’m entertaining a job offer from your worst enemy.

“You agreed to give me two months. Don’t go back on your word.”

“I’m not. I mean, I don’t want to, but things have changed since I agreed to stay.”

He touches my bottom lip with his thumb. “Yes, they certainly have—in ways I don’t think either of us could have anticipated.”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know what we’re doing here, and I honestly don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t think. For once in your life, just let yourself feel, and I’ll do the same.” He nuzzles my neck, then plants soft kisses from my earlobe down to my collarbone. “Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

“Then stay. I know we shouldn’t be doing this, but there are few things in my life that have felt this right before. When we’re together…” He stops himself from finishing the sentence, and I am dying inside to know what the last few words would have been. “It matters to me that you’re here, Tessa. I need you to know who I am. Even if we lose, I could almost live with it if I felt like you understood.”

I blink back tears and whisper, “I see you, Arthur.”

“You may be the only person who ever has. Give me another two weeks, Tessa, before you go back to your life.”

Back to my life? Huh. Well, that tells me that I’m making the right choice to keep the Prime Minister’s number in my contact list…