They’d been texting all week. At first they were just coordinating logistics for their journalism project, but the conversation had quickly spun out from there. Now they checked in daily, even if it was nothing but a distracting emoji sent during class.

Texting was the easy part. When they were texting, Nina felt certain that she and Ethan weren’t doing anything wrong; they were just old friends who’d happened to reconnect at college. When they were texting, she could control her responses down to the last comma.

It was when she saw Ethan in person—the day they’d grabbed lunch after class, or the afternoon they’d studied together at the library, passing a bag of Swedish Fish back and forth as Ethan hummed along to some song on his headphones—that everything felt muddled.

Nina still hadn’t told Sam that she’d started hanging out with Ethan. She’d meant to…but when she’d gone to the palace yesterday, Sam had announced that she and Marshall Davis were in a fake relationship, which was such startling and confusing news that Nina couldn’t think about anything else.

“I don’t like this,” she’d warned, when Sam explained her plan. “Making Teddy jealous is a terrible reason to go out with someone. And has Marshall considered what the tabloids will say about him, once you announce your so-called relationship?”

Nina’s skin prickled at the thought of all the vile things people had written about her. Sure, Marshall was wealthy and noble, so he wouldn’t get the “tacky commoner” or “she’s a nobody from nowhere” comments that had chased Nina. But he would still be a person of color publicly dating a member of the royal family.

Sam’s expression had softened at Nina’s words. “We talked about that, actually. Marshall told me he’s okay with it.”

“Then he doesn’t realize how ugly it’s going to get,” Nina had snapped.

It wasn’t just about Marshall, although Nina did think he’d signed on for more than he’d bargained for. Nina was also worried about her friend.

Sam was incapable of doing anything halfway. She threw her whole heart into every decision she made, and it usually ended up hurting her. Pretending to date Marshall could only cause her pain.

Nina’s thoughts were interrupted as a group of rowdy, jostling boys spilled out the doors of Rutledge House. Ignoring their laughter, she slid her phone back into her purse, only to pause at the sound of her name.

“Nina—hey!” Ethan detached himself from the group and crossed the street to meet her. He took in her outfit and smiled. “I should have known you’d be at Gatsby Night. You can’t resist the chance to live out a novel.”

Nina shook her head, causing her feathered headpiece to slip lower on her brow. “Actually, I don’t like The Great Gatsby all that much.”

“Really?”

“Jay plans his entire life around Daisy, and she’s not even that great!” Nina exclaimed. “What kind of relationship is that? In real life, no one would make the person they loved social climb to prove their worth.”

A shadow darkened Ethan’s eyes, but he just glanced down the road. The streetlamps cast pools of lemony light on the pavement. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“Actually, I was just heading home—”

“Let me walk you.”

Before she could say anything, Ethan was jogging back over to the group of guys. “I need to walk my friend home,” she heard him say, and for some reason the term startled her. But why should it? She and Ethan were friends. What else could they be?

They started back toward the freshman dorms in a companionable silence. The familiar spires and faux-Gothic towers of campus always looked slightly different at night. Nina would catch herself noticing details she’d never seen before—a weeping stone angel, a wisp-thin row of trees—and wondering if they’d always been there, or had only sprung to life now that the sun had set. She hugged her arms around her chest, surprisingly glad that Ethan had come with her.

He glanced over, catching the motion, and picked up his pace. “Are you cold?”

“Yeah,” Nina said, though she felt something else, too: a subdued, half-eager feeling that she didn’t dare examine closely.

Ethan’s phone buzzed, breaking the silence. When he glanced at the screen, a funny expression—excited and uncertain and wary all at the same time—flickered over his features. He declined the call, then typed out a quick text, holding the phone so Nina couldn’t see it.

“You can take that if you want,” she felt the need to say, but Ethan shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

Something about his tone made Nina wonder if the call had been from a girl—if Ethan had planned to see someone else tonight, and instead was here with her. It was a strange, but not unpleasant, thought.

They reached the entrance to Nina’s dorm. This was the very spot where Jeff had kissed her, the night they were spotted and the photo ended up in the tabloids.

Pushing those memories aside, Nina fumbled in her purse, just as Ethan’s stomach emitted a loud growl.

“You hungry?” she asked, laughing.

He gave an unselfconscious shrug. “I could eat.”

“Thanks for walking me home.” She pushed open the door to her entryway, and to her surprise, Ethan followed her inside, heading up the stairs in her wake.

“What kind of pizza do you like?” he asked, tapping at his phone. His eyes sparkled with mischief, in a way that almost reminded Nina of Sam.

“It’s okay, I don’t want any,” she said unconvincingly.

“Pizza isn’t a want; it’s a need.” Ethan paused, his gaze searching hers. “Unless you want me to go.”

Well…friends were allowed to late-night eat together, weren’t they?

“Pizza sounds delicious,” she amended. “Mushroom, please.”

He let out an indignant breath. “It’s a pizza, not a salad. I’ll get pepperoni.”

“If you weren’t going to listen, why did you bother asking?”

“Because I assumed you had better taste than to want vegetables. Fine,” he compromised, “we’ll do half and half.”

Nina unlocked her door. Ethan immediately went to sit in her desk chair, tipping it back onto its hind legs. He glanced around her room, his eyes resting on each detail in turn—the collage of photos above the bed, the lip balms and pens scattered over her desk—as if he was trying to figure her out. Nina suddenly longed to know what conclusions he’d drawn.

“It’s funny,” Ethan mused. “Of all the people we knew, you were the last one I expected to come to school here.”

Nina climbed onto her bed, pulling a blanket over her lap. “Really?”

“I guess I always thought you’d go to school far away. Out of the country, even.” Ethan sighed. “Sometimes I wish I had.”

“It’s not too late. You can do a semester abroad somewhere,” she pointed out.

“But in the meantime, I’m still here, still…” He gave a shrug, as if to say, Still tied up in the lives of the royal family.

“Where would you go? London?”

“Why do you assume that? Because I wouldn’t need a foreign language?” At Nina’s guilty look, Ethan chuckled. “I’ll have you know, I do speak Spanish.”

“So, Salamanca?”

Ethan’s eyes slanted away, as if he wasn’t quite certain he wanted to share this. “Actually,” he mumbled, “if I studied abroad, I always secretly wanted it to be in Venice.”

“Venice?” Nina blinked, startled. “That’s where I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Because it’s the city of romance?”

“You’re thinking of Paris.” She leaned onto one hand, tracing the waffle pattern of her blanket. “I’ve always been fascinated by Venice. The whole city is sinking, settling down into the water one centimeter at a time. There’s nothing anyone can do to stop it, so they just keep going about their business as normal. As a tourist you feel lost in it all, but it doesn’t really matter because every road in the city leads back to the piazza. And eventually you’ll find your way back there, to sit at a café and watch the sun set over the water…”

“I didn’t realize you’ve been to Venice,” Ethan said slowly, and Nina felt her face grow hot.

“I haven’t. I’ve just read about it.”

A knock sounded on the door: their pizza delivery. Nina answered it, then turned back to Ethan, the box in one hand. “You might as well sit over here,” she surprised herself by offering.

“Sure.” Ethan flopped easily onto the bed, then shifted so that he sat facing her, the pizza box balanced picnic-style between them. Nina almost groaned aloud as she bit into her slice.

“I told you that you wanted pizza.” Ethan sounded inordinately pleased with himself. He’d already inhaled his first slice and was grabbing a second.

Nina tried, and failed, to conceal her amusement. “I hate to contribute to your oversized sense of self-importance, but yes, you were right.”

She hadn’t expected it to feel so natural, sitting here with Ethan, on her bed.