The morning light peeking through the curtains was bright behind Stella’s eyelids. She fluttered them open, taking in the dark sheets that surrounded her. They were almost as familiar as her own, though it had been several weeks—no, a month?—since she’d last been here. She knew they were clean though, thanks to the maid.

She also knew where the bottle of water was next to the bed and took a grateful swig before reaching for the paracetamol in the drawer on the bedside table. She hadn’t expected to see him last night and had about five drinks more than she should have. She knew he usually only had one or two at a club these days. A puking prince on the front page was so ten years ago.

She knew so much about him, yet he still managed to surprise her. He had pulled his usual disappearing act–no texts and no calls for three days in a row—and that usually meant he would be off the radar for at least a solid month or two. So why had he been out last night? He hadn’t said anything last night when they’d gotten back to his place.

She looked around his bedroom. The tall windows looked out onto the rooftops of the neighborhood. They were at the penthouse, not the manor house with his main studio. She’d still never been there. It didn’t really bother her, not anymore, but she wondered if Marcella had been in there.

Stella’s face broke into a delighted grin at the thought of the tall and busty gallery owner whose obsession with Anton was painfully obvious. The look on her face when Stella had shown up had been priceless. Stella knew that Anton hadn’t been with anyone else since she’d come into his life, but that didn’t stop every unmarried noble under the age of 40 from trying. She smiled smugly to herself, pleased that she’d gotten what they all wanted so badly.

As she stretched out in his bed, a thought suddenly occurred to her. Had she gotten what they all wanted? There was the sex. That had been as satisfying as ever. Her muscles were pleasantly sore from the more acrobatic moments of the evening.

Then why did she feel out of sorts? What was this sudden feeling rolling around in the put of her stomach? Regret?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Anton walking in with a plate of pasties and small cups of espresso. She took a grateful sip and looked him over.

Even with his hair long and shaggy, he was still completely gorgeous. Incredible body. Brooding dark eyes. Strong arms and hands that ended in long and surprisingly delicate fingers. She felt a slow warmth spread through her as she thought about how talented they were with so much more than paint and clay. She couldn’t deny the physical attraction she felt for him. So why the sinking feeling?

“Why were you out last night?” she asked, as he settled in next to her, plate resting on a pillow between them. She knew better than to give or expect sweet nothings whispered in the early morning light. The breakfast in bed was an unusually tender treat.

He shrugged and leaned back against the pillows, a hand behind his head.

“Duncan called me, interrupted my flow. Figured I might as well take a break.”

“He told you the news?” She grabbed a chocolate croissant and nibbled at the edge.

He nodded, biting into an apple pastry, his eyes lingering over her naked form half-visible above the covers. She pulled them up self-consciously to hide her breasts. He never stopped complimenting them, but she hated how small they were.

“Alix sounded really happy.”

“Hmmm,” he murmured noncommittally. He’d finished his pastry and was tracing a light line up and down her arm with a finger. Her breath caught in her throat at his touch.

“Do you want to go out to lunch later?” she ventured, his eagerness giving her hope that he was out of hibernation.

His hand stopped, inches from her neck. He pulled away, shaking his head.

“I need to get back to the studio today,” he said. “I was so close last night. I can see it finished in my mind now.”

With a tightening in her chest, she realized what was wrong. It wasn’t the fact that he was cutting short their morning to go to his studio to work. That was nothing new.

Until that moment, she’d thought she was happy with her arrangement with Anton. She’d gotten her prince, and had kept his attention longer than any girl he’d ever been with. He hadn’t been with anyone else in over two years, despite what the papers tried to sell. He’d seen how well she’d kept everything private, and wasn’t about to give that up. It had been hard for her at first, but it had been worth it to get what she wanted.

But was she getting what she needed? She didn’t have all of him. Not even half, or a third, or a quarter. While Alix has been forming a real life together with Duncan, she had basically gotten two years of booty calls. She’d even said it last night—he could bother her whenever he wanted. But she couldn’t bother him.

“I can’t do this anymore, Anton,” she said suddenly, putting down her half-eaten pastry and looking around for her clothes.

“What? Eat pastry?” he chuckled. “Are you doing that weird caveman diet again?”

She sighed, and rolled her eyes.

“You know what I mean.” She located her dress and pulled it on quickly, not taking the time to look for her underwear. She could see his reaction to that fact growing by the second, so she hurried to explain before he got her going again. With him, all it took was a look. “Alix and Duncan are for real. We’re not. Let’s stop pretending.”

A line appeared between his eyebrows. Stella felt her resolve weaken at seeing him so adorably perplexed.

No, she had to stay strong. She had to do this quickly, and not think about it too much. She’d already spent enough time on him the past few years.

“I thought you were fine with everything,” he said slowly, as if trying to remember the exact words of some official conversation they’d never actually had. “We have fun together, and we keep it private. I have my work. You have your work. This way we can both focus on our careers without it being a whole big public thing.”

Stella bit her lip. Her “career.” As a financial analyst at her father’s bank, it wasn’t exactly hard to move up when daddy was in charge. Sure she’d gotten the degree, and decent grades at that. But she’d never really had to try that hard. Not like Alix. Stella was such a joke compared to her.

“With the wedding, all eyes will be on you—on us,” she said, bending down to put on her shoes. Seeing his eyes follow her ass as she leaned over, she decided to sit back down on the bed instead. She sat on the corner farthest away from where he was laying with his hair all rumpled and his arms crossed over his chest. She ignored the pull in her own chest to curl up against him. “Neither of us wants that kind of attention. This has always been a private thing. Less messy, right? So let’s keep it that way.”

“If that’s what you want,” he said, the line on his brow deepening. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Oh, trust me, everything we’ve done, I wanted to,” she reassured him, a half smile playing on her face as she pulled on her jacket. “In fact, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who said no to that last idea I had.” She stood in the mirror facing his bed and winked at him as she fixed her hair. In the reflection, she saw him tilt his head to one side.

“I don’t know what to say.”

She took a deep breath.

“We’ve said it all before.” Her eyes met his in the mirror. Well, they hadn’t technically ever talked about anything this seriously. But not saying things was sometimes the same as saying them. “Don’t worry about it.”

She returned to the bed and leaned down to kiss him, deeply, one last time. As she pulled away, she gave him a smile to let him know she’d be fine. His brow was still furrowed, but he returned her a small smile with a wave as she walked out, her head high, a confidence in her steps she didn’t completely feel inside.

So what if her fairytale prince hadn’t turned out the way she’d expected? She’d just have to look elsewhere for her happily ever after.