I leave her dormitory feeling utterly bereft. I offered her everything, laid my heart out on the line for her, and she threw it away.

She’s still frightened, I remind myself. She doesn’t trust you. And maybe, just maybe, if circumstances were different, I would take my time wooing her again, peeling back the layers, showing her in small ways day by day that I’m the man she needs me to be. That I can be there for our child.

Our child. I still can’t believe it. I find myself reaching out for the wall of the building, suddenly unable to support myself. I’m going to have a son or daughter. Just a couple of days ago, that wasn’t anything more than a distant possibility. How quickly things change.

I lean my head back against the wall, and I realize I’m laughing. Me, a father. It’s too amazing to even fathom. My body can’t seem to contain the news. My knees feel weak, my head light. The laughter continues to bubble out of me—so loud that passersby on the sidewalk start to give me funny looks.

But I don’t care. Let them think I’ve gone mad. Let them think I’m having a breakdown in the middle of the street. I want to shout it from the top of my lungs, let the whole world know, but I manage to restrain myself.

Justine is carrying my baby, and even if she never lets me back into her heart again, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that the child never wants for anything.

And if Justine continues to refuse your help? What then? That thought sobers me a little. If she refuses my help, then I’ll just take matters into my own hands. If she refuses to protect our child, then I’ll do it myself—even if that means taking the child back to Montovia with me. I understand there are deeper issues at play here, things she doesn’t want to share with me, but everything has changed. I’ll risk Justine’s wrath, even her hatred and contempt, if it means protecting the life we’ve created together.

With a sigh, I rub the side of my face. I want to help with Justine’s blessing—not against her will. I want to marry her again, to raise this child together, and to become a family. I don’t want to make decisions for her. But it’s hard to find an alternative when she’s being so stubborn.

Then I just have to convince her this is the right thing. That I’m serious about my intentions. If simply telling her that, laying it all out on the line, didn’t do the trick, then I need to figure out another way to convince her. Make some sort of grand gesture, if need be.

But what? What can I do to reestablish the connection we lost?

I begin to wander down the street. The rush of joy that filled me at the thought of our child has faded somewhat, and I’m left with all of my worries and frustrations. I already miss having her in my arms again. When I raise my hand to my face, I imagine I can still smell her on my fingers, but the scent is faint. The absence of her is almost painful.

I pass a local coffee shop, and I stare absently at the posters in the window as I walk by. There are fliers for all sorts of local events—open mic nights, a theater festival, charity runs, and an international dance recital by local students. I find myself staring at that final poster, and then it hits me—I know exactly how I might win back Justine.

With a grin, I whip out my mobile. I have work to do.

I spend all night and most of the next day preparing everything. I take a room in a local hotel for the night, but I don’t get very much sleep. Too much has happened in the last day, and I’m too anxious thinking through every aspect of my plan. After a night of tossing and turning, though, I’m still full of energy. My adrenaline won’t let me down now.

It costs me a small fortune, arranging everything so quickly. But I’ll pay whatever it costs. Do whatever it takes. Finally, when I’m certain everything is ready, I return to Justine’s dormitory.

She doesn’t answer when I knock. But I don’t let that dampen my spirits. I don’t know her schedule, and I don’t mind waiting for her, no matter how long it takes. I lean against her door, settling in.

As the minutes tick by, though, moving slowly into hours, I begin to worry. I fully expected her to have class or errands, but the longer I wait, the more I begin to wonder if she’s coming back at all. What if I’m too late? What if she ran off after our conversation last night and has no intention of returning?

I glance around. Plenty of people have passed by since I’ve been waiting here. Maybe one of her neighbors saw her leave or can tell me where she might be. I’ll knock on every door if I have to.

Right when I march over to the next door, though, I hear footsteps on the stairs. I spin around. Justine is coming up, and when her eyes land on me, she freezes.

“William—”

“One more chance, Justine. That’s all I ask of you.”

She drops her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t have time for these games—”

“It’s not a game, I promise.” I stride over to her. “I have something special planned for us. Will you please come with me?” I grin and make a grand, sweeping bow. “It would mean the world to me, Princess. Please, let me be your Prince Charming again, if only for a night.”

When I look up, she appears to be fighting back a smile. But the wariness is still in her eyes.

“Just one night,” I tell her. “And don’t worry—you don’t have to sleep with me at the end of it. Not unless you want to, of course.”

This time she has an even harder time holding back her smile. “You never give up, do you?”

“Never. At least not where you are concerned.” I straighten fully. “What do you say, Justine?”

The uncertainty is back. She shifts her bag on her shoulder. “Fine. One night. But will you let me drop my things off first?”

A few minutes later, I’m leading her out onto the street. I can tell by the way she keeps glancing at me that she doesn’t know if she’s made the right decision by coming with me, but I intend to change her mind by the end of the night. With my arm gently looped through hers, I take her down the sidewalk. Our destination is only a few blocks away, and we arrive there in silence. She can probably feel my nerves—I can certainly sense hers.

I finally turn her toward a large hotel. On the bottom step, she stops. “If you’re just taking me to a hotel room—”

“I’m not, I promise.” I squeeze her arm. “Please trust me, Justine.”

She only hesitates for a moment before moving again. I lead her into the large, high-ceilinged lobby, then across the marble floor to a door on the far side.

Into a large, ornately decorated ballroom.

It took me hours to find a ballroom I could rent on such short notice. And several more hours—and lots and lots of money—to find last-minute floral decorations in the appropriate colors. The entire room is decorated in ivory and violet—the same colors of the decorations at our wedding. And there’s a string quartet waiting in the corner. The moment they see us, right on cue, they begin playing a waltz.

I turn to Justine, whose eyes are wide as she stares at the room.

“I thought it was time for a do-over,” I tell her. “So let’s start over from the beginning.” I extend my hand to her, smiling. “May I have this dance, Justine?”