I hate these formal affairs. The bright lights, the endless streams of people, the cacophony of laughter and music and clinking glasses… It’s enough to make a man’s head throb. This stiff, formal suit isn’t helping, either. I can hardly move in this thing.

You were looking forward to this night once, I remind myself. This would have been Elle’s debut. That thought makes my chest tighten. It feels like a lifetime ago that she was in my arms, and yet she still manages to creep into my thoughts every day. Into my dreams every night. Sometimes I feel like I’m going mad, like I’m one vision away from true insanity.

It isn’t much longer, I tell myself. Soon my agreement will be over with Karina, and I’ll be free to contact Elle again. And then… Then what? Back when she first left, I’d thought—hoped—she might reach out to me. Tell me she understood why I had to do this. But her silence only confirmed my fear—that she decided to try and move on with her life. If she’s moved on… If she’s made a new home for herself, found a new job, met someone new…

I inwardly curse and drain the rest of the champagne in my hand. Soon after Karina’s first interview hit the press, I saw that Elle had also come forward to the media and told her story. For weeks, I had Matthias bring me every tabloid he could get his hands on—I wanted to know exactly what they were saying about her, exactly what sort of damage they might do. I was ready and willing to buy the magazines’ silence on her behalf, if necessary.

But the stories about her were few and far between. The tabloids cared about little else but the scandalous royal baby—Karina has known exactly what she was doing, every step of the way. A huge part of me was relieved that the press decided to focus on me and Karina—two people who know how to handle and survive public scrutiny—but the other part of me hated to see such an important story disappear so quickly. What happened to Elle shouldn’t—can’t—be brushed under the rug again. Perhaps when this circus with Karina is over, I’ll take up the cause myself.

If this circus is ever over. Right now, it feels like I’m trapped. And there’s no way out. As Karina said on that first night, my denial of the child will only make the story bigger. Make the media frenzy even worse. And I’ve only recently come to realize that this won’t end, even when my agreement with Karina is up. When the baby is born and the truth comes out, I still won’t be entirely free. The press will be desperate to know how I feel about the entire scenario. They’ll be hounding me for months—this is, after all, the greatest scandal to hit the royal world in months, perhaps years.

I glance over at Karina. I think she, too, has started feeling the physical and emotional toll of carrying on with this lie—though given her circumstances, I’m not sure she wouldn’t go back and do the exact same thing again. She’s taken every opportunity to milk this situation for more money, and about a month ago she was finally able to pay off her father’s debts. Everything our story has earned since has gone into a fund for the baby.

She’s exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. More than once I’ve thought of just walking away from all of this, of leaving her to the mess she’s created, but then I look at her and see the stress written on every line of her face. She refuses to contact the child’s true father—refuses even to tell me who it is, since I think she knows I would contact him myself. Even if he’s a horrible bastard, unless he’s a danger to the child, he should know the truth. I understand that my status might put me in a better situation to help her support the child and her family, but what sort of woman carries a man’s baby for all these months without telling him?

A server walks by with a tray of champagne flutes, and I grab another. God, I wish they had something stronger.

As I take a sip, I notice a glimmer of silver across the ballroom, and I nearly choke. Is that…

But no, it can’t be. There’s no chance Elle would be here tonight. We haven’t spoken in months. And she doesn’t even have an invitation—I’m not so cruel that I’d invite her here to watch me and Karina together.

I lift my chin, trying to see over and around the crowd of people, but the figure I saw has disappeared. I must just be hallucinating.

I turn back to Karina, trying to distract myself.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask her. She looks even more uncomfortable than I do, and no wonder—the doctors say she might give birth within the week. I tried to convince her to stay in bed for the night, but she refused. After all, there are no reporters here tonight, which means if she gives birth in the middle of the state dinner, she can go on to sell the exclusive story for a huge sum of money.

“I’m fine,” she says, though she looks like she might topple over any minute.

“Dinner will begin soon,” I tell her. “Why don’t I get you to your seat?”

She nods, and I take her through the crowd over to her table. I feel dozens of sets of eyes on us as we move across the room, and the tightness in my stomach worsens. I just want tonight to be over. Just want to go back to my room and drink myself into oblivion.

When we get to the table, I help Karina into her chair. She grabs my hand as I pull away, grasping my fingers and squeezing them.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and I can tell by her tone how genuine her gratitude is.

“Of course,” I say. I want to help her, I do. But my feelings of sympathy and concern for her situation are knotted up with my own bitter exhaustion. I want to help her—need to help her—but I’ve never felt so desperate and trapped in my entire life. Anytime I allow myself to feel resentment toward her, though, the rush of shame comes quickly after. I made my decision. I agreed to go along with this. Now I need to take responsibility for my own situation, not blame the poor woman who felt she had no other choice.

I drink the rest of my new glass of champagne and let my eyes scan the crowd again. There, by the windows at the far side of the room—another flash of silver. And I’d know that hair anywhere. I’d know—

But what am I doing? I know Elle can’t be here. It’s impossible.

Karina taking her place at her table seems to have signaled to the other guests that it is time to sit for dinner. People have started moving among the tables, bidding farewell to their dates as they find their seats.

“I…I should go sit,” I tell Karina. I lift her hand and place a chaste kiss on the back of her glove. “I’ll see you after dinner.”

She gives a faint smile as I release her fingers and make my way over to my own table by one of the broad windows.

They’ll be serving wine with dinner, I remind myself as I weave through the tables. That will be better than champagne, at least.

There are a handful of other people already seated at my table when I arrive—an ambassador, a couple of minor dignitaries, and one of my distant cousins. It seems that when my mother oversaw the seating arrangements, she made sure there was no one at my table with whom I might make trouble—not that I do much of that these days. I hope they come around with that wine soon—otherwise, I might die of boredom before the second course even begins.

Engraved silver placards mark each seat, and I find the one with my name before taking my chair.

“Good evening,” I tell the others.

They return my greeting, and I begin to look around for a server with alcohol when I hear a small gasp behind me. I glance over my shoulder.

And my heart stops dead in my chest.

“Elle.” It’s hardly a word as it spills out of my mouth. In an instant I’m on my feet, grabbing her hands, staring at her.

I glance at the place beside mine, and sure enough, the silver placard bears Elle’s name. I can’t believe I didn’t even notice.

This can’t be real—I must truly have lost my mind. But the woman in front of me can’t be anyone else—from those wide blue eyes to that gentle mouth to that hair that even now is trying to escape from its pins… she might be wearing a fine silver gown, but I’d know my Elle anywhere.

The gown… I feel my lips curl up as I recognize the dress she’s wearing. It’s the one I tried to get her to wear the night I took her on that date in New York. The one she swore she’d never wear.

I want to pull her into my arms. Kiss her until she can’t speak. Forget the rest of the world and carry her out of this place…

But I can’t. Not with this many people watching. Not unless I want to make everything more complicated for everyone involved.

“Elle,” I say again, more gently this time. I loosen my grip on her fingers. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. You… You look well.”

And she does, for all that she looks just as stunned as I do. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks practically glowing.

But then her lips drop into a frown. “I wasn’t intending to stay for long, I just…” Her eyes lift to mine. “Leo, we need to talk.”

“You’re right,” I say. There’s so much I need to say. So much…

I frown. So much I can’t say.

My head is throbbing again. I promised Karina I’d carry on our charade until the baby was born. I need to be careful here—there are too many people around, too much to overhear.

“We can speak in private after dinner,” I tell her softly. “People will talk if they see us walk out of here together, but we can slip away more easily once the dancing starts.”

She looks almost as if she wants to argue, but then she gives a solemn nod. “Okay.”

She takes her seat, and after pushing in her chair, I take mine next to her. Now that I’ve remembered I can’t speak openly with her here, I don’t know quite how to begin.

She, however, seems to find her voice very quickly.

“How’s Karina?” she asks softly.

I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I wish I could tell her the truth, explain why I’ve had to carry on this farce, but I’m all too aware of the audience around us.

“She’s fine,” I say evenly. “Doing well.”

Elle nods and looks down at the table. “It looks like the baby might come any day now.”

“That…” I trail off, trying to decide how much I can tell her here. But when I take a closer look at her, the knot in my stomach twists.

Does she already know?

And with that question comes a dozen others—if she does know, then what else has she discovered? What does she think of me? Is that why she’s here?

I’m not sure whether to feel hope or dread, but fortunately, I’m forced from making a decision by the arrival of the first course and—thank God—the accompanying wine. By the time the servers are gone again, I’ve recovered.

“How have you been, Elle?” I ask her, keeping my voice low so that we might have a modicum of privacy for our conversation.

“Fine,” she says.

“What have you been doing with yourself?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light. “Did you go back to work?”

She looks sharply at me, then shakes her head.

“I haven’t needed to,” she says. “And I think you know why. I…I decided just to take a little time for myself.”

“Ah, that’s…that’s good.” I take a sip of my wine.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

I raise an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“For taking care of my loans. And my mortgage. I never got the chance to thank you.”

“I would have done more, if you’d have let me.”

Her brow wrinkles, her mouth curling down slightly. “I… You have Karina now. I understand that.”

But does she? I study her, trying to ascertain how much she actually knows or understands. Certainly, she can tell just by looking at me how much I still feel for her. How could she not know, after everything we shared, that there will never be anyone for me but her? That I’m only with Karina at all because it is the thing I thought she, Elle, would have me do?

If she doesn’t already understand all of that, then why is she here? Certainly not just to thank me.

“Why are you here?” I hear myself ask her. “I wasn’t aware you received an invitation.”

“I’m not crashing, if that’s what you think. Your mother sent me one.”

My mother. I should have guessed. Since the moment I told my family that Karina was having my baby, my mother has been suspicious. More than once she’s cornered me and tried to get the truth out of me, but I couldn’t tell her anything. If anyone in my family learned the truth, they’d have just used their connections and money to hush up what they could—and then Karina would still be in trouble.

Did my mother tell her suspicions to Elle? It certainly can’t be a coincidence that Elle is here and sitting next to me.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I say softly.

“Are you?” she asks, still frowning, and I can tell by the way she looks at me that she really doesn’t know.

“Of course I am,” I say. “I should think that would be obvious. Have I really changed so much since the last time we saw each other?” I realize the young diplomat on my other side is listening a little too intently, so I lean slightly closer to Elle before adding, softly, “There’s no one in the world I’d rather be sitting next to, Elle. I’m almost afraid to believe this is real.”

The look she gives me is one of disgust. “I don’t get you, Leo. Before I left, you…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter now.” She grabs her wine glass, then seems to think better of it and puts it down again.

“We’ll talk later,” I tell her quietly, aware we’re drawing the attention of the rest of the table again. “I promise, Elle. We’ll talk about everything. For now, though, let’s enjoy this delicious meal.”

I hate to leave things unsaid, leave this tension in the air between us. But for everyone’s sake, we need to get through this dinner first.

“Try the escargot a la Bourguignonne,” I tell her, pointing at one of the appetizers on her plate. “You’ll love it.”

As she reaches for her fork, I turn to the diplomat on my other side, asking him about his children. I want everyone at this table to forget about anything they heard Elle or me say to each other.

Much of the next two courses pass this way, with me making inane small talk with the other guests at the table and eating when I can. Elle and I don’t speak much, but I’m wholly aware of her presence beside me, of every slight movement she makes. My body aches for her. I want to reach beneath the table and grab her hand, to lace my fingers through hers so she knows she isn’t alone here tonight. But I have the feeling she wouldn’t react well to such a gesture. She chats politely with my cousin, who is seated on the far side of her, but otherwise stays silent.

When we get to the main course, she only picks at her food. When the diplomat beside me begins chatting with the ambassador about some trade agreement, I lean close to her again.

“You should try it with the wine,” I tell her. “It really elevates the flavor.”

One side of her mouth tilts up. “I’m sure it does—I’m just really full.”

“Well, at least try the wine, then,” I say. “It’s one of my favorites. And made in an extremely limited supply, which is why we only serve it on very special occasions.”

She gives a small shake of her head. “Thank you, but I think I’m okay for now.”

I frown. Why is she refusing to even take a sip?

“I thought you liked wine,” I say.

“I do, I just…I’m just not in the mood for it today.”

Why is she behaving so oddly? Even if she’s tense or upset, refusing to take even a sip of wine is strange. But I won’t force her to do it.

The servers are coming to take our plates, clearing the tables again. Dessert will be served later in the evening with the toasts, but for now, it’s time for dancing. The musicians are already shifting from the more serene dining music into a livelier waltz.

I hold my hand out to Elle. “Shall we?”

She blinks. “Shall we what?”

“Dance,” I say. “I know you know how to waltz.”

She just stares at my outstretched fingers. I know this is ill-advised, dancing with my former lover for the very first waltz, but I can’t help myself. If I can’t hold her in my arms the way I truly want to, I’ll take the next best thing.

“Leo, I don’t know…”

“Please,” I tell her. “Just one dance, that’s all I ask.”

She presses her lips together, almost as if she’s trying to hold in her answer.

But finally, thankfully, she nods. “Okay. One dance.”