Andrew presses a kiss to my cheek. We hastily pull our clothes back on before he pulls me into his arms again.

He holds me for a moment before he whispers into my ear. “When this day is over, Victoria, I promise you nothing short of a full night of celebration.” He kisses my temple before he pulls his head back far enough to look into my eyes. “You have made me the happiest man on earth. And I intend to show my gratitude to you for that in every conceivable manner.”

I can’t help but smile at the thought. It isn’t until he leaves a few moments later that the reality of what’s happening begins to sink in.

I’m not even sure how this happened. I love Andrew—more than I’ve ever loved any man. But I can’t believe I let myself actually accept his proposal—at least, not in the middle of this mess. How the hell am I supposed to receive a king with him? He seems pretty confident that it’s not a big deal, but he’s been doing these things since his birth. The most formal thing I’ve ever been to before today was a movie awards show. And that might be formal for Hollywood, but it’s hardly as formal as doing whatever the hell it is royalty does.

What did I get myself into?

Part of me knows I can’t keep second-guessing my decision to say yes when Andrew asked me to marry him. I did it. I said the word, even though it was my heart talking and definitely not my head. It’s probably not too late to back out, though I know doing it now would break Andrew’s heart. Hell, it would break my heart. I’m not sure I could live without him at this point. And I know I definitely don’t want to.

I’ll figure out a way to get through this, even though it’s scary as fuck. Being out of my comfort zone is supposed to build character, right? Having to stand next to Andrew this afternoon as we receive the archrival of the Montovian royal family should definitely be character building for me.

If I keep my mouth shut, I won’t screw anything up for him. And I can do that. I’ll just stand by Andrew’s side, pretending I’m not horrified at the idea of having to do be a demure prop of a fiancée for the rest of my life—because it really is only temporary.

Yeah. Because at some point, I’ll be a demure prop of a wife…

My heart sinks to my toes. This is not what I wanted from my life—to be a sidekick or whatever. I was going to do things. Real things. Write important stories as I traveled the world to uncover them. Meet important people and tell about their lives. Report on life changing world events as they happened.

The vision for my life was definitely not standing next to a man and smiling at some visiting king who probably thinks my value is somewhere between dirt and a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

I have to get out of this somehow. Remind Andrew that I have bigger fish to fry than King Maximilian. Not that I don’t understand why this is important to him. I get that he wants him to give the rights to the royal scepter thing back to Montovia, and he wants it back without having to give up anything in return. I also understand that Andrew thinks he has the law on his side now, whatever the hell that means. And he thinks he can tie all of this up in a pretty bow, even though Princess Justine is the one who has taken the brunt of the humiliation in this entire scenario—a woman who never had anything to do with any of Andrew’s idiotic schemes.

She shouldn’t have had to suffer for it. Part of me is thankful I wasn’t born a royal—that I had no one telling me who I should marry for the betterment of my country. But then again, maybe it takes the pressure off, too. And it isn’t as though any of the royal families suffer—they want for nothing. Maybe being betrothed is a small price to pay for living that lifestyle.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door. I’m a little surprised Andrew feels like he needs to knock at all, especially now. I walk over to open the door for him to tell him that, but he isn’t standing on the other side.

My lady’s maid smiles and edges around me into the room with several dresses in her arms. “His Highness asked that I find a few things from Princess Sophia’s wardrobe that would be appropriate for your reception this afternoon.” She motions with her head to the garments in her hand. “If you don’t care for any of these, Her Highness has many more to choose from.”

“I…I’m sure these are fine.” I follow the woman into my bedroom and watch as she hangs the dresses on a rack near the full-length mirror on the wall.

Her voice sounds purposefully cheerful—almost phony. She flashes me a wide smile. “I’ll be happy to help you dress.” She clears her throat. “Ms. Simpson.”

“Victoria. Please, there’s no need for formality—”

“On the contrary.” Her grin seems almost plastered on her face. “There was much discussion this afternoon as to what how we should refer to you—”

“And by we, you mean—”

“The servants, of course, Ms. Simpson.” She pauses, but the smile never leaves her face. “Several members of the staff believed that now that you and His Highness are officially engaged—”

“News travels quickly around here, doesn’t it?” I lift a brow. “I wasn’t aware there had been a formal announcement. He only even asked me a little while ago.”

She bobs her head a few times, motioning to the dresses again. “We should get you dressed. I think the black gown would be most appropriate, but the navy or gray would also look splendid on you.”

My brow furrows. “The black is fine. And I can get myself dressed.” My lips flatten to a line for a moment as I stare at her, waiting for her to finish her earlier comments. I finally decide to just ask. “How did you… I mean, how did you find out so quickly? Did Andrew—?”

Her smile falls a bit at my question. “No, no, of course not. Forgive me for saying anything, Ms. Simpson. I spoke out of turn.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You didn’t. And I didn’t mean to offend you. I mean, I’m not royal. I don’t have a title or anything—”

“Yes, and that is what the staff have been discussing today. What we should call you now that you are engaged to His Highness.” She smiles again. “The rumors here never end—I’m sure you’ll learn that quickly enough. Though, the staff do try to maintain as much discretion as possible. We would never speak outside the palace, of course. But inside…”

“I get it. I was a celebrity reporter for too long not to get it.” I nod at her, trying to return her smile. “I understand wanting to talk about celebrities as though it’s a sport.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it.” Her shoulders drop as she realizes I’m not angry with her. “Most of us have been employed here our entire adult lives. Some even had parents and grandparents who worked for the family…” Her smile falls a bit. “We devote our lives. And, well, the royal family is our family. I hope…I hope you understand. I…I know you do, but I hope you won’t…” Her voice trails off.

“I won’t. Tell them—if that’s what you’re asking.” I glance over at the dress and back at the woman. “Could…could you do me a favor?”

“Of course, Ms. Simpson.” Her smile widens again. “Victoria. Whatever you need.”

I nod. “Well, I have no idea what a reception for a king entails. If you could…I don’t know. If you could tell me what I need to do, maybe? I mean, I don’t know how to bow or anything—”

“Oh.” Her brow creases and the smile falls from her lips. “Oh. I…I wish I could tell you. I do. But…” She glances at the dresses and back at me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Simpson. Victoria. I’ve never been to a reception, either. I…I only received the promotion to lady’s maid when you arrived a few weeks ago. Before that, I worked in the kitchens and sometimes cleaning in the guest wing. But I…” She glances around, almost in a panic. “I could ask.” She nods. “I could ask Stanley—he’s one of the footmen. He would know. He…he likes me, I think and I—”

I walk over to her, placing a hand on her arm. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. You don’t have to ask anyone—I just thought maybe you’d know the protocol better than me.”

She smiles at me and gives me a little curtsy. “Should you change your mind, I’m happy to ask. I’m sure someone would know, though I’d prefer not to have to ask Stephan unless you really need it. I…” She grimaces. “I’m sorry. I’m speaking out of turn again.”

I shake my head, squeezing the top of her arm a little before I drop my hand. “No. I don’t want you to ever think you’re speaking out of turn—not around me, anyway. I can’t speak for anyone else who lives here, obviously, but I don’t want you or any of the staff thinking of me like that.”

She does another small curtsy. “Are you sure you can dress yourself? I’m more than happy to assist—”

“I can manage it myself, I promise.”

She nods and turns for the door. She glances back at me before she exits. “Should you change your mind, don’t hesitate to pick up your phone.” She gives me a weak smile. “And if you decide that you need…you know.”

“Help?”

She nods, her smile widening ever so slightly. “Yes, help. I would be honored to assist you. I mean that, Ms. Simpson.” She pauses. “Victoria. If you’re sure calling you by your given name is not impertinent…”

“I’m very sure. And thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. Victoria.” She grins. “And I’ll see what I can find out for you. Discreetly, of course.”

I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fly by the seat of my pants if I need to. I’m good at that.”

Her brow furrows. “Fly? And I’m sorry, Victoria, but you shouldn’t wear pants to the reception—of that I am certain.”

I shake my head and close my eyes for a moment. “No, sorry.” I open my eyes to return my gaze to hers. “It’s an American expression. Never mind.”

“Apologies, then.” She smiles. “Please do let me know should you need anything else.”

“Of course.” I smile again and watch as she walks out the door.

I pull on my dress and put my hair up into what I hope is an appropriate style bun. I suppose I could have asked my maid about that, but it seems fairly unimportant given everything else going on.

A few minutes later there’s another knock on my door. I don’t even get a few steps before the handle turns and Andrew walks in.

He looks me up and down, nodding with approval, though there’s no smile on his lips. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you?” My words come out as more of a question, though my real question is about the concern in his expression.

He doesn’t seem to hear it, though. The lines between his eyebrows deepen. “King Maximilian is here. I’ve asked Stephan to bring him to the receiving chamber in ten minutes.”

“Oh. That’s not a lot of time, Andrew. I mean, you said you were going to go over everything with me. How I’m supposed to act and everything.”

“Right.” His voice is flat, and it’s pretty obvious there’s something else going on.

“What is it?” I walk over to him, taking his hand in mine.

He frowns, gazing into my eyes. “I’ve just been told they’ve taken my father into surgery. I…I would have come to you sooner, but I’ve been on the telephone.” He glances to the door and back to me. “We should go to meet with King Maximilian.”