I have to make her see that this is the only way.

“This story would make your career,” I tell her. “Can you imagine? The whole world will be talking about it, and you’ll be the only one with the truth.”

“This isn’t the career I want,” Victoria says. “And I have no interest in being part of that circus.”

“If you would take a moment to consider—”

The door swings open behind me, and a nurse comes barging in. She looks from Victoria to me.

“Is everything all right, sir?” she asks. “Er—Your Highness. Sir.” She does an awkward sort of half-bow.

“Everything is perfectly fine,” I say, at the same time Victoria says, “He needs help.”

The nurse’s nose wrinkles in confusion as she looks between us again. “Is there—”

“I think maybe Prince Andrew hit his head without realizing it,” Victoria says. “Or maybe he has some disease that’s giving him delusions.”

I frown. “I assure you, my mind is perfectly—”

“Either way, I think I need some privacy,” Victoria says. “I don’t think I feel well enough for visitors.”

“Victoria, if you’d just consider what I’ve said, I think—”

But the nurse has turned to me and is gesturing toward the door. “Sir—Your Highness—if you would please step outside.”

“Ms. Simpson and I haven’t finished our conversation.”

“Because you’re insane,” Victoria says from the bed. “Seriously—take some time and think about what you’re asking me to do.”

I cross my arms. “I assure you, I’ve given it plenty of thought.”

“Your Highness, please,” says the nurse. “You’ve already stayed here long past normal visiting hours.”

I can see that neither she nor Victoria intend to budge on the matter, and since I don’t officially have any authority in this country—and I don’t have Leopold’s talent for charming people into doing whatever I like—I see no other choice.

“I will give you some time to consider my proposition,” I tell Victoria, then turn and leave the room.

I march down the hospital corridor, trying to remain calm. I need Victoria for this—she’s the only one I trust to do this right. She might think I’m pushing for some sort of circus, but she’s only been awake for a short time—she hasn’t seen that the circus has already begun.

I shouldn’t have said anything yet, I think. I should have waited for her to recover a little more. Still, now that I know she’s safe, I can think of little else but how to handle this predicament. When we were struggling for survival, I never allowed myself to think far past the present moment. But now that we have water and shelter and medical care—and now that I’ve seen what the media has done with this story—the large-scale consequences of our plane crash cannot be ignored.

This is about more than just my reputation—this is about the future of Montovia. I won’t have the world believing I care so little for my country. And I won’t have Montovia’s name tarnished, not if I can do something about it. It is time to think about the future.

I reach the end of the corridor. There’s a window here, and I look out at the parking lot below, rubbing the back of my neck.

I need a wife, I think. That part is crucial—I need to show the world I am dedicated to serving my country and continuing my family’s name, that I have no intention of ending my own life now or ever. The public search for a wife is an obvious media stunt, but I don’t care—it’s exactly what we need to turn people’s attention from other less-favorable rumors about me in the news. The world won’t be able to take their eyes off the story. It has everything—drama, romance, a touch of scandal. If we choose the women wisely, they can be in on the game. The whole thing would be perfectly calculated.

It really is the best way, I think, watching the cars below. I hate that I must lower myself to such a distasteful stunt, but it is better than the alternative.

I count five news vans in the lot below, and I know there are more on the other side of the hospital. The hospital security team has already caught a few reporters trying to sneak through the lobby, but thankfully, they’ve been vigilant.

Unfortunately, that also means that the rumors have run rampant these past twenty-four hours. I’ve tried to avoid the televisions in this place, but I’ve still managed to see that at least one media outlet is speculating that I was horribly deformed by the accident. As soon as we get to Montovia, I need to hold a press conference.

But I want Victoria with me. If these last few days have taught me anything, it’s that she isn’t motivated by narcissism or personal gain. Instead, she’s driven by her own moral code—and whether or not I happen to agree with the dictates of her conscience, I can respect that much. But how do I convince her that helping me is the right thing to do?

If I had my mobile with me, I would have already called Victoria’s editor and offered him exclusive rights to the news about the hunt for my bride. It would have been the opportunity of a lifetime for Celebrity Spark.

But I suspect such an action would have done little to convince Victoria to take the story—probably quite the opposite. And I want her and no one else.

Why should she morally object to helping me? She must see that this is the easiest way to restore some goodwill for me and for Montovia, as crass as a public search for my wife would be. She acted like it was inappropriate for me to ask such a thing of her after these last three days—but I can’t see how that is so. The kiss in the cabin was a mistake, certainly—but she was the one who pushed me away. And she was the one who seemed so appalled when she realized I’d stayed in her hospital bed with her. Perhaps the thoughts I had as I held her in my arms were less than princely, but she couldn’t have known the things in my head. And I’m certain we both understand that nothing could ever happen between us.

If you were Leopold, you would have slept with her anyway, I think. And cared little for the consequences. If you were Leopold, you would have had ways of persuading Victoria to do exactly as you pleased. For a moment, I allow myself to entertain that thought—how I might walk back into her hospital room, how I might grab her and kiss her the way her mouth begs to be kissed. How I might push her down on the bed and run my hands over her body the way I longed to do as I held her last night. How I wouldn’t care that we were in a hospital, that it was highly inappropriate, that anyone might walk in on us.

How freeing it would be to not care about consequences, if only for an hour.

I step away from the window. There isn’t time to be having fantasies or making speculations about how my life would be different if I’d been my brother. This is real life, and there are important matters to address. I must convince Victoria to help me. Speaking to her as I would speak to any reporter didn’t work, so I must appeal directly to her conscience.

I stride back down the hall, ignoring everyone I pass. Fortunately, the nurse is no longer in her room, so no one tries to keep me from entering.

Victoria frowns when she sees me. “Do I need to get them to kick you out again?”

She’s sitting up in bed, her dark hair in a messy bun that hangs over her shoulder. Her cheeks look much pinker than they did yesterday, and her eyes are bright with something that might be annoyance.

Instantly, I think of the fantasy I had right before I walked in here—how easy it would be to cross over to the bed, to take her in my arms, to kiss her speechless. I wonder if I’d have time to get her undressed before someone walked in on us.

I shake my head, driving the images away. I don’t have time for this.

“Ms. Simpson, may I speak to you frankly?” I say.

She blinks, almost as if she’s surprised to hear me ask her.

“I—I guess,” she says. “But if you’re just going to try and convince me to help you with this stupid plan of yours, you can save your breath.”

I walk slowly over to the end of her bed. “Actually, I was wondering if you had some advice for me.”

Now her expression has shifted from amused to downright suspicious. “Advice?”

“On a better way to handle this matter,” I say. “Forgive me—I know this isn’t the best time to ask such a thing of you, but time is of the essence. And I respect your opinion.”

Her brow is still wrinkled. “I can’t give you advice if I don’t know the whole story, Your Highness.”

“Andrew.”

“Andrew. If you won’t be completely honest with me, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Know this,” I say. “The world believes I tried to kill myself. The world is also about to believe that I may have betrayed Montovia in other ways, too. Tell me—how might you advise me to prove them wrong? To show everyone that I am dedicated without question to my country?”

“You don’t need to hold some ridiculous pageant to find a wife, that’s for sure.”

“Perhaps not,” I say. “I could take a wife quietly, father an heir, continue to perform my princely duties without fanfare. But would the world notice or care?”

“The world always notices a royal wedding.”

“But would that be enough? Would they forget everything else they’d heard about me?” I grip the end of the bed. “Montovia is my life, Victoria. Nothing else in this world means more to me. Believe me—I detest the idea of having to parade myself in front of the media, to put on this ridiculous show. But I would humiliate myself a thousand times over for the sake of my country. To show the world I am dedicated to serving her in the best way I can.” I look down at my hands. “I fear that nothing short of a publicity stunt will tear the world’s attention away from the rumors. If you have another idea—a better idea—I will hear it. As I have said, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my country.”

She fiddles with the sheet. “I’m sure we could think of something.”

“I will have to marry soon either way,” I say. “Before, it didn’t matter if Leopold married before me. But if the world already believes that I’m not dedicated to Montovia, then my younger brother marrying before me will not help matters.” I release the bed and turn away, clasping my hands behind my back. “You’ve spent a lot of time reporting on my brother and his activities. You know as well as I do that Leopold thinks little about the consequences of his actions. The only reason he isn’t in prison or lying dead in some alleyway is because I’ve dedicated a good portion of my life to cleaning up his messes. I haven’t the same luxury he does—there is no one to clean up my messes for me. And I can’t bear to sit idly by while the world accuses me of such vile things. I must fix this—can you at least see that?”

I risk a glance back over my shoulder at Victoria, and she’s watching me with some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes.

“Please,” I say, stepping around to the side of the bed, closer to her. “I must do everything I can to fix this. I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”

She starts to shake her head. “Andrew, I—”

“I need your help,” I say, taking her hand. “Please, Victoria. You are the only person I trust with this.” I catch her gaze in mine, will her to see my desperation. “Montovia is in my blood. It is the reason I wake every morning. The reason my heart beats. I am prepared to do everything in my power to fix this.”

Her eyes search mine. For a long time, she doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, I release her hand, straightening. If that speech doesn’t convince her, then I’m not sure what will. I’ve laid myself bare before her.

I’m halfway to the door when I hear her voice behind me.

“Okay.”

I turn. “You’ll help me?”

She nods. “I’ll help you.”