Andrew is muttering something to himself. It takes me a second to reach him—he was walking so fast I could barely keep up with him—and when I do, my heart sinks to my toes.

I can understand enough German to get the gist of the words on the newspaper Andrew’s been staring at—and the headline says it all. By the way Andrew’s shoulders have dropped, it says too much.

He stares down at the paper for a long time—too long. He’s talking to himself, and his voice is too low for me to make out what it is he’s saying.

After what seems an eternity, he turns to me and glares. “This, Victoria, is why you must accompany me back to Montovia.”

I frown. I can think of about a hundred sarcastic things to say to him right now, but I have to measure my words. I have no idea what is going on in Andrew’s head at the moment or how what I say might affect him. I’m not sure I could live with myself if some snarky comment of mine sent him over the edge.

I let out a long breath, steadying my voice. “It’s sensationalistic journalism, Andrew. Nothing more. They’re…” I give the newspaper a dismissive wave. “They’re only trying to sell newspapers.”

His eyes are wild. “And they will sell them. Can’t you see the problem here? They are attempting to ruin my life. These…these monsters who write stories like this. They have no idea about the lives they ruin. They think of one thing and one thing only—the amount of money they’ll earn when they destroy the life of someone innocent.”

The man at the newspaper stand turns his gaze from the magazine he’s reading up to Andrew before he drops it to the newspaper. When he looks back up at Andrew again, his mouth falls open.

I take Andrew by the elbow and lead him away, not acknowledging the criticisms he’s thrown at my profession and me.

He allows me to guide him back into the train station and onto a bench, but he doesn’t stop the string of insults that seems to be falling out of his mouth. His voice has lowered to not much more than a mutter, but I can still hear every word he’s saying.

“Fucking paparazzi. They have no concern for anyone but themselves. No concern for the well-being of a nation or a human being for that matter. They’re little more than gutter filth.”

I sit there and take it for far too long before I turn to him. “Andrew, I know you’re going through a rough patch right now—”

“I am not going through anything, Victoria. I’ve already told you—”

“Yes, you’ve already told me. I still think you’re having a tough time, whether you want to admit it to yourself or not. And that’s perfectly fine. As you so succinctly pointed out, I’ve had a few tough times of my own.”

His jaw clenches and he speaks through his gritted teeth. “Is there a point to this, Victoria?”

I let out another long breath. “Yes, there’s a point. I think maybe—just maybe—the paparazzi aren’t to blame here.”

He glares at me. “Of course you would take their side. You still identify with them. You still—”

“Can you deny the claims in that newspaper? Was a single thing you read in that article false?”

His eyes widen for a second before his gaze narrows again. “That has little to do with anything. If the press would mind their own business—”

“Yes, yes. I know. If the press would mind their own business, you and your brothers could get away with murder. Figuratively, if not literally.”

“That is not what I meant, Victoria.”

“No, I know what you meant. You don’t want the press in your business. I get that. But you are the one who wanted to use the media to your advantage with that pageant of yours, remember?”

“Again, that is an entirely different discussion. The press was invited—”

“You mean I was invited.” My brow furrows. “You know, you can’t have it both ways. I can’t be ‘the press’ and be your friend. That’s the problem celebrities have with trying to use the press to their own advantage. It usually comes back to bite them in the ass.”

His nostrils flare, and he turns away from me, watching the arrivals come through the door on the other side of the large waiting area.

The train from Montovia isn’t scheduled to arrive for almost another half-hour. And it has the makings of being the longest half-hour of my life.

I stand. “You know, Andrew, I think I’m going to go for a walk.”

“I’ll join you.”

I shake my head. “You should wait for your brother. I’ll be back by the time he gets here.”

I turn and start to walk out of the station, but Andrew follows me.

I glance behind me. “I said you didn’t need to come.”

“I want to.”

I stop and turn to him. “There’s not much else for you to say. Your feelings about me have been made perfectly clear.”

“Good. I’m glad you’ve finally accepted the fact that I love you. That isn’t something I’m about to change—”

“Not that. And you don’t love me, Andrew. Not in that way. You said so yourself…” I sigh in exasperation, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m not going to have this conversation with you again. And I told you, I wasn’t talking about what you said on the train—the love thing. I was talking about what you said about me just now. About my profession.”

His brow furrows. “I was not talking about you at all, Victoria. I was talking about the disgusting gutter trash who would dare to publish a story like that without asking for my side.”

I tilt my head at him. “Did you ask the women you brought to the palace for their side when you decided to put on your little show? And were you up front with everyone about what your real intentions were?”

“Of course I was up front. Why else would I have continued it for as long as I did? I was perfectly honest with every last one of those women…”

The way I’m staring at him must make him think twice about what he’s saying.

He shakes his head. “My relationship with you had nothing to do with what happened with those women. It had only to do with you and with me. I never intended—”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? You never intended.” I press my lips together and shake my head. “I think there’s a part of you—it might be a lot smaller now than it was, but it’s still there. There’s a part of you who still thinks I am gutter trash for writing those kinds of stories every single day. And no, they might not have been about you. But I’ve written plenty about Leopold. More than plenty.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, go ahead and roll your eyes, Andrew. You know I’m right. And how could there possibly ever be anything between the two of us when you lack a fundamental respect for what I do for a living? Is that how you would introduce me to people? ‘Here’s my date, Victoria—don’t mind her, she’s just another piece of gutter filth. She might be wearing the fancy clothes my family bought for her, but underneath she’s just like all of them. Trashy and worthless.’”

“You’re being entirely ridiculous, Victoria. Of course I would never do that to you. I would never say those things aloud if we were in the company of others.”

“But you would be thinking them. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not enough—”

“It’s enough for me, though. Enough for me to know I need to get home. I need to forget every single thing that happened between the two of us so I can move on with my life.”

He frowns and his eyes blink closed a few times like he’s counting to ten before he lets his rage flag fly.

“Victoria.” His voice is more even now, at least. “You seem determined to find a way to keep the two of us apart. Though I’ve done everything in my power to get you to see that you belong with me—”

“I think we’ve already established why our being together in any permanent way would be a terrible idea, Andrew.”

“I need your help.” He presses his lips together. “There. I’ve said it. Are you happy?”

My brows draw together. “No, I’m not happy. Why would you think I would be happy—?”

“I asked for help. Isn’t that what you were trying to get me to do?”

“No, Andrew, that was not what I was trying to get you to do. I was trying to get you to see that the press did not cause your problems—”

“They most certainly have caused my problems, Victoria. If they would mind their own business—or at least the business they are invited to mind—I would not be having this problem right now.”

I shake my head and glare at him intently. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You may ask me anything—you know that.”

“Good.” I narrow my gaze. “Was the press there that night? When you went gambling with Leopold?”

“What does that have to do with anything, Victoria—?”

“I’m just trying to determine if some member of the press twisted your arm behind your back and forced you to gamble away your family’s most beloved possession.”

“Of course not. I made the mistake of my own accord. I have no one to blame for that night but myself…” His eyes widen when he hears his own words. “But that is not to say…” He shakes his head. “I…I know the press is not to blame for my behavior. And perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am going though—what did you call it? A rough patch?”

“As your friend, I’m going to give you some advice, Andrew.”

He gives me the smallest of smiles before he pulls my hands into his. “I would welcome anything you have to say to me, Victoria.”

My brows draw together again and I stare down at our clasped hands for a moment before returning my gaze to his. “Do whatever your press secretary tells you to do.”

He shakes his head. “Our press secretary, if you can call him that, is old enough to be my grandfather. He—”

“I’m sure he knows how to handle the media, or he wouldn’t be your press secretary.”

“On the contrary, there is so little press for him to deal with in Montovia I don’t believe he does know what he’s doing. Besides, he spends most of his time trying to undo the damage Leopold has done to himself. He has no idea—”

“It sounds like he has plenty of ideas when it comes to princes behaving badly. That’s what you need to own, Andrew. Your role in all of this. You need to accept responsibility, apologize for your actions and tell the world you’re sorry. You’re probably going to have to publicly acknowledge how sorry you are to King Maximilian, too. Grovel at his feet if you have to—”

“I’ll never grovel at the feet of anyone. Except you, perhaps.”

“Okay, you have to stop doing that.”

He squeezes my hands. “Doing what?”

“You know exactly what. Stop talking as if we’re anything more than what we talked about on the train. You know that’s where this has to end.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Please just do whatever they tell you to do. Beg for mercy if you have to—”

“I’m begging for your mercy, and it hasn’t helped me.”

“My mercy is not the mercy you need right now. You need help from your citizens. You need to do whatever it takes to get them back on your side. And the best way for a celebrity to do that is to get on his knees and admit his mistakes in front of anyone who will listen.”

Andrew drops my hands and glares behind me.

It isn’t until William drapes his arm across my shoulder that I realize what Andrew is so upset about.

He grins at Andrew. “Our friend Victoria is right, Brother. It’s time for you to get on your knees and grovel.”