The Prince leaped from his seat and pulled out Lisa’s chair for her, gesturing. She sat primly, crossing her ankles, and noting that he’d already ordered a bottle of the wine she’d suggested, from Lyon.

Her cheeks burned with the reminder: she wasn’t classy enough to know much about French wines. Not like these royals, who’d grown up with them. Her Detroit roots had given her a love for cheap beer and fast food. And although she’d shelled these loves when she’d moved to the big city, she felt like a clown, masquerading as something she wasn’t.

The Prince poured her a glass of wine, the liquid glugging as it filled the glass. Lisa lifted it and clinked it with his, their eyes twinkling in the soft restaurant lighting.

“Cheers to you,” she murmured. “And thank you for this invitation.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “You’re really doing me the favor right now.”

“Why’s that?” Lisa asked. As she spoke, Evelyn placed their second course in front of them—the soup from fifteen minutes before, once again hot and steaming. Finely chopped vegetables lifted to the surface of the liquid. Lisa kept her hands on her lap.

“This looks wonderful,” the Prince said, thanking Evelyn. Evelyn couldn’t keep her eyes from Lisa, like a proud mother. But in a moment, she was gone, leaving Lisa with the Prince, and his dark, churning thoughts.

“I suppose you witnessed the scene leading up to the Princess leaving the restaurant?” he asked then, slipping his spoon beneath the surface of the liquid. He drew up a spoonful. Small droplets leaked back into the bowl.

“I did,” Lisa affirmed. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

The Prince didn’t speak for a moment. Lisa felt she had to fill in the gaps, to affirm that everything was all right.

“But every relationship has its ups and downs,” she said, leaning heavily upon her elbows. “Evelyn—the waitress who just delivered this—she’s going through a breakup right now. Can’t walk three feet without crying. It’s horrible. My heart breaks for her.”

The Prince raised his left eyebrow high, listening. “Well, fortunately for Evelyn, the continued existence of an entire kingdom doesn’t hinge on her relationship.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lisa asked. Her soup cooled beneath her, but she was too engrossed to care.

“My engagement to the Princess is a sham,” the Prince revealed.

Lisa’s lips parted slightly, acknowledging the shock value of his statement. “One of those royal arrangements, you mean?” she asked. “I didn’t know those still existed. Not in this day and age.”

“Well, there’s probably a lot the average person doesn’t know,” the Prince said. “The Princess and I were introduced when we were just fourteen years old. That was fifteen years ago—meaning I’ve known her longer than almost anyone else in my life.” He scoffed. “And yet, she’s still a stranger. Everything she says seems like a nightmare. Like, I look at her, and I can’t believe she’s in my life. Have you ever felt that way about anyone?”

Lisa shook her head, wanting to tell him that she purposefully didn’t fill her life with people who made her feel bad about herself. She blinked rapidly, urging him to go on with her eyes.

“The ties between our countries, the Netherlands and Aluzzi, are historically rather weak. A few years ago, however, Italy and the Netherlands, had a falling out, which left the Netherlands looking for a nearby ally in order to reaffirm their ties with Italy. All of this is rather boring for you, I’m sure. And probably, it doesn’t make a great deal of sense. After all. You live in America. You don’t have to worry about such things.”

“Just because I’m an American, doesn’t mean I’m uninterested in world politics,” Lisa said, trying to make a joke. “Although, I can imagine why you would think that.”

“All right,” the Prince said, a crooked smile stretching across his face. For a moment, he looked at her like he’d known her for a long time—with endearment, with gleaming eyes. “Touché, I suppose.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Lisa said softly. “Please. Continue.”

“Anyway,” the Prince said, pushing his soup away, clearly no longer hungry. “Our parents set up the relationship in an attempt to reinforce the diplomatic ties between our two countries.”

“Right,” Lisa said, feeling a flirtatious smile on her face. “Diplomacy. Politics. Yes.” She winked.

“I can’t speak seriously about this with you, can I?” the Prince laughed, extending his long fingers across the white tablecloth. “You make me feel too serious. And, I suppose, that’s what I want. Every single day of my life feels far too serious. And you seem to laugh in the face of it.”

“Not necessarily laughing,” Lisa said. “Just trying to keep your head above water. Too much sadness won’t do.”

“No, I suppose it won’t,” the Prince affirmed. His eyes glinted. “What you need to understand, Lisa, is that I don’t love the Princess. I don’t love her at all.”

“I understand,” Lisa murmured. “You feel trapped.”

“My father told me that if I didn’t propose to her this year, he’d force me out of the kingdom. My father and I have never been particularly close, but I know that family is of the utmost importance to him. I know that I’m to follow in his footsteps, and I’m to marry the woman who has been chosen for me. But I can’t imagine this is the only option—”

“This, being Princess Rose?” Lisa asked.

“Right,” he replied. “She’s awful.”

“You did mention that,” Lisa said, stifling a smile. “I can’t say she looks like a mass murderer. But in your words—”

“Just a few steps away from that severity,” the Prince said, laughing. “You’re funny, Lisa. I haven’t met anyone funny in a long time.”

“In this business, you have to have a sense of humor,” Lisa said, taking a slight sip of her soup, allowing the flavors and spices and warmth to fold over her. “You should really eat the rest of your soup. The chef will be mortified if you don’t. You don’t want him to leave his job, do you?”

“Of course not,” the Prince laughed. He took another hearty bite, chewing easily.

A comfortable silence folded over them, allowing Lisa a moment with her thoughts. She appreciated the ease with which the Prince spoke to her, delivering the truth of his life, and the lack of love within it.

As a kid, she’d understood that the world was rich with secrets, with people who wanted to hide with their own thoughts. She’d recognized that her mother hadn’t wanted to divulge many of her truths—how tired she was, how sad she was after the death of her father, or how worried she was when Lisa stayed out too late. But wasn’t it healthier, freer, to live vibrantly, wearing the truth of your emotions on your sleeve?

Lisa slipped her hand over the Prince’s on the table, sensing electricity between them. The laughter and silliness had died off, revealing the strange compatibility between them—a prince, and a girl from Detroit.

She peered into his eyes. “What are you going to do?” she whispered.

The Prince paused. The emotion between them was as deep as a well. “I’m going to call the wedding off,” he breathed, his voice heavy. “I don’t see any other way. We’re too incompatible. We can’t agree on a thing.”

Lisa nodded, her eyes filled with understanding and sympathy. “Then you must. You have to follow your heart. Why would you do anything else?”

The Prince nodded. “Thank you, Lisa,” he said. “I can’t thank you enough. I can’t believe I just told you all that. Carry it to your grave, won’t you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone,” Lisa said. She smiled through the moments of silence, as the classical music trickled around them. In the distance, she saw Evelyn’s eyes through the kitchen window.

The Prince tilted his head back, then, sipping the rest of his wine. He set the empty glass beside his near-empty bowl of soup, and gestured toward her. “What are you doing after your shift, Lisa?” he asked her.

Lisa balked, her mind suddenly racing for an excuse. After all: she needed to return home and send the shots to Rocco, to ensure that the funds got into her account by the weekend. The rent was due in just a few days, and she certainly couldn’t put food on her table without it. For a brief moment, her mind fluttered over the possibility of actually working at the Matador, raking in tips. But ultimately, she’d have to confess to the lie. And she wouldn’t be able to handle Evelyn’s disappointment when the truth came out.

But as Lisa sat, the seconds ticking on, she reasoned something else. With all the knowledge that the Prince was delivering—about the truth of his sham marriage and the fact that he was going to call the wedding off—she could earn a few thousand dollars more, at least, if she sold the story to Rocco. With more time with the Prince at her disposal, she could expound on what she already knew and deliver the biggest, most salacious story of her career.

“I can see that you want to say you’re busy,” the Prince said, laughing. “And I completely understand. I do.” He began to wave his fingers, affirming that the space between them could remain. “Please. Forget I said anything.”

“No, no,” Lisa said, her eyes bright. “I want to come with you. And I’m free. I just need to run home and change first. You don’t want to be seen out with me, wearing this stupid uniform. I can promise you that.” She flashed a smile.

“Well, if you really think you’ll be more comfortable—” the Prince began, leaning forward.

Lisa could smell him, the musk making her spirits hum. She felt sensual, brimming with yearning. For a split second, she forgot that she was going with him in order to hone her story and reap the benefits.

“I will be. Where should I meet you?” she asked.

“At the B-flat, in Brooklyn. It’s a trendy jazz bar, perfect for us. I’m tired of these stuffy, expensive restaurants, anyway.” His eyes brightened, and he swiped his fingers over his napkin. He slapped nine hundred dollars into the bill that she’d brought to the table and got to his feet, abandoning the rest of the meal. “Give my compliments to the chef. And tell the staff to keep the change. I’ll see you in an hour.”

Lisa blinked rapidly, watching him recover his coat, even before the cloakroom boy could retrieve it. He hailed a taxi and disappeared into the chilly fall evening, leaving her alone, brimming with pre-emptive pleasure.

Evelyn appeared beside her, then. She leaped up and down, the nine hundred dollars clasped in her hands. “A 200% tip, Lisa! Can you imagine! What a strange, terrible night. But tonight, we’ll party like royalty!”

Lisa stretched a smile over her face and hurriedly cleaned the table, suddenly feeling a part of the restaurant staff. She accepted her tip and then raced from the restaurant, placing a brief kiss on Evelyn’s cheek as she went.

She hailed a taxi, which whipped her back to her one-bedroom in Brooklyn. She felt light with anticipation, with intrigue. The previous 24 hours had taken several manic turns, spitting her out several hundred dollars richer, with a date with royalty—and a potential front-page story for Rocco.

“Why are you smiling?” the taxi driver asked her, lifting his chin. His accent was thick, placing him as a Middle-Eastern immigrant.

“I don’t really know,” Lisa murmured. “I think I’m just happy. For the first time in a long, long time.”

“Good. It’s good to be happy,” the man said, stabbing his foot on the brake pedal and halting in front of her apartment building. “I’ll be happy, too. Once you pay me.”

* * *

Lisa rushed up the steps to her apartment, feeling jittery. She leafed through her bag, grasped her keys, and then burst through the front door, feeling strange that while her entire world had shifted, her room, kitchen and living area had all stayed the same.

She entered her bedroom and sat on the mattress, unable to imagine what feeling tired meant.

In her bag, she found her camera, and then began to look through the photographs, feeling a strange sense of pride at the angles of Princess Rose’s face as she scowled at the Prince. Lisa had been practicing her craft for years, and here was the result: gorgeous portraits that displayed attitude and disgust between a powerful couple. She knew that was what the people wanted.

She glanced at the clock, then, realizing that she had only twenty minutes left until she was meant to meet the Prince. She walked over to her closet, noting that her selection of dresses—most of them black—were listless compared to the Princess’ garb from that evening. But perhaps that’s what the Prince wanted: to fly under the radar, with an ordinary girl like her.

She could already picture the tabloid headline: “Prince Spends Night with Brooklyn Girl, Slumming It.” She shivered, knowing that if she were asked to sell the story, she’d do it. Her desperation for funds was constant. Nothing else mattered. Not even the electricity between her and the Prince, or how much she loved making him laugh.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

She slipped into a short, navy blue dress—something she hardly wore, unless she was sneaking into black-tie affairs to go after celebrities. As she zipped up the back, she remembered tearing after some sex-scandal engulfed politician, her camera flashing. Her shoe had flung from her foot, the heel caught in the red carpet. Despite her current loneliness, her life to date had been anything but boring.

She peeked into the mirror, then, and swiped on a layer of black eyeliner, making her eyes appear large and blissful. Her hair was curled nicely, flowing down her back. She tugged her nicest, newest-looking coat over her shoulders, inhaled sharply, and marched toward the door—feeling as if she were in a dream.