“Absolutely not,” he said mercilessly. “The American princess taking out her frustrations on a national monument? It’s one of my most treasured memories.”

“Then you’ll be next,” Sam warned, and he laughed.

As she pushed open the door, she saw Marshall cast a few curious glances around her sitting room. Unlike the rest of the palace, Sam’s suite was an eclectic clash of styles and colors. Brightly colored rugs were strewn over the floor at odd angles. Against one wall, an ornate grandfather clock—which Sam’s ancestor Queen Tatiana had brought from Russia, its hours marked with gorgeous Cyrillic numerals—stood next to a table that was hand-painted in bright green turtles.

Sam headed to her desk and pulled out the top drawer. An assortment of objects clattered inside: old lipsticks, earring backs, a pearl button that had fallen off her leather gloves. At the center of all the disorder was the enamel bear pin.

“See? I told you I hadn’t lost it!”

She reached for the fabric of his robes. Surprise flickered in Marshall’s eyes, and she realized belatedly that he hadn’t expected her to pin it on him.

Sam’s hand fell abruptly from his chest.

“Here, let me.” Marshall reached to hook the pin in place. It was made to be worn like this, Sam realized: not pinned against the drab backdrop of a suit, but atop the scarlet robes, where it gleamed like liquid gold.

She took a step back, struck by the immediate physicality of Marshall’s presence. He no longer looked ridiculous in the robes at all. If anything, the other peers would look ridiculous next to him.

“So, did it work?” she asked, recalling why she’d taken the pin in the first place. “Did we make Kelsey jealous?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t heard from her.” Marshall shrugged. “What about you and your mystery guy?”

“He saw us,” she said evasively.

When she’d walked into the reception hall arm in arm with Marshall, Sam hadn’t dared look over at Teddy. But she felt certain he’d seen them together. Everyone at that party had seen them, because she and Marshall were, if nothing else, gossip-worthy. And they’d been making a bit of a scene.

Thinking of it gave her a rush of hot, vindictive pleasure that quickly evaporated.

Teddy was going to marry her sister. And no matter what Sam did, there was no way she could hurt him worse than he’d hurt her.

“Thanks, Samantha. I’ll see you around,” Marshall said cheerfully, and started toward the door.

Sam swallowed, remembering what Robert had said: that protocol demanded she bring someone to the wedding.

“Marshall. What if we kept going?”

He glanced back at her, caught between curiosity and confusion. Sam hurried to explain. “I have to bring an escort to Beatrice’s wedding. It could be you.”

His brow furrowed. “You want me to be your date to your sister’s wedding?”

“Why not? You already have the outfit, after all.”

Again Sam had that disconcerting sense that Marshall could see right through her.

“This is still about that guy, isn’t it? You think bringing me to your sister’s wedding will make him jealous?”

“Well…yes,” she admitted. “But it works both ways! Think of how upset Kelsey will be. She’ll definitely want you back.”

“Because she’ll be upset that I’m dating someone more famous than she is?”

“Because girls always want what they can’t have,” Sam retorted, and bit her lip.

That wasn’t the reason she liked Teddy, was it? She wanted him because she cared about him, not because he was off-limits.

Yet a small, terrible part of her wondered if that had been part of his appeal. After all, Teddy was the only thing of Beatrice’s that Sam had ever managed to take for herself. Even if it hadn’t lasted.

“I’m dreading this wedding,” she went on, glancing back up at Marshall. “It’s everything I hate: protocol and ceremony and stuffy old traditions, all rolled up into one massive event. Like always, I’ll be scrutinized and criticized no matter what I do. And like always, nothing I do will really matter at all.”

She heaved a breath. “I understand if you don’t want to get involved. It’s just—it would be nice, to go through all this with someone I can actually stand.”

“Someone you can actually stand,” he repeated, an eyebrow lifted. “When you give me such glowing compliments, how could I refuse?”

“Sorry, did I bruise your precious masculine ego?” Sam scoffed. “Look, Marshall, you and I want the same thing—for our exes to realize they made a mistake. That won’t happen unless they pay attention to us. And if there’s one thing we’re both good at, it’s attracting attention.”

Marshall had a reputation, and she had a reputation, and in her experience, gossip always added up to something greater than the sum of its parts. The two of them together were far more buzzworthy than anything they could do on their own.

“You’re not just asking me to be your wedding date, are you,” Marshall said slowly. “You want to really sell this. Make everyone think I’m your boyfriend.”

“Hollywood celebrities manipulate the press like this all the time,” Sam insisted, though she wasn’t actually sure it was true.

“What’s your plan, exactly? We hold a press conference, tell everyone we’re dating? Become Samarshall?”

“Or Marshantha. I can be the second half,” Sam replied, without missing a beat. She was relieved when Marshall laughed at that. “And there’s no need for a press conference. We can just attend a few events together, let the paparazzi catch us holding hands, get people talking about us. By the time we go to the wedding, Kelsey will be begging you to get back together!” And Teddy will regret ever letting me go, she thought acridly.

“You may be right…but I’m not sure it’s worth the beating I’d get from the press,” Marshall said, his eyes fixed on hers. “Whenever someone in the royal family dates a person of color, things get ugly. Remember how people reacted when your aunt Margaret dated the Nigerian prince? And he was a future king. Not to mention what they did to Nina when she dated your brother,” he reminded her. “If people think we’re dating, I’m the one who’s going to take the heat for it, not you. That’s just the way things are.”

Sam’s stomach twisted. When she’d suggested this plan to Marshall, she hadn’t been thinking about his race at all. She’d just thought that Marshall was famous—or rather, infamous. And it hadn’t hurt that he was tall and objectively good-looking. Perfect revenge-dating material.

She’d been with lots of guys before, and plenty of them hadn’t been white, but she’d been able to keep most of her romantic entanglements from the media—probably because they never lasted beyond a single weekend. This was the first time she’d be dating someone so publicly. Now, as she recalled the anguish Nina had gone through when she was with Jeff—the paparazzi hounding her family, the hateful online comments—Sam realized what she was asking of Marshall.

She nodded, feeling slightly ashamed. “I’m sorry. Of course, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m sure you can find someone else who’d be interested in your…offer,” Marshall replied.

“Please, just forget I ever—”

“Then again, I’m not sure I want you to find someone else.”

Sam looked up. There was a fleeting glimpse of emotion on Marshall’s features, but it quickly vanished beneath his usual careless smile.

“Are you saying that you’re okay with this?” she pressed. “Even if it puts you under the microscope?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I’ve never dated a princess before. For real or for revenge. Or for…well, whatever this is.”

Sam held out a hand. “So…we have a deal?”

Marshall eyed the gesture with amusement. “Oh, no need to shake on it. I trust you, Sam. I can call you Sam, right?” he added cheekily. “Or would you prefer something else? Babe, or sweetheart, or what about Sammie?”

Sam made a choking noise. “Under no circumstances can you use any of those names.”

Marshall grinned, flipping his cape out behind him like a character in an old-fashioned play. “Okay, then. See you later, honeycakes.”

Sam grabbed a pillow from her couch and hurled it at his head, but he’d already shut the door behind him.

Beatrice hurried down the front steps of the palace, her Guard at her heels. “Sorry,” she exclaimed when she saw Teddy at the front drive, standing next to a red SUV. “I didn’t mean to be late for our meeting.”

His mouth quirked at the corner. “Beatrice, this isn’t a meeting. I asked Robert to block some time on your calendar because I wanted to hang out.”

“Oh—okay,” Beatrice breathed. She hadn’t just hung out with someone—no agenda, no stated purpose—since college, unless you counted all the hours she’d spent with Connor.

“No worries.” Teddy walked up to the passenger side and held open the door. He clearly planned on driving her himself.

To Beatrice’s surprise, her protection officer frowned but merely said, “I’ll tail you guys.”