“I…you didn’t have to do that.”

Marshall shrugged as if it was no big deal. Maybe to him, it wasn’t. “I did, actually. I know what it’s like to be someone’s punching bag.”

There was a note in his voice that made Sam want to ask what he meant. A real girlfriend would have—or, rather, a real girlfriend would have already known.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

They went through the rest of the dance without speaking. Sam tried to concentrate on the steps—the promenade; the standing turn; the full spin, when she twisted into Marshall’s arms and then uncurled slowly. She focused on that, to keep herself from wondering about him.

Suddenly the music was slowing down, the song reaching its final dramatic crescendo. Before Sam had quite registered what was happening, Marshall pulled her into a low, dramatic dip. Her entire weight was cradled on his right arm. Sam imagined she could hear his heartbeat echoing through her own body.

“That was a good start,” Robert called out, tapping away at his tablet. “But we have a bit of work to do. Let’s do the whole thing again, from the top.”

Then Marshall was lifting her back up—slowly, his eyes still fixed on hers. Sam struggled to breathe. She felt herself flush from her neck all the way to the roots of her hair.

“Not bad, my little ham Sam-wich,” Marshall murmured, effectively shattering the tension between them. Sam rolled her eyes and detangled herself from his arms.

As they resumed their places, she told herself that her elevated heart rate was from the physical exertion. It definitely had nothing to do with the fact that, for a moment there, she’d thought Marshall was about to kiss her.

The gates of Washington Palace had been designed for maximum visual impact, carved with intricate scrollwork and interlocking Ws. As Daphne and Himari gave their names to the security guard and he waved their taxi through, Daphne felt that there was something gratifying about all the grandeur.

She loved an imposing door or gate, provided she was on the inside.

“How do you feel?” she asked, when they’d gotten out of the car. Himari was uncharacteristically quiet.

The girls had seen each other nearly every day since Himari had been discharged from the hospital. At first they’d remained at the Marikos’ house, flipping through magazines, making up for an entire year’s worth of lost conversation. Then, at the doctor’s recommendation, they’d slowly returned to their old activities: getting their nails done, or strolling down the sidewalks of Hanover Street, admiring the window displays.

“I’m a little nervous. But mostly excited.” Himari nodded at the stoic-looking footman who gestured them through the front doors and toward the back lawn.

Daphne nodded, though she felt uneasy. “I’m just surprised your parents agreed to let you come.”

“My doctor wants me to get back into my old routine, to help rebuild my neural recognition networks. The more I act like my old self, the better chance I might remember everything I’ve forgotten.” Himari saw Daphne’s concerned look, and sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I promised my parents that I’m not drinking, not even a sip. Since I still have no idea what happened last time.”

Whenever Himari made comments like this, Daphne worried her friend was baiting her, trying to trap her into saying something incriminating. So she said nothing. Then again…Himari wasn’t even glancing her way.

It was that enchanted twilight hour when the sun was just setting, and for an instant, the sky became as dazzling as noon. It illuminated the terraced flower beds, their white mountain laurels scattered over the ground like handfuls of snow. In the orchard beyond, Daphne could see that the cherry trees had exploded into bloom.

Their steps crunched over the gravel as they followed the other guests toward an enormous white tent. Daphne recognized it as the same tent that the palace erected for the monthly garden parties—dull afternoon affairs, with flat champagne and cherry tarts. Seeing that familiar setup at night was strangely exhilarating. It lent everything a touch of mischief, made them all feel like children who were sneaking out past curfew, and might get away with it.

When they walked in, Daphne immediately caught sight of Ethan across the tent, and looked away. She hated that she could so easily pick him out of a crowd—that she knew the contours of his body, even from a distance.

“Oh my god,” Himari whispered. “Is that Marshall Davis with Sam?”

Daphne followed her friend’s gaze. Sure enough, the future Duke of Orange was standing there next to Samantha, his arm slung carelessly around her waist. “That’s a new development,” she mused. Though it honestly shouldn’t have surprised her, given what reckless partiers they both were.

As she and Himari headed farther inside, there was a distinct lull in conversation. People began elbowing their neighbors, pointing out in hushed whispers that Himari had arrived.

Daphne reflexively reached up to loop an arm through her friend’s. “Are you okay? Want me to take you home?”

“No.” Himari bit her lip in indecision. She didn’t look vengeful or dangerous at all; she looked…vulnerable. “I just—I didn’t expect everyone to stare so much.”

Of course, their classmates all knew that Himari had woken up: after emerging from a ten-month coma, she was something of a celebrity. She’d told Daphne that a few reporters had even called her house, asking for an exclusive interview, but Himari’s mother had turned them down. “We don’t talk to the media in this house,” the Countess of Hana had replied, with cool disdain. She still subscribed to the old aristocratic belief that if your name appeared in the paper, it meant something had gone horribly wrong.

“Don’t worry. Five minutes from now everyone will be focused on whatever stupid thing Samantha and Marshall do next,” Daphne said firmly. “Besides, if people are staring, it’s because you look fantastic.”

Himari choked out a laugh. “My mom said the same thing. I guess months on a liquid diet will do that.”

“I meant your clothes,” Daphne replied, amused.

“Oh, I texted Damien an SOS this afternoon, and he brought this by. I couldn’t go out in any of my old things. They were all hopelessly out of fashion,” Himari said dramatically.

Unlike Daphne—who recycled outfits as often as she could get away with it, who accepted free gifts from up-and-coming designers because she couldn’t afford new jewelry—Himari had never worried about money. Even now she was wearing a lavender jumpsuit and matching sequined clutch that Daphne had seen on the mannequin at Halo just yesterday.

There was a swirl of excitement nearby. Daphne turned to see Prince Jefferson standing a few yards away. He was wearing a white golf shirt that made him look especially tan, and smiling that eager, boyish smile of his, the one that most of America had fallen desperately in love with.

“Jefferson,” she breathed, as she and Himari both curtsied at the same time, to exactly the same depth.

The prince waved away the gesture. “Please don’t. I always hate it when people do that.”

“It’s nothing,” Daphne started to say, but Himari interrupted.

“Jeff, when girls curtsy, we aren’t doing it for you. We’re doing it for us.”

Daphne stiffened, wondering if her friend was being flirtatious, but Himari only added, “I like making people scurry out of my way. And the bigger my dress, the farther they have to scurry.”

Laughing, the prince pulled Himari into a hug. “This is exactly why I’ve missed you,” he joked, then stepped away, his tone becoming more serious. “Himari, I really am sorry. I don’t know what happened that night, but it happened at our party. Sam and I feel terrible.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Himari assured him, and Jefferson smiled, relieved.

Of course it wasn’t Jefferson’s fault, Daphne thought. It was hers. She wished she could get the same absolution from her friend—but she knew she never would.

He nodded toward a table laden with drinks. “I’m thirsty. You guys coming?”

Now that Jefferson had broken the ice and talked to Himari, everyone else was surging forward. They began peppering her with questions: How was she feeling? Did she dream all those months? What was the first thing she said when she woke up?

Daphne hesitated. Jefferson had stepped ahead, the crowds parting before him as he walked, but Himari lingered, reveling in the sudden flurry of attention. She met Daphne’s gaze. For a moment, something flickered in Himari’s eyes, but then she gave a little jerk of her chin to say, Go ahead. Daphne hurried to catch up with the prince.