Sometimes Daphne felt that only at moments like this, when she was somewhere public, did she truly exist. That she wasn’t real unless someone else’s eyes were on her, unless she was being seen.

Eventually she murmured her excuses and headed toward the bar. Her dress, a silk chiffon that shifted from burnished bronze at her shoulders to soft gold at the hem, billowed out behind her as she walked.

Daphne ordered a soda water with lime, then deliberately arched her back and leaned her forearms onto the bar’s surface, turning to her most flattering three-quarter angle. She looked as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if she were completely unaware of the party and its hundreds of influential guests.

It was an old party trick of hers, from when she’d first started attending royal events. She would make sure everyone noticed her, then deftly extricate herself from the group, making it easy for Jefferson to come find her alone. It worked every time.

The prince inevitably wanted what everyone else wanted. That was just human nature, and it was especially true for royalty.

At the sound of footsteps behind her, Daphne allowed herself a small, triumphant smile. He’d come faster than she’d expected.

Slowly, sensually, she turned around—only to realize that Jefferson hadn’t come to find her. It was his best friend, Ethan Beckett.

Daphne quickly blinked away her confusion. She hadn’t been this close to Ethan since the night of Beatrice’s engagement party.

Or really, the morning after.

“Hey, Ethan,” she said, as normally as she could manage.

He leaned against the bar next to her. The cuffs of his blazer were folded back, revealing his strong, tanned wrists. “You seem to be having quite the night.”

There was something sardonic in his tone, as if he knew precisely what lay behind her wild display of charm, and was amused by it.

Daphne flicked a glance back at the dance floor, but she’d lost sight of Jefferson in the crowds. Where had he gone, and who was he with?

She felt Ethan’s gaze on her and glanced back up. An idea began to take hold in Daphne’s mind, stubborn and burrlike: an idea so simple that it was either brilliant, or deeply foolish.

“Ethan,” she asked sweetly, “can we talk?”

“Am I mistaken, or isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“I meant alone.”

Ethan stared at her for a moment, then held out an arm in a careless display of chivalry. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” She had no choice but to place her hand over his sleeve. And there it was again, the way her whole body sparked to alertness at his touch.

Daphne realized that even though she’d slept with Ethan—twice—they had never actually held hands. Her fingers itched to lace themselves in his, just to see what it felt like.

She let go of Ethan’s arm as if it were burning.

“This way.” Daphne started toward the archway that led out into the rest of the museum. Ethan gave a resigned sigh but followed.

Long ago the G&A had been a train station, until the new, longer trains that ran on electricity had rendered its platforms obsolete. It was King Edward II who’d decommissioned the entire thing, turning it into an art museum instead, and naming it after his grandparents. Out here in the main causeway, you could still see traces of the old rail station: the grand curves of the mezzanine where travelers once sat gossiping over their morning espressos, the brick entrances to the train platforms, which now led guests to impressionist paintings. The ceiling soared overhead, its iron supports swooping up in a series of elegant arches.

Daphne didn’t break stride until they were halfway down the hallway. Finally she paused at a statue of a man on horseback—a Roman emperor, probably, or one of the Washington kings. Whoever he was, his horse had reared up onto its hind legs, as if the man meant to trample anyone who stood in his way.

Daphne knew the feeling.

She glanced in all directions, making sure they were alone, before she ventured a smile in Ethan’s direction. “Sorry to drag you away from the party, but I was hoping to ask a favor.”

His brows shot upward. “Really? You’re coming to me, after—”

“I don’t like it either,” she interrupted, before he could say it out loud. “I just…I don’t have anyone else.”

Ethan crossed his arms warily. “What do you want, Daphne?”

“I need you to keep Nina Gonzalez as far from Jefferson as possible.”

She saw him tense at her words and hurried to elaborate. “It shouldn’t be difficult; you both live on the same campus. Can’t you help me get her out of the picture?”

Ethan paled. “You can’t seriously mean—after Himari—”

“I’m not saying you should hurt her!” Daphne hissed. She hated what she’d done to Himari Mariko: her best friend, who’d been in a coma since last June. “I just want you to spend a little more time with her,” Daphne explained. “Keep tabs on what she’s up to.”

Ethan’s voice was flat. “I see. You’re asking me to sideline Nina while you try to get Jeff back.”

Daphne nodded. “She’s Samantha’s best friend; she’s going to keep showing up at royal events. I need you to distract her.”

She’d forgotten what a relief it was, talking with Ethan. There was no one else with whom she could speak such blunt, unadorned truths. Being with him felt like taking off her shoes after a long and painful night of standing.

“I’m curious,” Ethan said sarcastically. “When you came up with this plan, how exactly did you think I was going to distract Nina?”

Daphne bristled at his tone. “Invite her to some parties, join her study group, flirt with her for all I care. The important thing is that she stays far from the palace, okay?”

Ethan’s eyes flashed. “Shocking, I know, but I doubt Nina would be interested in me.”

“Then make her interested! Come on, it should be easy. Don’t you remember what Nina was like on vacation? All she ever did was read. I’m sure she’d respond to some big romantic gesture.” Daphne paused, trying to remember everything she knew about Samantha’s best friend. “She’s always dreamed of visiting Venice. She collects M&M’s from foreign countries. She works in a library, for god’s sake.”

Daphne took a step closer, close enough that she could have kissed Ethan in half a heartbeat. He stiffened as she rose on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.

“Unless, of course, you think it’s too much of a challenge.”

He drew back, shaking his head. “Sorry, you can’t bait me into this one.”

Heat flooded her face, but before she could argue, he’d caught her hands in his.

“Forget Nina. Forget Jeff,” he said roughly. “Daphne—you and I have been running these circles around each other for years. Aren’t you ready to quit pretending?”

“I’m not pretending anything.” The words came out in a whisper.

“Let’s do this, you and me. For real this time.” And with that, he leaned down to kiss her.

Daphne had known, when she’d dragged Ethan out into the hallway, that something might happen between them. But she hadn’t bargained on this—this eager, treacherous rush of feeling that made her press her body forward, her arms darting up to circle his neck. She felt like she’d been on a torturous low simmer for months, and now she was finally alive again.

Some dazed part of her mind imagined saying yes. Giving up on Jefferson, giving in to this gravitational pull between her and Ethan. That world seemed to momentarily exist, as insubstantial and iridescent as a soap bubble, before it vanished.

Daphne tore herself away and stumbled back, adjusting the straps of her dress. There was a long, weighted silence.

“Daphne,” Ethan said at last. “I can’t wait for you forever.”

“I never asked you to wait for me,” she snapped.

Something like hurt flickered over his face, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by his usual indifference.

“Right. Instead you asked me to spy on Nina, so you could start dating my best friend again.” Ethan turned away. “This time, you’ll have to find someone else to do your dirty work.”

“I’ll make it worth your while!”

Daphne had cried out without thinking, out of desperation. She saw Ethan freeze, then glance warily over his shoulder at her. “What do you mean?”

“I can give you something,” she said recklessly. “Money, or favorable coverage in the press, or…”

Ethan stared at her for a long moment, so boldly that Daphne felt herself squirm beneath his gaze. The sounds of the party felt impossibly distant.

“I’ll need a title,” he decided. “Someday, when you’re a princess, you’ll make it happen.”

“Of course,” she told him, relieved that now they were bargaining. There was nothing Daphne loved more than a good negotiation.

“I want to be a duke,” he added.

Daphne almost laughed at the sheer audacity of it. “They haven’t awarded any new dukedoms since the nineteenth century. You know that.”

“A marquess, then.” Ethan sounded as though he was enjoying himself.

“A viscount.”

“An earl.”

“Done.” She gave a crisp, businesslike nod. “You keep Nina away from me and the prince, and eventually I’ll make you an earl.”