“It’s not every day a princess marries an actor,” Griffin said in a dry voice.

“I suppose not.” She gave him a curious look, wondering at his mood. He sounded a bit more like his unpleasant old self.

When they got to the front doors of the palace, a guard came down the steps and the chauffeur got out of the car to come to Griffin’s door. To Maylee’s surprise, Griffin leaned over and gave her a quick, fierce kiss on the lips. “You’ll go and get the condoms?”

“I’ll go,” she agreed, and laughed at the look of pleasure on his face. That was more like the man she knew. His hurtful action earlier had to simply be nerves. “See you soon.”

And then he was gone. As he appeared from the car, she could hear the roar of the crowd grow larger and larger, and he paused to straighten his jacket, giving a faint wave before heading inside. Even if Griffin didn’t like the crowds, they liked him. What wasn’t to like, Maylee mused to herself, waiting for the driver to get back at the wheel. He was young, handsome, incredibly wealthy, and titled. And reclusive. It was a fairy tale in the making.

“Where to, miss?” the driver said once he got back into the car.

“A pharmacy,” she said, ignoring the blush on her cheeks. “And then we’ll head back to the palace, but to the servant’s entrance.” She wasn’t allowed through the front doors.

“Very well, madam.”

The drive to the pharmacy took longer than she imagined, thanks to the crowds. It was hard not to get excited by their enthusiasm. Everywhere she saw pictures of Alex’s elegant face, her engagement portrait with Luke, Bellissime flags, and little girls wearing wedding veils. This was a fairy tale day for everyone involved, it seemed, and it was so fun to be part of it.

The driver eventually pulled up to a corner building. “Pharmacy, madam.”

“Thank you. I’ll be just a moment,” she told him, and got out of the car before he could get her door for her. She hurried inside, feeling conspicuous with her hat and dress. Inside, the pharmacy was quaint, the shelves short and loosely filled with an assortment of items. There seemed to be more souvenirs at the front than actual pharmaceuticals, she thought wryly to herself, but went up and down the meager aisles, searching for condoms. It felt a little embarrassing to be buying only condoms, so she grabbed a box and then headed to the souvenir stands. She’d already purchased most of the postcards and tiny flags and a commemorative mug, but today, the stands were full of newspapers and magazines, all proudly headlining the marriage of the beloved Crown Princess Alexandra to American actor Luke Houston. One paper had an enormous picture of Luke and Alex kissing at the ball, and underneath the headline was the subhead Updates On All of the Royal Family!

Curious if Griffin was there, she picked up the thick paper and then headed to the counter. The clerk gave her a curious look, but said nothing. He rang her up and Maylee paid with Griffin’s business card that he’d given her a few days before. Then, she headed back out to the sedan.

“Back to the palace,” she announced, tucking the box of condoms into the seat next to her. When the sedan crawled out onto the crowded streets again, she picked up the newspaper and began to flip through it. There were pictures of Alex and Luke in various stages of life, which were charming. After the first ten pages of photos dedicated to Luke and the princess, the paper began to include other members of the royal family. Several pages were dedicated to the queen herself, then her children. There was Alex’s mother, a distant-seeming woman. There was the widowed HRH Sybilla-Louise, looking just as regal and incredibly unpleasant as usual. Next came the grandchildren of the queen, and Maylee paused at a man who seemed a lot like Griffin. George, Duke of Calcaire, the paper read, eldest son of HRH Sybilla-Louise. That must have been Griffin’s older brother. He didn’t look pleasant either, she decided. No wonder Griffin never wanted to spend time with his family. She looked at the pictures of George with his wife, a timid-seeming blonde with a child at her side. One page was entirely devoted to George’s notorious philandering, and Maylee felt sorry for his poor wife, who had to endure public humiliation.

But that’s not the only royal who can’t keep it in his pants, the bottom of the page proclaimed with a big red arrow indicating that the reader should turn the page. Obligingly, Maylee did so, curious.

And stopped, stunned.

There was Griffin.

Griffin, unsmiling and staring ahead at the camera, at his mother’s side in an official palace photo. Another photo of Griffin, blurry and grainy, sitting with her on the park bench and sharing ice-cream cones and kissing. Someone had been following them that day.

But the worst was a picture of Griffin at the ball, standing with a tall, beautiful woman in a low-cut dress. She was leaning in to touch Griffin’s face as Griffin was smiling at her.

He was smiling at her. At this strange, beautiful woman. The caption of the photo read, Viscount Montagne Verdi cozies up with Her Royal Highness Princess Heloise of Saxe-Gallia. Will he finally make an honest woman out of her?

The caption under her picture with Griffin, of that innocent day on the park bench sharing gelatos? Lord Verdi sows some wild oats with one of his American mistresses.

Maylee felt as if she’d been slapped in the face.

One of?

Her gaze flicked back to the picture of Griffin with the princess. Make an honest woman out of her? Her? Trembling, Maylee folded the newspaper and brought it closer so it was easy to read despite the blur of tears in her eyes.

Old friends Lord Verdi and HRH Heloise snuggle at the princess’s wedding ball. Rumor has it that the viscount returned to Bellissime specifically to request her hand in marriage, and sources say that the two have never been closer. The viscount’s family has reportedly been pushing for a match between the two royals, as it would connect the house of Bellissime with the royal house of Saxe-Gallia in a much anticipated union. The two have been friends since childhood. “It’s only a matter of time,” says a close confidant of the pair. “Mark my words. He’ll marry her when he’s ready to settle down.”

She dropped the newspaper onto the seat, repulsed. She’d been flirting with the man, undressing and showering with him. Sleeping in his bed. Kissing him. Hell, she’d gone out to buy condoms today, and all the while, he was flirting with a royal princess who he intended on marrying? Who was Maylee to him if she wasn’t his girlfriend?

With a sick lurch in her stomach, she remembered her attempt to hold his hand that morning. He’d turned her away. Not right now.

She understood what that meant. Not in public.

Not where others can see us.

Not if he was going to marry a princess.

He didn’t want to be seen with her if she was just a convenient fuck.

Maylee burst into tears.

“Madam?” The driver looked back in the rearview mirror at her. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, and only cried harder. She felt so stupid. She felt . . . crushed. She’d really thought they had something, that she’d seen who the real Griffin was underneath that starchy exterior, but now she wondered if he’d only changed because he’d wanted someone to fuck before he proposed to a princess.

It hurt so much.

“Here, take this,” the driver said, and Maylee looked up to see him passing her a small box of Kleenex through the glass partition to the back seat.

“Thank you,” she blubbered, and took the box from him. She mopped at her face, wincing at the mascara streaks appearing on the tissue. She’d have to fix her makeup before heading back to the palace. Her stomach dropped at the thought, and she dragged out a tiny mirror.

Maylee stared at her reflection for a long moment, and then ripped the fascinator out of her hair and tossed it on the floorboards of the car.

“Do you need a few minutes before we go back to the palace, madam?”

She wiped at her face again and thought, staring out the tinted window at all the gloriously happy people lining the streets, waiting for the fairy tale wedding to pass by. What a joke. Maylee balled up the tissue and tossed it down, then grabbed another, stuffing a few more into her small handbag. She’d probably need handfuls of them if she was going to try and make it through the day.

The blue cover of her passport stared back at her, sticking out of her purse. Maylee paused and stared at it. She always kept her ID and her passport on her at all times. She thought of the items back in her room. Some jeans, some souvenirs, and several outfits that Griffin had bought her because she was too embarrassing to be seen in public with . . . or to hold hands with.

That hurt so much.

She dragged out her tiny coin purse and began to dig through it, looking for something. Sure enough, sandwiched between a few Bellissime coins, she found a loose happy pill. She always kept one at hand in case of travel emergency, and it didn’t matter if it was covered in lint or expired—she popped it into her mouth and swallowed it dry.

“Can you take me to the airport?” she asked the driver.

“Yes, madam.”

“Thank you, kindly.” And Maylee gave him a teary smile.

* * *

The day had been pure and utter hell.

By the time Griffin emerged from the royal palace after the wedding and all the obligatory waving to the crowd, he was in a foul mood. The wedding itself had been a series of last-minute disasters. There were the expected issues with fittings and servants rushing everywhere, compounded with photographers and paparazzi determined to break into the grounds of the palace and police guards just as determined to pick them off before they made it up the marble steps.

The streets had been so crowded that the royal family hadn’t been able to make it to the tiny Bellissime chapel, and Alex had been so upset that she’d insisted her wedding occur inside the palace itself. So they’d had an impromptu wedding right at the base of the queen’s throne, the first in Bellissime history, much to HRH Sybilla-Louise’s dismay.

Maylee hadn’t returned with his ceremonial jacket, and she was nowhere to be found. Annoyed and tense, he’d snapped at his mother’s equerry until the man located the suit, which had been dropped off with one of the drivers. Maylee had vanished, and Griffin felt a nagging bit of worry. She must have been sick and gone back to the hotel. He hoped she was all right. The thought of that sunny smile dampened by the flu made him feel a pang of sympathy. He’d get her some chicken noodle soup on the way home, he decided, and sent the order downstairs to the palace kitchens.

By the time his cousin was safely wedded and all photographs and public appearances were done, Griffin felt wrung out and exhausted. He didn’t care about having sex with Maylee that night. She was sick, and he was tired. He simply wanted to go back to his room and hold her. Tangle his fingers in those glorious curls and tell her all about the brutality of his day. Listen to her sweet, drawling voice as she comforted him. Snuggle up against her delicious, curvy body.

His dick decided that it cared about having sex, though. Just a little. He adjusted his pants surreptitiously in the back of the sedan, eyeing the bagged container of chicken noodle soup on the floorboard that the kitchens had prepared for his ride home. There was a piece of white sticking out from under one of the seats, and he reached down to grab it.

When he realized it was a used tissue, he nearly dropped it in disgust, but the black smears on it made him pause. It looked like mascara. His heart gave a funny clench and he lifted the Kleenex so the driver could see it. “What is this?”

The man gazed in the rearview mirror. “Looks like a hanky, my lord.”

Sigh. “No, what is it doing in the back of my sedan?”

“The madam must have dropped it before she headed to the airport, my lord.”

He stilled. “Airport?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Griffin gritted his teeth. For once, he hated the rules that the well-trained staff of the monarchy followed, especially the “do not converse with the family.”

“Why did you drive my assistant to the airport?”

“She insisted, my lord. She was crying quite a bit.”

“Crying? Was everything all right?”