LITMIR.BIZ

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her face in her pillow. It was morning. Zale was gone. And she’d be leaving here now.

      Sometime in the next half hour or hour, she’d pack her things and say her goodbyes.

      The idea of saying goodbye to Zale, though, made her heartsick.

      She loved him but would leave him.

      How was this right? How was it fair?

      And how would Zale say goodbye to her? Would he come to her room and say goodbye there? Or would he meet her at the door? Or would he refuse to see her, and say nothing at all?

      Hannah’s heart contracted, her chest aching with the pressure and pain. But you can’t cry, she told herself. You must keep it together for Zale’s sake. You must stay calm until you ‘re gone.

      And she would stay calm. She’d focus on the future, on returning to her life, her own life, the life of an ordinary twenty-five-year-old woman working to pay her bills, make her car payment and cover her rent.

      She once liked being ordinary, and she’d always loved her independence and autonomy. She’d enjoyed working and then coming home at night to her apartment, and curling up on the sofa and watching her favorite shows and reading her favorite books.

      She could do this, she repeated, throwing back the covers to face her day.

      Hannah had barely finished her shower in her bathroom in the Queen’s Chambers when Lady Andrea came knocking on the door to discuss Hannah’s day with her.

      “It’s going to be a busy day with the ball tonight,” Lady Andrea said, consulting her calendar with the scrawl of events and notes. “You’ll join His Majesty for morning coffee in his office, and then directly after you’ll have a fitting with Monsieur Pierre who has flown in this morning with your gown for tonight’s Amethyst & Ice Ball.”

      So that’s how this would play out, Hannah thought, unable to speak. He was summoning her to his office where he’d say a few brief words and then have her shown to the door. How perfectly professional. How wonderfully regal. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll dress quickly.”

      “I’m not supposed to say anything,” Lady Andrea said, dropping her voice, “but I’ve seen the ballroom. The decorations are breathtaking. The entire room has been transformed into a winter wonderland with floor-to-ceiling ice sculptures.”

      Hannah didn’t care about the ball. She wouldn’t be there. But she did care about Zale. She cared very much about saying goodbye, and handling herself right. She had to keep it together. Had to be as calm and controlled in Zale’s study as possible.

      Twenty minutes later, Hannah found herself seated in Zale’s personal study, a room lined with floor-to-ceiling books that made her think of a library, sipping a cup of coffee in a chair across from Zale’s desk, wishing he’d speak.

      He’d barely looked at her since she arrived a few minutes ago. Nor had he touched his coffee. Instead he stared at a spot on his desk, fingers drumming on the rich polished wood.

      “Did you sleep well?” he finally spoke, breaking the unbearable silence.

      She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

      “Yesterday I was very upset. I overheard you on the phone and felt betrayed—”

      “It’s okay, Zale. I understand. I’m not going to make a scene—”

      “I owe you an apology,” he interrupted tersely. “I had it all wrong. You were telling me the truth. You weren’t speaking to Alejandro.”

      She felt a shiver of alarm. “How do you know?”

      “He was badly injured in a polo accident yesterday in Buenos Aires. He was in surgery for hours, and he remains unconscious in intensive care.” He finally looked at her, his expression blank, his jaw hard. “I imagine you already knew that—”

      “I didn’t.”

      He looked away, swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Emmeline. I know you have … strong … feelings for him.”

      She stared at her hands, fingers interlocked. “I’m sorry he was hurt, but I’m not in love with him.”

      “No?”

      She shook her head and lifted it to meet his gaze. “How could I, when I care so much about you?”

      For a long moment he searched her eyes before taking a deep breath. “You still do? Even though last night I was determined to throw you out?”

      Her lips curved into a tremulous smile. “Yes.”

      He looked pale and tense and unhappy. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

      Guilt clawed at her. She struggled to hang on to her smile. “Mistakes happen.”

      “Can you forgive me?”

      “Yes.”

      “And will you please stay? I don’t want to host the ball tonight without you at my side.”

      “Yes. Absolutely. I’d love to be there with you.”

      “Thank you.” He sounded relieved but his expression remained grim. “And in that case, I’m to send you straight back to your room for a final fitting for tonight’s ball gown.”

      She nodded, forced another smile and quietly slipped away.

      He watched her leave, listened as the door closed soundlessly behind her.

      For a moment he felt strangely bereft. Hollow and empty and alone. He didn’t like it.

      He’d liked having her in his study. He enjoyed her company. Loved having her around.

      She’d said last night that she knew she wasn’t the woman he’d wanted, but she was wrong. She was exactly what he wanted. Now he just needed to prove it to her.

      It was time he stopped trying to control everything so much. Time to stop defining everything as black or white. Could he open a little? Grow a little? Change for her?

       Yes.

      He pictured her sleeping so trustfully in his arms last night and he wanted that every night. He wanted a life with her, a future together. Marriage and babies and everything that went with it.

      Across the palace in the Queen’s Chambers, Hannah stood in her dressing room on the small, low stool in a thin white Grecian gown that wouldn’t zip closed, her image caught reflected in the numerous mirrors. And no one said anything.

      Not Lady Andrea who sat in the corner with her notebook. Or Camille and Teresa who stood against the far wall. Or Celine, who hovered behind Anton Pierre, the designer from Paris who’d just flown in that morning hand carrying the two commissioned gowns—the ball gown for tonight’s gala and the wedding dress for Saturday’s ceremony.

      No one spoke because what could anyone say?

      The thin, slim chiffon gown should have cascaded effortlessly in an elegant column of white. Instead the fabric rode up in Hannah’s armpits and the back wouldn’t zip. Turning her head, Hannah could see her thin bra strap across her back and even that looked tight.

      “Suck in your stomach,” Anton Pierre said, tugging hard on the zipper of the gown, lips pursed, expression critical.

      “I am,” Hannah answered, wincing a little as the zipper pinched her back, catching at her skin.

      “More,” he insisted.

      She yelped as he zipped another bit of skin. “Ouch, stop! Stop. That hurts.”

      Anton threw his hands up in displeasure. “If this gown is too tight, your wedding gown isn’t going to fit, either. Your breasts and hips are huge, Your Highness. What have you been eating?”

      “Not a lot,” Hannah answered, knowing she’d actually lost weight in the past week, at least five pounds.

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