“Wow,” she murmurs afterward. “And I thought I was the one with baggage.” She rocks a bit, shaking her head. “That’s…crazy. I mean, it’s the twenty-first century and you have to do the arranged marriage thing?”

I try to shrug. “It’s not as arranged as it used to be. The first time my grandparents were alone in a room together was their wedding night.”

“Wow,” Olivia says again. “Awkward.”

“I at least have the chance to get to know the woman I’ll marry. I get to decide—but there are certain requirements that have to be met.”

She leans forward, elbows to knees, her silky hair falling over her shoulder. “What kind of requirements?”

“She has to be nobility, even distantly. And she has to be a virgin.”

Olivia grimaces. “Jesus, that’s archaic.”

“I know it is. But think about it, Olivia. My children will govern a country one day, not because they’ve earned it or were elected—just because they’re mine. Archaic rules are the only thing that makes me who I am. I don’t get to choose which ones I’ll follow.” I shrug. “That’s life.”

“No, it’s not,” Olivia says quietly.

“It’s my life.”

As she stares at me, her expression hardens and her eyes turn steely, pinning me to the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me? All these nights, why didn’t you say anything?”

“There was no reason to tell you…at first.”

She stands up fast, voice rising. “Honesty is a reason, Nicholas. You should have told me!”

“I didn’t know!”

“You didn’t know what?” she sneers prettily.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this!” I shout.

The scorn fades from her face along with the anger. Replaced with rising surprise, maybe a bit of hope. “Feel like what?”

Emotion coils inside me—so new and unfamiliar, I can barely put it into words.

“I have just over four months. And when I walked into that coffee shop, I didn’t know that I would end up wanting to spend every single day of it…with you.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle and her mouth pulls up in the tiniest of smiles.

“You do?”

I cup her cheek and nod. “Talking to you, laughing with you, looking at you.” Then I smirk. “Preferably being buried deep in some part of you.”

She snorts and pushes at my shoulder.

And then I sober. “But that’s all I have to offer. When the summer ends, so do we.”

Olivia combs her hand through her hair, yanking a bit.

I sit back down in the chair, adding, “And there’s more.”

“Oh, Jesus, what? Is there a long-lost child out there somewhere?”

I flinch—even though I know she’s joking.

“Logan was right about the press. It’s just dumb luck that they haven’t snapped your photo yet—a matter of time. And when they do, your life is going to change. They’ll talk to everyone you’ve ever known, dig around into the financial situation of Amelia’s, comb through your past—”

“I don’t have a past.”

“Then they’ll make one up,” I snap without meaning to.

It’s out of frustration—frustration that time is short…and the walls are closing in.

“It not easy being my friend; it’s even more difficult being my lover. Think of me as a walking exploding bomb—anything near to me will eventually become collateral damage.”

“And you seemed like such a catch,” she jokes, shaking her head.

Then she stands and turns her back to me, thinking out loud. “So, it’ll be like…like Dear John, or Sandy and Zuko in Grease? A summer fling? An affair? And then…you’ll just leave?”

“That’s right.” I stare at her back, waiting.

My stomach rolls with nerves. Because I can’t remember wanting anything as much as I want this—as much as I want her.

When a minute passes without a word, I offer, “If you need time to think about it, I—”

Olivia moves quickly—spinning around, cutting off my words with the urgent press of her mouth, her sweet lips hot and demanding. My hands automatically find her hips, pulling her forward between my knees.

Then she straightens, and runs her finger over her lips, gazing down at me. “Did you feel that?”

The spark, the electricity. The desire that feeds on itself, relishing the relief of contact but always wanting more.

“Yes.”

She takes my hand and places it over her breast—where her heartbeat throbs wildly in her chest. “And do you feel this?”

My own chest pounds with the same rhythm.

“Yes.”

“Some people go their whole lives without feeling that. We’ll get to have it for four months.” Her eyes dance with moonlight. “I’m in.”

A few days later, I’m scheduled to attend a dinner in Washington, DC—a benefit for the Mason Foundation—and Olivia agrees to accompany me. When she worries that she doesn’t have anything to wear, I arrange a shopping trip at the Fifth Avenue Barrister’s, after closing.

Because I’m not a gentleman, I help her in the dressing room when the saleswoman is otherwise occupied—giving her a hand, and a finger, getting in and out of all that binding clothing—mostly getting out of it.

She settles on a deep, jewel-tone plum-colored dress that clings to all the best places, and gold strappy heels. They show her a simple diamond necklace that would look fantastic with the outfit. But Olivia won’t let me buy it for her. She says Marty’s sister has something more suitable she can borrow.