MY MOTHER ONCE TOLD ME that time was like the wind. It rushes over you, passes you—and no matter how hard you try, how much you want to, you can’t hold onto it, and you can’t ever slow it down.

Her words echo in my head as I lie awake in my bed, in the gray dawn stillness, while Olivia sleeps soundlessly beside me.

Four days. That’s all we have left. The time has flown by as quickly as turning the pages in a book. They’ve been glorious days—filled with laughter and kisses, moans and gasps, more pleasure in every way than I ever let myself dream about.

For the last month, Olivia and I have truly enjoyed our time together. We’ve gone biking around the city—with security nearby, of course. The people wave and call—not just to me, but to her as well. “A lovely lass,” they say. There were picnics near the pond and trips to our other properties, Olivia’s sweet voice echoing with joy down the aged halls. I taught her to ride a horse, though she prefers a bike. A few times she’s gone clay-pigeon shooting with Henry and I—covering her ears at every pull of the trigger in the adorable way she has of doing things.

There hasn’t been much reason for Olivia and my grandmother to come into contact, but when they have, the Queen has treated her civilly, if not frigidly. But one Sunday for tea, Olivia baked scones. It was the first time she’d baked since leaving New York and she actually enjoyed it. She made her own delicious recipe of almond and cranberry. My grandmother declined to try even one bite.

And I hated her a little bit then.

But that one, dark moment is extinguished by a thousand brilliant ones. A thousand perfect memories of our time together.

And now our time is just about up.

The seed of an idea has been planted in my mind for a while—months—but I haven’t let it sprout. Until now.

I turn on my side, kissing a path up Olivia’s smooth arm to her shoulder, burying my nose in the fragrant crook of her neck. She wakes with a smile in her voice.

“Good morning.”

My lips drift to her ear. And I give voice to my idea. To my hope.

“Don’t go back to New York. Stay.”

Her reply comes a heartbeat later. In a whisper.

“For how long?”

“For always.”

Slowly she turns in my arms, her navy eyes seeking, her lips just starting to smile.

“Have you talked to your grandmother? Are you…are you not going through with the announcement?”

I swallow hard, my throat rough.

“No. Canceling the announcement isn’t possible. But I’ve been thinking…I could push the wedding off for a year. Maybe two. We would have all that time together.”

She flinches. And her smile falls into oblivion.

But I push on, trying to make her understand. Make her see.

“I could have Winston look into the women on the list. Perhaps one of them has what we have. I could…come to an understanding with her. An arrangement.”

“A marriage of convenience,” she says in a detached tone.

“Yes.” I cup her cheek, bringing her eyes to mine. “It’s been done for centuries—because it works. Or maybe…I could marry Ezzy. It would make things easier for her…and for us.”

Olivia’s gaze touches the ceiling and her hand scrapes into her hair, tugging. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nicholas.”

And my voice is raw with desperate emotion. “Just think about it. You’re not even considering it.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

Frustration turns my tone cold. “I’m asking you to stay. Here. With me.”

And hers bursts into flames. “Yes, stay and watch you announce to the world that you’re marrying someone else! Stay and watch while you go to parties and luncheons and pose for pictures with someone else. Stay and watch you…give her your mother’s ring.”

I wince.

Olivia shoves me, rises, and scrambles off the bed.

“You are such an asshole!”

She heads for the bookcase, but I bolt off the bed, chasing her. I wrap an arm around her waist, locking her in place, my chest against her back—my hand in her hair, my scraping voice at her ear.

“Yes, I’m a fucking arsehole and a bastard, too. But I can’t…bear it. The thought of you being an ocean away. The thought of never seeing you, never touching you again.”

I close my eyes and press my forehead against her temple, breathing her in, holding her too tight but too desperate to loosen my grip.

“I love you, Olivia. I love you. And I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let you go.”

She shudders in my arms. And then she’s sobbing into her hands. Great, heaving, heartbroken bursts that wreck me.

I should’ve left her alone. I should’ve walked away the moment I started to feel…everything. I had no business trying to keep her. It will forever be the cruelest thing I’ve ever done.

She turns in my arms and presses her face against my chest, wetting it with her tears. I hold her close and stroke her hair. “Don’t cry, love. Shhh…please, Olivia.”

Broken eyes look up at me.

“I love you too.”

“I know.” I stroke her face. “I know you do.”

“But I can’t…” Her voice quakes. “If I stay here, if I have to watch you…it’ll be like being burned alive, one piece at a time, until there’ll be nothing left of me…of us.”

My ribs squeeze as if a snake has coiled around them, making every breath painful and hard.

“It was unfair of me to ask you, Olivia.” I push at her tears, wiping them away. “Please don’t cry anymore. Please…forget. Forget I said anything. Let’s just—”