I press a kiss to the back of her neck, then her shoulder.

Olivia turns to face me, takes my hand, and lowers her voice. “Nicholas, I’ve been thinking—”

“Let’s go, Googly Eyes One and Two. We’re late,” Henry, also decked out in full uniform, says as he walks into the room, tapping his wrist. “You’ll have time to drool all over each other later.”

I lean down and kiss Olivia’s cheek. “You can finish that sentence tonight.”

We assemble in an antechamber off the ballroom, while the sounds of the party, the chatter and music and the clinking of glasses, seep like smoke under the door. My cousins are here—Marcus and his brood. After the briefest of greetings they stay far away from me, and I do the same. I also stay away from any refreshments they’ve been near…just in case.

My secretary, Bridget claps her hands, giggling and vibrating like the head of a social committee in school. “One more time, just in case—the Queen will be announced first, followed by Prince Nicholas, then Prince Henry, who will escort Miss Hammond into the room.” She turns to my brother. “Everyone will be standing, so you will walk Miss Hammond to the marked spot near the wall, then return to your brother’s side for the receiving line. Everyone’s got it, yes?”

Trumpets blare from beyond the doors, and Bridget nearly bursts out of her skin.

“Oh, that’s the signal. Places, my lords and ladies, places!” She pauses next to Olivia, squeezing her arm and squeaking, “It’s just so exciting!”

After she steps away, Olivia laughs. “I really like her.”

Then she lines up beside my brother. We talked about it—about Henry escorting her in, the expectations, the traditions…but standing here now, it all just seems so meaningless.

Stupid.

I turn around and tap my brother on the shoulder. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Trade with me.”

“Trade what?” Henry asks.

I motion with my finger. “Our spots.”

He leans over, looking at our grandmother’s back. “You’re supposed to follow Granny out. Be second in the receiving line.”

I shrug. “She won’t look behind her. She won’t know until you’re beside her—and then, she’ll roll with it. You can handle greeting the guests second—I have faith in you.”

“That goes against protocol,” Henry taunts, because I already know he’s going to say yes.

I shrug again. “Fuck it.”

He chuckles and looks at me, with pride in his eyes. “You’ve turned my brother into a rebel, Olive.” He taps her hand. “Well done.”

Then he switches spots with me.

Olivia’s arm curls around mine, and her thigh brushes my leg through the fabric of her dress.

“That’s better.” I sigh. Because having her on my arm feels like it always has—like it’s meant to be.

The ball is in full swing. Everyone’s enjoying themselves—the music is less stuffy than in past years, the orchestra mixing renditions of popular music with classical. People are dancing, eating, laughing—and I stand across the room, by myself for a rare moment, watching.

Watching her.

It’s the strangest sensation—the swell of joy in my chest that looking at Olivia always brings. The surging pride I feel as she moves with so much confidence, chatting with the wives of ambassadors, leaders, and assorted royalty like she’s been doing it her whole life—like she was born to do it. And then the inevitable stab of agony lands—when I remember that she’s leaving. That in just another few days, she’ll be gone, lost to me, forever.

“Are you all right, Nicky?” Henry asks, with quiet concern. I didn’t see him approach and I don’t know how long he’s been beside me.

“No, Henry,” I say in a voice that doesn’t sound at all like mine. “I don’t think I am.”

He nods, then squeezes my arm and pats my back—trying to prop me up, lend me strength. It’s all he can do, because, like I told him months ago…we are who we are.

I push off from the wall and walk over to the orchestra leader. We speak for a few seconds, heads bent together. When he eagerly agrees, I head toward Olivia. I reach her just as the opening notes of the song float across the room.

And I hold out my hand. “May I have this dance, Miss Hammond?”

Understanding dawns on her face…and then adoration. It’s the prom song she mentioned, that she loves but never got to dance to—“Everything I Do.”

Her head tilts. “You remembered.”

“I remember it all.”

Olivia takes my hand and I lead her out to the dance floor. We’ve captivated the attention of the entire room. Even the couples already dancing pause and turn our way.

As I take her in my arms and lead her, Olivia whispers nervously, “Everyone’s looking at us.”

People have looked at me my entire life. It’s something I’ve endured begrudgingly, accepted no matter how much it chafed.

Except for now.

“Good.”

In the early morning hours, before dawn, I move inside Olivia—on top of her—with only breath between us, white-hot pleasure coursing and spiking through us both with every long, slow stroke of my hips. It’s making love, in the truest, purest sense of the word.

Our thoughts, our bodies, our souls are not our own. They swirl and blend together, becoming something new and perfect. I hold her face while I kiss her, my tongue sliding against hers, our hearts beating in time. Sparks strike against my spine, tingles of electricity that hint at the shattering orgasm that’s building. But not yet…I don’t want it to end yet.