My grandmother looks past my shoulder to the doorway. “Christopher, show Emperor Himura to the blue drawing room. I will join him momentarily.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Once my grandmother and I are alone, her indifferent façade drops like a boulder catapulted over an enemy’s wall.

“Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m canceling the press conference.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m going to New York to see Olivia. I’ve hurt her terribly.”

“Out of the question,” she hisses, eyes glinting like the edge of a blade.

“I’ve done everything you’ve ever wanted! I’ve become everything you wanted me to be—and I’ve never asked you for anything! But I’m asking you for this.” Something cracks inside me, making my voice splinter.

“I love her. It can’t end this way.”

She regards me, silently, for a several moments, and when she speaks her voice is gentler but still resolute.

“This is exactly how it needs to end. Do you think I’m a fool, Nicholas? That I didn’t know what you were thinking?”

I open my mouth to reply, but she goes on.

“You thought you could postpone the wedding for a time—and perhaps you could have. But the fact remains, the day will come when you will be a husband and a father. You will be a king. And what will Olivia be then?”

“Mine,” I growl. “She’ll be mine.”

I see her in my head—those smiling, rosy lips, the way her eyes dance when she looks at me. When she’s happy—when I’ve made her happy. I think of the way her thick, dark lashes fan out against her perfect skin while she sleeps—peacefully, because she’s sleeping in my arms. I remember the feel of her soft touch and the sheer, miraculous contentment I feel when I’m just lying beside her.

“The word ‘mistress’ doesn’t carry the same weight it once did, but it is still not a pretty thing to be, Nicholas. And there are no secrets, not in this world, not anymore. You will have a purpose to fulfill, a destiny. You will have the admiration and devotion of a country. And Olivia…will have its scorn. Possibly the derision of the whole world. You’ve seen it play out—time and again. The nannies who take up with their married movie-star employers, the young interns ensnared by powerful men. It’s never the man who is shamed and ruined. It’s always the woman—the other woman—who gets burned at the stake.”

And I have no response. Because I didn’t think that far. The future didn’t matter—all that mattered was having Olivia, keeping her, being able to kiss her every morning and tell her, show her, how precious she was to me every night.

My grandmother’s brows draw together, as if she’s aggrieved.

“Are you really so selfish, my boy? Is that the life you want for her?”

The life I want for her?

I want the world for Olivia.

I want to show her every corner of it, explore it while holding her hand. I want the stars for her—and the moon and the heavens—and everything in between.

And for a moment, I truly thought I could give them to her. I believed there was a way.

Stupid.

Franny called me a fool. A double-damned idiot. For once, I agree with her.

When I answer, my voice is hollow—a ravaged, empty imitation of my own.

“No.”

“Then let her go. If you truly love her, let her hate you. It will be easier for her that way.” She puts her hand on my arm, squeezing with a strength that still surprises me. “And for you.”

I rub my eyes, suddenly so…tired.

“Christopher has the list. I’ve narrowed it down to five. Look it over. They’re wonderful women, Nicholas. Any one of them will make you happy, if you just allow it.”

I move out of her office without another word, feeling dazed. I pause in front of Christopher’s desk and he hands me The List. One page, five names, five pretty, smiling thumb-size faces. All the same. All meaningless.

Swallowing hard, I pass it back to the Queen’s secretary.

“Pick one.”

His eyes jolt from me to the page and back again.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Uh…which one should I pick, Your Grace?”

And I say the truest words I’ve ever spoken in my life.

“It doesn’t matter.”

THE MONTHS I SPENT in Wessco flew by in a blink, in a snap of fingers—the way time always seems to move when you’re happiest. But the last two days have limped, crawled by in endless, teeth-gnashingly painful seconds. I thought leaving Wessco was the hardest thing I’d ever do.

But I was wrong. Living without Nicholas is so much harder.

I called Ellie from the airport—told her I was coming home, asked her to meet me when I landed. But when I walked out of the gate it wasn’t her that was there.

It was my dad.

His eyes were clear—sober and strong. And knowing.

I was already crying by the time he got to me. I didn’t even try to hold back. He told me it would be okay; he promised that I would be all right. He said I was strong—like my mother—and that I would get through this. He rocked me in his arms and held me so tight.

My hero.

But it’s been a struggle. I have to fight the urge to curl into a ball and cry because everything hurts. My chest is heavy with the weight of my heart, my head throbs with doubts—all the things I could’ve done differently. My arms and legs ache with the urge to run back to him, to fix it, to hug him and never, ever let him go. My stomach is twisted and nauseated. So sick that for a split second, yesterday, I considered the possibility that maybe I was pregnant—and that fleeting thought brought relief and joy. It’s the worst reason to want a baby, but it would mean we’d still have a connection. And I’d have a reason to go back, to see him again.