“Right, right,” Clara said, bobbing her head like it was no big deal she’d just committed low-grade treason on her behalf. “Now tell me everything. Peasant life treating you well? Learned to boil an egg yet?”
“You’re hilarious. Really.”
“Yep. And spill. How’s the ‘normal person’ experiment going?”
Allegra hesitated, then blurted, “I had rebound sex with an Irishman last night. That normal enough for you?” Her voice had that I-just-dropped-a-bomb-and-I’m-going-to-own-it edge to it, like she’d chugged liquid courage and regretted nothing.
“Eww! Allie! I meant…” She waved a hand as if she were trying to scrub the mental image. “Public transport. Paying for your own coffee. Not having someone iron your socks.”
“Oh,” Allegra said, grinning. “That too. All of that. Socks un-ironed. Coffee self-purchased. Character thoroughly built.”
Clara was still gaping at her like she’d just announced she’d run off to join a circus.
“Besides,” Allegra barreled on, “before you start planning a wedding, Irish Guy was very ‘nice meeting you, have a great life, but I won’t be texting’ energy. Zero drama.”
“Mmm,” Clara said. “Allie, ‘zero drama’ and ‘our family’ don’t even belong in the same sentence.”
Allegra ignored that. She shifted into a cross-legged position. “Anyway, that was the point of all this.”
Clara’s brow furrowed. “There was a point? So who’s the next victim?”
Allegra hesitated, her fingers tracing idle circles on the blanket beneath her. “Actually…” Her heart did that stupid, traitorous thump again. “I, uh. I kind of met someone else.”
Clara’s eyes sharpened. “Oh God, Allie. You didn’t sleep—”
“No!” Allegra cut in, heat flooding her cheeks. “We just hung out, okay? And it was one of thoseoh-crap-this-is-effortlesskinds of things.” She exhaled, rubbing a palm over her thigh. “Like, we didn’t have to try. It just worked.”
Clara’s head tilted slowly, like a cat who’d just spotted a plump, unaware canary. “Ah.”
“Don’t,” Allegra warned, waving her free hand at the screen. “Just don’t start.”
“Too late,” Clara said, grinning. “We’ve started. Now keep going.”
Allegra groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “His name’s Nate.”
“Ooooh. English?”
“American. An actor. Or was an actor. Whatever.” She winced. “I may have dumped an entire glass of wine on him. Not my finest moment. But then we spent the whole day together. Ate fondue—yes, in July—walked around, talked…” Her voice trailed off as her brain helpfully supplied a slideshow: Nate’s smile, the little crinkle by his eyes, the way his laugh sounded like warm honey poured over something sinful. And then there he was again, stepping out of the lake, water sluicing down his chest, his boxers clinging like they’d been painted on.
Her thighs pressed together, heat pooling low.Oh, her body sighed, like a choir of traitorous angels,him.
Allegra shifted, clearing her throat. “Anyway, he didn’t know who I was. Which was weirdly nice.” She picked at a loose thread on her shorts. “He’s huge. Tattoos everywhere. Arms like he could bench-press a truck. But he’s just this sweet, easygoing guy. Made me laugh. Didn’t treat me like I was made of glass or a headline.”
Clara snickered. “Finally. Someone immune to the crown and all its sparkly bullshit.”
“Except,” Allegra said, and the word felt like a bucket of water to the face, some of the warmth draining out of her, “he’s into someone else.”
“Someone else?”
“Yep. Ella Fischer. My Austrian student alter ego. Some art student nobody who can stay out all night and skinny-dip in a lake with a guy she just met, because why the hell not?” She swallowed. “Basically, everything I’m not.”
Clara winced in sympathy.
“Ugh,” Allegra groaned, the thought she’d been skating around all evening settling in her gut like a stone. “What does that even make me, if the version he’s into is basically a costume?”
Clara reached out and tapped the screen. “Whoa, slow down. Maybe thatisyou, Allie. You know, the one who walked away from that ridiculously pretty rugby player because you wanted actual feelings. That part of you is still in there, no matter how much glitter they throw at it.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or if he caught a glimpse of my royal clown show, he’d pull a Houdini and disappear.”
