Time blurred. Minutes. Or hours. The unread icon pulsed in the dark like an accusation:You’re an idiot.Eventually, the steady rumble of passing trains dragged him into a shallow, uneasy doze. And in that hazy space between awake and asleep, the truth slithered in: he’d never wanted anyone this badly. And he’d never been so terrified of wanting at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Allegra clawed her way back to consciousness, as if hauling herself from the bottom of a dark well. She cracked an eyelid open, sunlight stabbing into her like a hot poker to the brain.
“Ugh.”
The room swam into focus: rumpled sheets tangled around her legs, an overturned chair, the fruit painting listing to one side. And Michel? Gone. Thank God. Thank all the gods.
She pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, and grimaced as her bare foot pressed into something sticky.Please let it be wine. Please let it be… nope. A used condom glinted accusingly from the floor, not too far from the shattered remains of a lamp.Classy, Allegra.
With a whimper, she dropped to all fours and groped blindly for her purse, which she found beneath the crumpled wreckage of her Dior dress. Her phone was inside, its screen glowing. She squinted as three missed messages popped up, all from Nate.
He wanted to meet up. Today.
Absolutely not. Maybe. Shit.
Allegra dragged her knees to her chest, pressing the cool glass of her phone against her forehead. Ignoring Nate would be easier. Cleaner. It would let her pretend she was totally fine. Unbothered. Not at all like someone who’d spent the night rage-performing adulthood like a pissed-off sixteen-year-old with revoked Wi-Fi privileges.
She could do that. She should.
Except the idea of cutting him loose lodged low in her stomach and refused to budge. She wanted to see him again. Badly. Not because he owed her anything, but for that strange, buoyant feeling he gave her. The way being around him made her feel expansive, even if only for a moment. As though the world extended beyond palace gates.
Besides, coffee was still within the rules. It wasn’t like she was signing up for a relationship. She hadn’t even gotten him up to her room. It was closure. Or civility. Or self-inflicted torture. She wasn’t entirely sure which.
Her phone buzzed. She checked the caller ID, pulled the Dior dress tighter around her shoulders, and accepted the call. “Hey, Maus.”
Clara’s face filled the screen, her expression turning deeply. Her eyes flicked over Allegra’s face, then dipped, taking in the wreckage beyond the frame.
“Holy shit, Allie,” Clara said. “You look like death warmed over. Big night?”
“Thanks,” Allegra rasped. Her voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. “And yeah. Something like that.”
“With the Nate guy?” Clara asked, leaning closer to the camera.
“No.”
Clara blinked. “No?”
“No,” Allegra repeated.
Clara’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I thought you two were—”
“We were,” Allegra cut in. She winced and forced herself to slow down. “I mean, we did. Sort of. It’s just… complicated.”
That eyebrow came back, arching in a way that suggested Clara had at least twelve follow-up questions queued and ready to deploy. Instead, she sighed. “Okay. I’m filing that under ‘to be unpacked later with snacks and wine.’ Because there’s a reason I’m calling.”
Allegra’s teeth clenched. “That sounds ominous.”
“Unfortunately, yeah.” Clara’s voice dropped, and the playful edge vanished. “They’ve locked me out of the war room.”
“What?” Allegra pushed herself upright, the room tilting in response. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Since when?”
“Since I became too ‘emotionally compromised,’” Clara said, making air quotes. “But I overheard enough to know they’re onto you.”
Allegra closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Jesus. Why now?”
“As far as I could make out, they don’t know where you’re staying. Just somewhere in Geneva. But Papa’s sure to have people sniffing around.”
