“And then?”
“And then…” She lifted one shoulder. “Hit pause on the study. Do some work for my parents.”
His brow creased. “That didn’t sound convincing. The tax law thing—you want that?”
She hesitated. “I mean, it’s practical.”
Nate’s frown deepened. “That’s not what I meant.”
Her nails pressed crescents into her palms. Nate didn’t understand he wasn’t asking about a job. He was asking whether she’d been raised to dream… or deliver. He couldn’t know someday she’d be expected to marry in a way that steadied markets. To have a baby not just because she wanted one, but because Valenstadt required one.
And that hit too close.
“It’s not like you’ve got everything figured out,” she shot back, sharper than she intended.
“Okay. Fair. Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Guilt rushed in, hot and immediate. She scrubbed a hand over her face. “No. I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m hungover.And…” She gestured at the sun, the flowers, as if that made sense of it. “Everything.”
He studied her for a long second. Like he was waiting for the truth to surface. It unnerved her. “All good,” he said at last.
They rounded a bend, and the path dipped toward the lake. The view arrived all at once, theatrically perfect. The water was glassy, a ferry stitching a white seam across it. On the far shore, Geneva rose in layered slate and tile rooftops, office blocks pressing up against church spires. Beyond it all, the Alps lifted in pale blue bands.
Nate shaded his eyes, squinting at the mountain looming just beyond the cityscape. “Okay, nerd, I’m guessing you know what that one’s called.”
She sniffed. “Ouch. And yes. That’s the Mont Salève.”
He let out a low whistle. “Man. This country is just showing off.”
She opened her mouth. “Actually—”
“Don’t you ruin the magic.”
“—it’s in France,” she finished anyway.
He groaned, tipping his head back. “You had to,” he muttered.
“I really did. There’s a cable car to the top,” she said, pointing. “I haven’t been since I was ten.”
He turned to her, a grin breaking across his face. “Let’s do it.”
“Like,nownow?”
“Why not? Other plans?”
“I was kind of thinking,” she said slowly, “dark room, feeling sorry for myself.”
He considered her with mock gravity. “Counteroffer: top of a mountain, feeling sorry for yourself.”
Allegra hesitated. Altitude plus a hangover sounded irresponsible. Possibly fatal. At minimum, deeply whiny. But there washim, standing there with that infuriatingly hopefulexpression, as if heryeswas already penciled into the universe and he was simply waiting for her to catch up.
“We’ll stop at a bakery,” he added, sensing the wobble. “Get coffee. Croissants. Medicinal levels of butter.”
Shit.
This was a terrible idea. She should be lying low. Her father’s people were likely already staking out hotels, hunting for their wayward princess. And yet… if the world was closing in, wasn’t this exactly the sort of moment she’d regret not taking?
“Fine,” she said at last, because anything more honest would’ve cracked her wide open.
