Nate made a gagging noise. “Ugh, no.”
Allegra laughed, and without quite meaning to, she let her hand drift across the space between them. His fingers methers halfway. Their hands laced together, like they’d done it a hundred times.
The room went quiet, except for the air conditioning humming. A car passed somewhere below. A door slammed faintly down the hall.
She turned her head just enough to look at him. Nate was staring at the ceiling, expression loose with exhaustion, but his grip was steady. Like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.
Allegra’s eyes fluttered closed, her mind softening at the edges. For once, she didn’t fight it. Didn’t brace herself for the drop into sleep, didn’t rehearse who she’d have to be when she woke. Just before darkness pulled her under, she registered one last thing—Nate was still holding her hand, his thumb brushing slowly over the back of her knuckles.
Allegra allowed herself a tiny, secret smile.
***
The hotel’s sliding doors hissed open, spilling them into the pale, watery light of early morning. The air was cool, the breeze carrying the faintest hint of rain.
“I’ll walk you back to your hotel,” Allegra said, her voice still husky from sleep. “Maybe we can grab a coffee on the way?”
She tried to make it sound unrehearsed. Tried to make it sound like she wasn’t clinging to every last possible minute.
Nate’s mouth curved. “Yes. And absolutely yes.”
They rounded the corner. And then Allegra saw it.
A black SUV idled at the curb, sleek and out of place against the sleepy backdrop of the street. A man in a dark suit stood beside it, his posture rigid, gaze locked onto them. His face was impassive, but she recognized the type instantly—the kind of man who didn’t knock, who didn’t ask, who just appeared when things had gone sideways.
“Fuck,” Allegra breathed, knees suddenly rubbery.
“Allegra,” the man in the suit said, stepping forward, “I’m here to take you home.”
Nate was instantly in front of her, angling protectively between her and the stranger. “Whoa. Back off, dude.”
He ignored Nate entirely, marching toward his target.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Nate continued, his hand resting near her elbow. “And who the hell’s Allegra?”
The man tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Princess Allegra von Wildern of Valenstadt.”
The words bounced inside her abdomen like tiny hammers. She tried to force herself to breathe normally, but her chest was suddenly too tight, her lungs stubbornly refusing to expand fully. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, in her ears, in her fingers.
“And,” the man added, his eyes finally flicking to Nate, “who the fuck are you?”
Nate turned toward Allegra slowly, his expression a mix of confusion and dawning realization. “Sorry,” he said, his voice hesitant, like he was afraid of the answer. “Valenstadt?”
Allegra’s lips parted, but her throat was dry, her brain a foggy, screaming mess. “I… it’s—”
Before she could finish the sentence, a man came jogging up the path, his phone raised like a weapon, his voice loud and brash with an American accent. “Oh shit. It’s actually him.”
Nate dropped her elbow and pivoted.
“No way,” the man continued, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Ryan Steel. Mr. Nine-Inch Dong himself.”
Allegra felt the floor tilt slightly beneath her feet. “Ryan Steel?” she blurted, her voice high and disbelieving. “What the fuck is he talking about?”
The American was laughing now, still filming, his excitement palpable. “Oh my God, you don’t know? That’s hilarious. Ryan Steel. Three-time winner of the Adult Video Award for Best—”
“Stop,” Nate said, his voice a whip-crack of command, but the man barreled on, oblivious.
“—Male Performer.”
