Allegra and Nate stared at each other. Really stared. The kind of stare that stripped away every layer, every lie, every carefully constructed facade.
Then, impossibly, at the exact same time—
“You’re a porn star?” Allegra whispered, her voice breaking.
“You’re a princess?” Nate said, his voice equally shattered.
Allegra’s head snapped back toward the man in the suit, her mouth opening, and closing like a fish gasping for air. Panic and disbelief tangled in her throat, choking her. The world around her seemed to spin, the sounds of the street fading into a distant roar, the faces of the men in front of her blurring into indistinct shapes.
She took one step back. Then another.
“No,” she said, not to anyone in particular.
A distant rumble of thunder vibrated through the street, and everything slammed into her all at once. Nate’s face, pale; the American still filming; the black SUV gleaming like a threat.
Her eyes locked on the man in the suit.
“Ten minutes,” she said, her voice precise. “I need ten minutes to get my things.”
“Very well.”
She didn’t wait for more. She turned on her heel and started back toward the hotel, spine straight, pace steady.
Behind her, barely audible—
“Allegra.”
She kept walking.
She did not look back.
Chapter Nineteen
The SUV hummed over the asphalt, its tires eating up Geneva’s rain-slicked streets. Allegra sat pressed against the buttery leather of the backseat, her knees bent at an awkward angle, fingers clutching the strap of her bag. The world beyond the tinted windows was a smear of light and motion, as indistinct as her own thoughts.
She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the screen like it was a detonator. Google. She typed:Ryan Steele. The search results loaded instantly. She hesitated, then tapped the first video that appeared.
Thirty seconds. That’s all she had survived of the clip before jabbing the screen and shutting it off. The images burned behind her eyelids—Nate, but not Nate. Not the man who’d walked beside her on the lakeshore. Who’d made her laugh until her sides ached. Who’d held her hand on the Ferris wheel and admitted he was scared too.
This Nate was polished to a high gloss, his mouth curved in a grin she didn’t recognize. His hands on some blonde’s boobs, hips thrusting between them like it was just another Tuesday. Like it was nothing at all.
She slammed the phone down onto the seat beside her. For one suspended moment, she just sat there. Then she tipped her head back and screamed.
The driver didn’t even flinch. Years of training, probably.
Her face flamed despite the air conditioning, fingers curling into fists against her thighs. He’d let her kiss him like she wasspecial. Let her fall for him. All the while failing to mention the elephant in the room—or rather, the elephant on the internet.
The phone buzzed, an incoming call lighting up the screen.
Nate.
She let out a slow breath and answered.
“Hello, Nate,” she said coolly.
A shaky exhale. “Hey.”
“Or should I call youRyan?”
