And yet…
What the hell had any of it been?
The kiss on the boat had felt real. Like the world had blinked out for a second and it was just them. Last night had felt real too. When they’d ended up tangled together on that stupidly small mattress, her head on his shoulder like it belonged there. Her breath tickling the side of his neck. He’d lain there staring at the ceiling, hardly daring to breathe, convinced that if he shifted even an inch she’d disappear.
Nate zoomed in until only her eyes remained, searching for a clue he might have missed. Something to help make sense of it. No answers. Just Allegra—impossibly bright, mocking him in pixels. He shoved the phone back into his pocket and slumped lower in his seat until his knees wedged against the plastic tray table.
The call button glowed on the armrest. He stared at it for a second, then jabbed it. A flight attendant appeared a moment later, polite smile locked in place.
“Can I get you something”
“Vodka,” Nate said.
“Mixer?”
He shook his head.
“Just vodka.”
She returned with the tiny bottle and set it in his palm. Nate twisted the cap off and tipped it back, swallowing a long, burning mouthful. The alcohol scorched its way down his throat and settled warm in his stomach.
He waited. For relief, for numbness, forsomething.
Nothing came.
Nothing helped.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Seriously, Allegra. With a porno guy. I mean, what the fuck?”
Allegra had spent her life preparing for the day her father would swear at her. In her imagination, it featured screeching brakes and the tragic crumpling of his 1965 Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud. It did not feature mahogany bookshelves, a framed copy of Valenstadt’s constitution, or her mother nodding grimly, as if verbal annihilation were an approved parenting technique.
She sank deeper into the leather chair opposite his desk, the one designed to make people feel small and contrite, and clasped her hands in her lap. The chair was very good at its job.
“It’s not like I planned it,” Allegra muttered, which was technically true. She hadn’t orchestrated the collision in that dimly lit bar. Hadn’t scheduled the kiss. And she certainly hadn’t penciled in a crack in her carefully forged armor—or the way it felt to let a little light slip through.
Heinrich’s nostrils flared. “You ran off to Geneva.”
“I went to Geneva,” Allegra corrected. Semantics mattered when you were defending your dignity. “I took a trip. It was temporary.”
Her father stabbed a finger at the reading glasses sitting on his desk. “You tried to pass yourself off as a tourist. Not just a tourist—a fucking Austrian.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, face twisting as if he’d smelled something rotten.
Mathilde leaned in, her voice pitching an octave higher. “And then you did it with a porno guy.”
“I did not ‘do it.’” Allegra’s molars ground together. “And can we please stop calling him that?”
“That’s literally what he is,” Heinrich said.
“Was. Anyway, he’s also a person. With a name.” Her throat tightened around the next part, the syllables sticking like burrs. “Nate Donovan.” Just saying it out loud was like pressing a bruise. It hurt, and some deeply unhelpful part of her wanted to press again.
“Whatever,” Heinrich said. “He’s plastered all over the internet.”
Allegra wanted to scream. Or melt into the carpet. Both. “Are we done here?”
Heinrich shook his head. “Not even close.” He adjusted his cufflinks, his lips set in a thin line. “The man who spotted you on the street with the porn guy? His phone had a very unfortunate encounter with the pavement. The video is gone.” He paused, tone leaving no room for doubt. “Permanently.”
Her father opened a drawer, pulled out a manila folder, and nudged it across the desk. “But it doesn’t end there. Your genius scheme wasn’t. Some paparazzo fromBlitztracked you down.”
