Allegra’s stomach lurched. “What’s this?”
He tapped the folder. “Look for yourself.”
Allegra’s fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. She forced them open and snatched up the file. The first photo hit like a slap: glossy paper, zoomed to cruelty. Her face, her mouth on Nate’s. Disguise be damned; it was unmistakably them, lying on the grass on Mont Salève. She flipped through a few more shots before shoving the lot back at her father.
“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” she said faintly.
Her father exhaled through his nose. “Wrong isn’t the standard we’re dealing with. This is optics, and the optics are… unforgiving.” He leaned back, fingers tapping the desk. “They plan to publish tomorrow.”
Mathilde whimpered.
“Okay,” Allegra said, rubbing her temples as if she could massage the panic out of her skull. “So, what’s the damage control?”
“I can make it go away. For a price.”
“You’ll pay?”
“I’ll pay,” Heinrich confirmed. Then he added, almost casually, “But that’s not it. They’ll bury the story, but they want a new headline. Something to sell. An exclusive.” He let the words hang. “A rekindled relationship.”
The chair screeched as Allegra shot to her feet. “No. No! Absolutely not!”
Her father’s expression darkened. “Allegra, sit down.”
But she didn’t. Couldn’t. The thought of going back to Julien, of playing the happy couple for the cameras, made her insides turn to ice. “Julien and I are over,” she said, her voice shaking. “Done. Finished.”
Her father didn’t even flinch. “I’ve already spoken with his agent, and he’s—”
“For fuck’s sake, Dad,” she cut in. “Whose idea was this?”
“It’s mutually beneficial, darling,” her mother chimed in.
“Mutually beneficial?” Allegra scoffed. “Sure. Why not trade me for a couple of warhorses and a sack of salt while we’re at it?”
“Allegra. Enough,” her father said, eyes boring into hers. “Time to grow up. Being a von Wildern isn’t all private jets and Pucci dresses. It’s duty.”
“As if I don’t get that!”
“So start acting like it. You’ve had your fun. Now you’ve got a country to think about.”
Allegra’s hands balled into fists. “Christ, Dad, it’s all I think about!”
Heinrich’s face softened a fraction. “Good,” he said quietly. “Then I trust you’ll do the right thing.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He simply rose from his chair and strode out of the room. The door shut behind him with a decisive click that somehow echoed louder than a slammed fist.
She hovered there for a second, like her body hadn’t received the evacuation order her heart had. Then her knees gave up the fight, and she slumped into the chair. She dragged in a breath. Held it. Let it out slowly—the way people do when they are absolutely, under no circumstances, going to cry.
Her throat tightened anyway. Her vision blurred. She folded forward, pressing her forehead to the cool wood of the desk. Her breath hitched.
And then the tears came.
Not cinematic, single-track-down-the-cheek princess tears. Ugly ones. Hot and fast, splashing across the polished mahogany.
A hand settled on her shoulder. Allegra stiffened on instinct, as if caught doing something illegal. Crying probably counted.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice had shed its steel. “It might not seem like it, but he loves you. In his own way. He’s doing what he thinks is best.”
Allegra let out a watery laugh that bordered on hysterical. “What would you know?”
