“So,” Allegra said flatly. “You heard all that?”
Clara nodded. “Everything from ‘porno guy.’”
Allegra crossed her arms, teeth pressed together. “Great.”
Clara’s smirk faltered when she noticed the snot bubbling from her sister’s nostril. “Oh,” she said, stepping closer, her voice softening. “Oh shit. You okay?”
Allegra opened her mouth. Closed it. The simple answer—I’m fine—was trapped in her throat.
“I’m so pissed at Nate. And I feel so stupid. He made me look like a fool.” The words were clipped, safer that way. Then her voice wobbled despite her best efforts. “But it also feels like… like someone reached in and ripped my heart straight out of my chest. Which is ridiculous because I barely—” She shook her head, cutting herself off. “God, listen to me.”
Clara tilted her head, silent for a beat, then said carefully, “Well, that just means he meant something, right?”
Allegra huffed a humorless breath. “I hate that.”
“Yeah. Feelings are a pain in the ass.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s a fucking mess, Maus. Mine.” Her voice cracked, as if she hadn’t realized how heavy it all felt. “And now I’m responsible for tidying it up.”
“By what? Playing happy couple with Julien? Come on.”
Pressure piled up against her ribs, making it hard to breathe. It didn’t matter what she wanted. She was a princess. And a princess couldn’t be with a one-time adult video actor, even if she wanted to. Not now. Not ever.
“It’s not like I have a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” Clara said firmly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nate shifted on the barstool, the leather squeaking beneath him. He stared at the amber glow of his whiskey, swirling it with the kind of care usually reserved for delicate glassware.
“So,” Jason said, eyebrows raised, “real-life princess, huh?”
“Yep.”
Jason leaned back, a smirk tugging at his face. “As in, with a palace and little dogs and everything?”
“Uh-huh.”
Against his better judgment, Nate had Googled her. Or, more accurately, fallen down a tiara-sized rabbit hole. That’s how he knew things he had no business knowing. Like the time her pet ferret, Herr Doktor Schnitzel, met an untimely end courtesy of a dachshund. Or that she’d broken her forearm mid-Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy in front of the Japanese Prime Minister. Or that there were Instagram reels dissecting her in-public smile after she turned sixteen.
“Well, shit,” Jason said, shaking his head.
“Yeah,” Nate muttered. The word sounded tiny.Shitdidn’t cover it. Allegra came with ancestral portraits, centuries of bloodline, and a national anthem. And he, well, he’d once played King Ribold the Massive on a set that smelled like sweat and cheap fog machine fluid.
Jason took a slow sip of his drink, eyes narrowing. “Really though, how you holding up?”
“Honestly?” Nate let out a rough laugh. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Twice. And then backed over for good measure.”
Jason winced. “Oof.”
“I keep replaying it,” Nate went on, the words tumbling out now that he’d started, “trying to figure out which parts were Ella and which parts were… her.” He stared at the bar top, tracing a ring someone else had left behind. “And I should be pissed. Iampissed. But I still miss her. Which makes me an idiot or a masochist.”
Jason’s expression shifted, the teasing draining away. “Damn, Nate. You really went in for her, huh?”
Nate didn’t answer right away. The way his chest ached every time he thought about her, the way her voice still echoed in his head, her laugh like a ghost he couldn’t shake, said it all. “Yeah,” he admitted finally. “I really fucking did.” He took another swig of his whiskey, the liquid fire doing nothing to dull the sting.
“So why not call her?” Jason asked.
