She held up her hand, the enormous diamond throwing prisms across the faces of the surrounding men.
“Magnificent,” Heinrich said. “So, have you settled on a date?”
Julien’s arm slid around Allegra’s waist, pulling her closer. “That’ll depend on my World Cup commitments. Those don’t move for anyone.”
Allegra laughed politely and shifted, easing his grip away. “Oh, excuse me,” she said, pitching her voice toApologetic butImportant. “I need to step away for a moment. The champagne. You understand.”
“Sure, sure. I’ll be right here,” Julien said.
She abandoned her flute and fled into the corridor, the music dulling behind her. The walls closed in with oil and canvas: hunts frozen mid-chase, dogs straining at leashes, animals caught in the moment before flight failed. Allegra exhaled for what felt like the first time in days.
“Wow,” a voice said. “You look like a Fabergé egg about to roll off a table.”
Allegra stopped short.
Clara was propped beneath a painting of a hound gripping a pheasant, one heel hooked against the wall. She held a champagne flute, but the liquid inside was cloudy, like a science experiment gone awry.
Allegra wrinkled her nose. “Why is your drink haunted?”
Clara held the flute at arm’s length, studying it. “Oh. I spiked it.”
“With what?”
Clara shrugged. “Absinthe.”
“Not enjoying the festivities, then?”
Clara rolled her eyes so hard Allegra worried about permanent damage. “Please. I’ve been to three diplomatic events this month and one funeral that was more fun than this.” She paused, sharpening her gaze. “What the hell are you thinking?”
Allegra stiffened. “Hello to you too. I’m well, thanks.”
“Don’t,” Clara said flatly. “Do not bullshit me. I know that face.”
Allegra’s hands fisted in her gown as she closed the distance between them. “I’m doing what needs to be done.”
Clara stared at her for a long moment, then shook her head. “Christ, Allegra. This is your life we’re talking about.”
“You wouldn’t understand, okay?” she fired back, something brittle snapping in her chest. “I’m next in line. That means it falls on me to keep this whole shitshow going. It fucking sucks, but that’s how it is.”
“But with Julien? You could have—”
“I overreacted!” Allegra cut in. “We’ve been to a couple’s therapist. He’s trying. He—he actually is trying!”
Clara pushed off the wall, the murky champagne spilling onto the floor. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Look, if you can’t be happy for me, just go, okay?”
“Fine, I will.”
“Fine.”
“Ugh.” Clara whipped around and stomped down the corridor, footsteps cracking like gunfire.
Allegra paused for a breath, tugged lightly at the bust of her dress, and sauntered back into the ballroom. A server appeared as if summoned, tray at the ready. She snatched a champagne flute and tipped it back, draining it in one deeply un-princess-like gulp.
“Danka,” she said, shoving the empty glass back and immediately taking another.
“You’re welcome,” said a familiar drawl in flawless English. “But seriously… maybe reconsider the whole ‘rest day’ thing?”
