My eyes slid across the room, searching instinctively for Bryce.I spotted him near the far end, leaning slightly toward a woman with cropped hair and the unmistakable crispness of an embassy aide.The two of them slipped out through the side doors.
What is wrong with me?
Ridiculous.Absolutely ridiculous.
“Who was that woman with him?”I asked, trying for casualness, though the words came out just a shade too quickly.
Chris raised a brow, his smirk infuriatingly knowing.“I don’t know.She had an American accent, so I’d wager someone from the embassy.Why do you want to know?”
I hesitated, my throat tightening around the most absurd impulse to saybecause I don’t like not knowing who has his attention when I want it.Instead, I looked past Chris’s shoulder, focusing on the glittering chandeliers above.“It’s nothing.”
Foolish.Entirely foolish.Bryce Lewis—Ambassador Bryce Lewis, I reminded myself sternly—was hardly someone I should be spending brain space on.If he wasn’t married, he was probably divorced, with children tucked away at some boarding school in the States.Men like him—the polished political class—always were.
“Arthur,” Chris said in a singsong whisper, and I didn’t have to look to know his expression was maddeningly smug.“You like him.”
“Don’t be absurd,” I hissed, heat rising to my cheeks.“Me?And the American ambassador?”
“Yes.You.”He nudged my arm, forcing my gaze back to him.
“That’s impossible.Completely impossible.The man represents American interests.I represent…” I paused.What did I represent?The faint, fraying threads of royal dignity?My family’s expectation that I play the dutiful, unmarried prince with perfect posture?“…our family’s interests.Both governments would—”
“Arthur,” Chris interrupted, dragging out my name as though scolding a child.“Methinks you protest too much.”
My eyes widened.“You are insufferable.”
“Correct.But not wrong.”
I pressed my lips together, mortified to feel the warmth still in my cheeks.I lowered my voice until it was nearly lost beneath the swell of violins.“He probably isn’t even gay.And if he were—which is doubtful—there could never be anything between us.We’re both too visible.It would cause…” I trailed off, not daring to finish the thought.
“Scandal?”Chris offered sweetly.
“Complications,” I corrected sharply.“He would never risk his career.I wouldn’t—”
“Mmhm.”He took a long sip of champagne, and this time his grin was wolfish.“He promised to make an appointment with me next week.About suiting.A number of pieces, actually.”
My champagne flute stopped halfway to my mouth.“He what?”
“Didn’t I mention?I made sure Bryce wouldn’t forget what he’d agreed to earlier.To be dressed by me, in Clarence Atelier.”His eyes danced.
The idea of Bryce—stubborn, awkward, striking Bryce—standing still while Chris draped fabric over his shoulders and pinned lapels against his chest was unexpectedly disarming.My tongue felt thick in my mouth.“Oh.”
“Oh?”Chris mocked softly.“That’s all you’ve got?Oh?”
I glared at him, which only made him laugh harder.
Then, lowering his voice so it brushed against my ear, he said, “Arthur, I think he’s gay.Or at least, not as straight as your grandfather’s polo mallet.My gaydar has never once failed me.Would you like me to do a little snooping, just to be sure?”
ChapterFive
Bryce
My office at the embassy was lovely in that stiff, government-issue way—dark wood panelling, thick cream curtains that never seemed to hang quite straight, and an oversized seal of the United States of America glaring down from the wall like a watchful parent.It smelled faintly of furniture polish and over-watered ferns, and at that particular moment, of boredom.
I smiled at the five members of the UK auto manufacturing delegation seated across from me, smiling as though their bad jokes were the height of comedy.
“…and then the German said, ‘Well, at least ours comes with cup holders!’”
They all laughed, and I laughed too.Diplomatic laughter, just the right pitch, polite but not too enthusiastic.I’d mastered the art after years of practice.My cheeks barely hurt anymore from fake smiling.
