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He switched to English too. You must be the emissary from Chicago. Here to complete the Marcellus Dano exhibit that I wish my mother could have lived to see with her own eyes, as he was one of her favorites. We are delighted to have you.

And Vesuvius had seen the exact moment she’d realized who he was. Her jaw had gone just the slightest bit slack. She had not actually dropped her mouth open, but he’d thought it was a close thing.

Something in him hadn’t been able to stand it. There was always a barrier. There was always a wall. He was never just a man to anyone.

Maybe that was how all of this had happened. Maybe if he had stuck to the established protocol that existed to protect them both, he would have spared them…all of this.

But he hadn’t.

I am Vesuvius, he’d said instead, and had extended his hand to shake hers.

He’d watched that color bloom in her cheeks. He’d watched her swallow, hard, and was certain that visions of thrones and crowns danced in her head. After all, he’d seen this before.

But she blinked, stepped forward, and shook his hand with that surprisingly robust grip of hers. I’m honored to be here, Your Majesty, she’d said, forthrightly, with no hint of giddiness or flirtation. And I’m even more delighted to share with you two canvases that I consider to be among Marcellus Dano’s finest works. Truly the epitome of his capabilities as an artist.

Then she had pulled her hand back as if it hadn’t been a bolt of lightning to touch him like that, palm to palm. She had turned back to the exhibit and had started telling him everything she knew about the artist.

Which, it turned out, was quite a lot.

Vesuvius had canceled all his appointments and had hung on every word.

And now they were standing in another room, across the world, with all of these years in between them. All of the things they had done. And not done.

Photographs of the child he’d let her have on her own, without him, scattered on every flat surface like recriminations.

He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, make her a thousand promises, and then keep them, one by one. He wanted nothing but to make it clear to her that everything was different now, but he couldn’t do that. Not yet.

Vesuvius told himself that all it would take was a bit of rest, then he would be prepared. He hadn’t expected to crash. Or to hit his head. Or to lose his memory and get the exquisite, painful joy of seeing her again for the first time.

“I’ll find you if I need you,” he said, trying to sound certain, not sick, and not too dismissive. “But mostly, I think what I need to do is sleep.”

She nodded and went for the door. He made himself follow her, but not to put his hands on her the way he wanted to do. With every cell in his body and every square inch of his heart.

He followed her so he could close it after her when she went out into the hall.

Decisively.

And then stand there staring at the closed door for much too long.

Because, as ever, he wanted—oh, the ways he wanted—the very thing he could never, ever have.

Chapter Five

Aeryn tried to sleep. She really did.

She forced herself to go through every step of her usual nightly routine, brushing out her hair and coiling it on top of her head. Tending to her teeth, removing her makeup, washing her face and putting on her moisturizer—all hallmarks, to her mind, of the settled adult life she wished very much to be living.

A life that did not involve any appearances from royalty. Or kings without their memories.

Or Vesuvius, who apparently did not have to remember her to kiss her absolutely silly.

She told herself she was sleepy. Drooping with exhaustion, in fact, because she should have been. Aeryn had worked hard on the gala, putting in long hours and picking up any and all slack, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect.

And she’d pulled it all off beautifully. Everyone had said so. To Aeryn, it was much deeper than mere praise. To her, it had felt like finally turning over a new leaf. Coming full circle. Proving herself at last—and all over again.

After having to tell her mentor and all of her colleagues that she’d had a reckless one-night stand in Europe that had resulted in her pregnancy—despite having never been the least bit wild and crazy in their presence or remotely the sort of person who might have been likely to do such a thing, and yes, she’d been a bit hurt that no one had figured that out over the past two years—she had always felt that they had looked down on her.

Just a little. Just enough.