But he doesn’t give me a moment to question him before he’s speaking again. “She came to visit us, you know.”

  My brow furrows. “Who? Princess Maria?”

  He nods. Standing again, he begins pacing beside my bed. “Four years ago. She and her parents had come to Montovia on an official state visit. But we all knew it was to see if she and I were an adequate match. Our mothers had arranged the entire thing.”

  I know I need to stop him. Something is wrong, and I don’t want him thinking I took advantage of him when he realizes it, too. “Andrew—”

  But he doesn’t stop. “She seemed pleasant enough. She’s beautiful, everyone knows that, though she’s not the most intelligent woman I’ve ever spoken with.”

  My voice is firmer this time. “Andrew—”

  But he keeps pacing, ignoring me. “I asked her if she would like to visit the grand library with me after lunch. She declined. I asked her to tour the palace grounds with me and she refused. I asked her if she would like to visit the touring butterfly exhibit that afternoon. She told me she hated insects.” He turns to me with a cynical laugh. “Can you imagine what she might have done if she’d found a rodent nest in her bed?”

  My skin crawls at the memory, but I shake my head. “Andrew, you should really—”

  “And I couldn’t think of what to do to impress her. I couldn’t think of a single other idea. So I did the only thing I could think of—I went to Leopold’s quarters to ask him how I might impress her. Because he is the master at impressing women, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Oh, Andrew…” My heart twists in my chest again—I can already see where this story is going. And I know he’s going to hate himself—if not me—when he realizes what he’s saying.

  “No. No, it was not ‘Oh, Andrew.’ No, it was most definitely ‘Oh, Leo.’ But how could I blame him? Maria and I had no commitment. And even though Leopold and I didn’t speak for almost two years after that, I could hardly blame him. Maria and I had no betrothal, no arrangement. It was only that she and I…” He stops and turns to me slowly. His eyes are wide with what looks like panic. “Off the record. This is all off the record, Victoria.”

  I close my eyes for a moment before I look back up at him. My voice is shaking, but I try to be firm with him anyway. “Sit. Down.”

  He drops into the chair next to me.

  “When was the last time you had anything to drink, Andrew? Have you even eaten?”

  “You cannot use a word of what I’ve just told you. Not a single word. Do you understand me?” He almost growls the words. “I’ll deny every word if you—”

  “Stop it.” I glare at him. “We just spent two nights together—”

  “Three.”

  My jaw clenches for a second. “Fine, three. We were in a plane crash. We… We almost died. Both of us. More than once. And you really still can’t trust me?”

  “I—”

  “Look. You’re still dehydrated. You’re hungry. You’re obviously not thinking clearly if you’re telling me about this stuff.” I glare at him for a second. “And if you’re seriously thinking about auditioning women to be your wife—”

  “Noble women. There’s a difference—”

  I almost growl my interruption. “That is not what I signed on for. Hell, I still don’t even know what I signed on for, Your Highness. But I woke up and you were holding me and you were touching me—”

  “Because you begged me—”

  “Be that as it may, you were in my bed. And now you’re asking me to help you find a wife? I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t think I’m your girl.”

  “Clearly not—not in that way. I only meant that you were perfect to write these stories. How many hundred articles have you written about my brother in your career?”

  I frown. “I have no idea. I—”

  “Almost six hundred. Over the course of five years. You realize that is nearly three articles per week, do you not, Ms. Simpson?” His eyes have gone wild again, but he waits expectantly for my answer.

  But I only shake my head. I’m not about to start doing brothers’ therapy between Andrew and Leo.

  Instead I pull the remote control thing off the table and push the button with the red cross on it. A second later a voice comes through the speaker. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” I say. “My travel companion needs some medical attention.”

  Andrew

  I have to make her see that this is the only way.

  “This story would make your career,” I tell her. “Can you imagine? The whole world will be talking about it, and you’ll be the only one with the truth.”

  “This isn’t the career I want,” Victoria says. “And I have no interest in being part of that circus.”

  “If you would take a moment to consider—”

  The door swings open behind me, and a nurse comes barging in. She looks from Victoria to me.

  “Is everything all right, sir?” she asks. “Er—Your Highness. Sir.” She does an awkward sort of half-bow.

  “Everything is perfectly fine,” I say, at the same time Victoria says, “He needs help.”

  The nurse’s nose wrinkles in confusion as she looks between us again. “Is there—”

  “I think maybe Prince Andrew hit his head without realizing it,” Victoria says. “Or maybe he has some disease that’s giving him delusions.”

  I frown. “I assure you, my mind is perfectly—”

  “Either way, I think I need some privacy,” Victoria says. “I don’t think I feel well enough for visitors.”

  “Victoria, if you’d just consider what I’ve said, I think—”

  But the nurse has turned to me and is gesturing toward the door. “Sir—Your Highness—if you would please step outside.”

  “Ms. Simpson and I haven’t finished our conversation.”

  “Because you’re insane,” Victoria says from the bed. “Seriously—take some time and think about what you’re asking me to do.”

  I cross my arms. “I assure you, I’ve given it plenty of thought.”

  “Your Highness, please,” says the nurse. “You’ve already stayed here long past normal visiting hours.”

  I can see that neither she nor Victoria intend to budge on the matter, and since I don’t officially have any authority in this country—and I don’t have Leopold’s talent for charming people into doing whatever I like—I see no other choice.

  “I will give you some time to consider my proposition,” I tell Victoria, then turn and leave the room.

  I march down the hospital corridor, trying to remain calm. I need Victoria for this—she’s the only one I trust to do this right. She might think I’m pushing for some sort of circus, but she’s only been awake for a short time—she hasn’t seen that the circus has already begun.

  I shouldn’t have said anything yet, I think. I should have waited for her to recover a little more. Still, now that I know she’s safe, I can think of little else but how to handle this predicament. When we were struggling for survival, I never allowed myself to think far past the present moment. But now that we have water and shelter and medical care—and now that I’ve seen what the media has done with this story—the large-scale consequences of our plane crash cannot be ignored.

  This is about more than just my reputation—this is about the future of Montovia. I won’t have the world believing I care so little for my country. And I won’t have Montovia’s name tarnished, not if I can do something about it. It is time to think about the future.

  I reach the end of the corridor. There’s a window here, and I look out at the parking lot below, rubbing the back of my neck.

  I need a wife, I think. That part is crucial—I need to show the world I am dedicated to serving my country and continuing my family’s name, that I have no intention of ending my own life now or ever. The public search for a wife is an obvious media stunt, but I don’t care—it’s exactly what we need to turn people’s attention from other less-favorable rumors about me in the news. The world won’t be able to take their eyes off the story. It has everything—drama, romance, a touch of scandal. If we choose the women wisely, they can be in on the game. The whole thing would be perfectly calculated.

  It really is the best way, I think, watching the cars below. I hate that I must lower myself to such a distasteful stunt, but it is better than the alternative.

  I count five news vans in the lot below, and I know there are more on the other side of the hospital. The hospital security team has already caught a few reporters trying to sneak through the lobby, but thankfully, they’ve been vigilant.

  Unfortunately, that also means that the rumors have run rampant these past twenty-four hours. I’ve tried to avoid the televisions in this place, but I’ve still managed to see that at least one media outlet is speculating that I was horribly deformed by the accident. As soon as we get to Montovia, I need to hold a press conference.

  But I want Victoria with me. If these last few days have taught me anything, it’s that she isn’t motivated by narcissism or personal gain. Instead, she’s driven by her own moral code—and whether or not I happen to agree with the dictates of her conscience, I can respect that much. But how do I convince her that helping me is the right thing to do?

  If I had my mobile with me, I would have already called Victoria’s editor and offered him exclusive rights to the news about the hunt for my bride. It would have been the opportunity of a lifetime for Celebrity Spark.

  But I suspect such an action would have done little to convince Victoria to take the story—probably quite the opposite. And I want her and no one else.

  Why should she morally object to helping me? She must see that this is the easiest way to restore some goodwill for me and for Montovia, as crass as a public search for my wife would be. She acted like it was inappropriate for me to ask such a thing of her after these last three days—but I can’t see how that is so. The kiss in the cabin was a mistake, certainly—but she was the one who pushed me away. And she was the one who seemed so appalled when she realized I’d stayed in her hospital bed with her. Perhaps the thoughts I had as I held her in my arms were less than princely, but she couldn’t have known the things in my head. And I’m certain we both understand that nothing could ever happen between us.

  If you were Leopold, you would have slept with her anyway, I think. And cared little for the consequences. If you were Leopold, you would have had ways of persuading Victoria to do exactly as you pleased. For a moment, I allow myself to entertain that thought—how I might walk back into her hospital room, how I might grab her and kiss her the way her mouth begs to be kissed. How I might push her down on the bed and run my hands over her body the way I longed to do as I held her last night. How I wouldn’t care that we were in a hospital, that it was highly inappropriate, that anyone might walk in on us.

  How freeing it would be to not care about consequences, if only for an hour.

  I step away from the window. There isn’t time to be having fantasies or making speculations about how my life would be different if I’d been my brother. This is real life, and there are important matters to address. I must convince Victoria to help me. Speaking to her as I would speak to any reporter didn’t work, so I must appeal directly to her conscience.

  I stride back down the hall, ignoring everyone I pass. Fortunately, the nurse is no longer in her room, so no one tries to keep me from entering.

  Victoria frowns when she sees me. “Do I need to get them to kick you out again?”

  She’s sitting up in bed, her dark hair in a messy bun that hangs over her shoulder. Her cheeks look much pinker than they did yesterday, and her eyes are bright with something that might be annoyance.

  Instantly, I think of the fantasy I had right before I walked in here—how easy it would be to cross over to the bed, to take her in my arms, to kiss her speechless. I wonder if I’d have time to get her undressed before someone walked in on us.

  I shake my head, driving the images away. I don’t have time for this.

  “Ms. Simpson, may I speak to you frankly?” I say.

  She blinks, almost as if she’s surprised to hear me ask her.

  “I—I guess,” she says. “But if you’re just going to try and convince me to help you with this stupid plan of yours, you can save your breath.”

  I walk slowly over to the end of her bed. “Actually, I was wondering if you had some advice for me.”

  Now her expression has shifted from amused to downright suspicious. “Advice?”

  “On a better way to handle this matter,” I say. “Forgive me—I know this isn’t the best time to ask such a thing of you, but time is of the essence. And I respect your opinion.”

  Her brow is still wrinkled. “I can’t give you advice if I don’t know the whole story, Your Highness.”

  “Andrew.”

  “Andrew. If you won’t be completely honest with me, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Know this,” I say. “The world believes I tried to kill myself. The world is also about to believe that I may have betrayed Montovia in other ways, too. Tell me—how might you advise me to prove them wrong? To show everyone that I am dedicated without question to my country?”

  “You don’t need to hold some ridiculous pageant to find a wife, that’s for sure.”

  “Perhaps not,” I say. “I could take a wife quietly, father an heir, continue to perform my princely duties without fanfare. But would the world notice or care?”

  “The world always notices a royal wedding.”

  “But would that be enough? Would they forget everything else they’d heard about me?” I grip the end of the bed. “Montovia is my life, Victoria. Nothing else in this world means more to me. Believe me—I detest the idea of having to parade myself in front of the media, to put on this ridiculous show. But I would humiliate myself a thousand times over for the sake of my country. To show the world I am dedicated to serving her in the best way I can.” I look down at my hands. “I fear that nothing short of a publicity stunt will tear the world’s attention away from the rumors. If you have another idea—a better idea—I will hear it. As I have said, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for my country.”

  She fiddles with the sheet. “I’m sure we could think of something.”

  “I will have to marry soon either way,” I say. “Before, it didn’t matter if Leopold married before me. But if the world already believes that I’m not dedicated to Montovia, then my younger brother marrying before me will not help matters.” I release the bed and turn away, clasping my hands behind my back. “You’ve spent a lot of time reporting on my brother and his activities. You know as well as I do that Leopold thinks little about the consequences of his actions. The only reason he isn’t in prison or lying dead in some alleyway is because I’ve dedicated a good portion of my life to cleaning up his messes. I haven’t the same luxury he does—there is no one to clean up my messes for me. And I can’t bear to sit idly by while the world accuses me of such vile things. I must fix this—can you at least see that?”

  I risk a glance back over my shoulder at Victoria, and she’s watching me with some unidentifiable emotion in her eyes.

  “Please,” I say, stepping around to the side of the bed, closer to her. “I must do everything I can to fix this. I won’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”

  She starts to shake her head. “Andrew, I—”

  “I need your help,” I say, taking her hand. “Please, Victoria. You are the only person I trust with this.” I catch her gaze in mine, will her to see my desperation. “Montovia is in my blood. It is the reason I wake every morning. The reason my heart beats. I am prepared to do everything in my power to fix this.”

  Her eyes search mine. For a long time, she doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, I release her hand, straightening. If that speech doesn’t convince her, then I’m not sure what will. I’ve laid myself bare before her.

  I’m halfway to the door when I hear her voice behind me.

  “Okay.”

  I turn. “You’ll help me?”

  She nods. “I’ll help you.”

  Victoria

  His passion is misplaced—I wish he could see that. But it’s hard to question his allegiance to his country.

  Everything about this is wrong. I know that without question. But there’s some nagging feeling in my chest—something that’s almost screaming at me to help him, even if it’s only to get him to see the error in his judgment.

  He walks back over to the chair next to my bed, sinking into it with what looks like relief. “You won’t regret this, Victoria.”

  “I already regret it.” I almost grumble the words. I’ve spent the last five years trying to do everything in my power to get out of the celebrity news business—not to get myself permanently mired in it.

  But in some ways this is perfect. It at least has the potential to be perfect. I was already on my way out of this business when Andrew showed up in my life. And this would send me out with a bang. The only problem with this plan—at least as far as my career is concerned—is that it will end any chance that I might have had at being a real journalist. No self-respecting publication will ever want anything to do with me. I’m sure I could have my choice of jobs at any celebrity rag in the world after pulling off something like this—if it even can be pulled off—but I’ll never be taken seriously again. Not that I’ve ever really been taken seriously since I left journalism school. I’d received some praise for the reporting I did about Elle’s story, but considering the other scandal that was going on at the time, it barely even registered as a blip in the news. And when that had failed, I knew I had to be done with the media circus that is celebrity news reporting once and for all.

  I turn to Andrew. “You realize that trying to pull stunts like this almost always blows up in the face of the people trying to pull them. Reporters aren’t stupid. They can smell a phony story a mile away.”