“Have you ever told him to consider women from outside the aristocracy?” Alfred asks.

  “No, but why in the world would I have to? I’m his mother. He certainly knows that I’m from meager beginnings.”

  “Darling.” Alfred stands up to pull his wife into his arms. “Once again, you’re giving my sex too much credit. Just because you think something is obvious, does not mean that we see it that way.”

  Prince Andrew

  The image of Agnes sitting on the floor looking through my childhood pictures was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen. My secretary in jeans and a jumper is miles more appealing than anything I could have imagined, and a world more enticing than Chantelle could ever hope to be.

  I’m not looking forward to this evening in the least. All I want to do is stay home and spend time with Agnes. But if my secretary is ever to get her life back, the press can’t think I’m interested in her romantically. The only way to accomplish that is to keep being seen with Chantelle.

  Speaking of Chantelle, she opens her door before I even have a chance to knock. She’s wearing a floor-length black evening gown with matching opera gloves. She looks every inch a queen.

  “You look lovely,” I tell her sincerely. Just because I don’t particularly like her doesn’t mean I can’t be kind.

  “Thank you, darling, so do you,” she gushes before handing me her wrap so I can help her put it on.

  “There’s no one here but us, Chantelle. You don’t need to use endearments.”

  “Andrew.” She turns around and takes my hand. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you dislike me so. I thought we had three lovely dates. I expected we’d keep seeing each other after those dates.”

  I think back to what Agnes said about most women assuming they’d be the one to break through my three-date limit. I’d always thought they all knew we’d only be seen together for a short time and were going out with me for a boost to their social standing.

  “Yes, well, as I’ve told you, I don’t see a future for us.”

  “You just want to use me, so the press doesn’t find out that you have feelings for your secretary,” she pouts.

  “I don’t have feelings for Agnes,” I tell her heatedly. “I just don’t like people speculating that something is going on when it isn’t. That doesn’t look good for the crown.”

  “It sounds to me like you’re trying to convince yourself, Drew.”

  I offer Chantelle my arm and lead the way to the car. “If you no longer think a new wardrobe and the prestige of being the only woman to date me for longer than three occasions is enough for you, please tell me now and we’ll make tonight our last outing.”

  She gets into the car without answering. Jones shuts the door for her as I walk around and let myself in the other side. As soon as we pull away from the curb, Chantelle declares, “I’m perfectly happy with our situation, Andrew. But your dismissal of my feelings smarts a little. Perhaps in the future you should remember that when you break up with other women.”

  I feel like a real cad. “I’ll take your suggestion to heart, Chantelle. And I’m truly sorry for any upset I’ve caused you.”

  She reaches over and takes my hand. “I’m glad.” Then with a squeeze, she adds, “But just because our relationship isn’t going anywhere past friendship doesn’t mean that we can’t have some fun, does it?” She scoots over toward me until she’s nearly sitting on me.

  Jones pulls the car over to the curb in front of the National Gallery. By the time he opens the back door for Chantelle, she’s running her fingers through my hair and pulling my head down to hers. The car door opens before I can react.

  I want to push her off, but I’m fully aware that we’ve become the main show for the paparazzi covering tonight’s event. If I appear like I don’t want this, they’re sure to speculate that we’re fighting. So instead, I pull back gently and whisper, “Get off of me, Chantelle. Now.”

  She makes a great show of looking shocked at being caught in such a compromising position, before gasping loudly, “Oh dear, whatever will everyone think about us now?”

  Someone from outside yells, “We’re thinking the two of you should get a room!” Laughter fills the air.

  Chantelle regally exits the car before waving like Miss Malquar in the Miss Universe pageant. “Now don’t you go and print that picture of me and Drew. Doesn’t every couple deserve some privacy to canoodle?”

  I want to tell Jones to shut the door and leave Chantelle here. Clearly, she doesn’t understand the rules of our fake courtship. But to abandon her would only make me look bad. Straightening my hair, I slide a leg out of the car. The first question to greet me is, “Prince Andrew, what does Agnes think about you continuing to date Chantelle?”

  I force a smile which I’m certain looks more like an angry grimace. “My secretary could not care less who I date,” I tell them before putting my arm around Chantelle’s waist and steering her toward the entrance.

  Instead of taking my less-than-subtle hint, Chantelle turns around and laughs. “You don’t know Drew as well as you think you do if you think he’d actually be interested in dating his secretary.” Then, horror of horrors, she turns me around and lays the mother of all kisses on me.

  The night fills with bursts from a hundred different flashes.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Amelia

  Sitting at her window perch, Amelia watches as Ralph leaves their house early. Not only did he not try to call her last night, but he didn’t even send an email. And while she misses him, she refuses to be the one to break their silence.

  After dressing in some yoga pants and a jumper, she heads downstairs for breakfast. This time Georges is at the table, but Jacqui isn’t. “Good morning, Georges, how are you today?”

  “I’m quite well, thank you. How did you sleep?”

  “Not well,” Amelia tells him. When he doesn’t ask any questions, she adds, “I’m certain you must be wondering why I’m staying here.”

  “Jacqui said that you and Ralph had words. But no matter the reason, it’s none of my business.”

  Taking a sip of juice from the glass sitting at her plate, Amelia says, “Nevertheless, I feel like you might be able to offer me some advice.”

  Starting to look a little green around the gills, Georges says, “I’m not exactly proficient in affairs of the heart.”

  “You can still give me a man’s perspective.” Amelia proceeds to tell her friend’s husband about Ralph’s opinion on how she’s spent her adult life. Then she asks, “So, you see why I’m upset.”

  Georges shrugs. “Yes and no.”

  “Why, no?” Amelia demands.

  “Look, Amelia, Jacqui and I, and you and Ralph, come from another time. When we were young, staying home to raise a family was an honorable thing.”

  “And it’s not anymore?” she demands.

  “It is. It’s just that kids today have grown up expecting they can have it all. Careers, families, whatever they set their minds to.”

  “I thought that, too,” Amelia says. “But Ralph and I wanted our children to have the benefits of a full-time parent. And by the time Agnes grew up, I was no longer interested in a career. Taking care of Ralph and volunteering for charities has been very rewarding.”

  Putting down his teacup, Georges replies, “I can’t speak for Ralph, but I don’t think he intended to put you down in any way. I think he’s just aware of how much Agnes’s career means to her, and he wants to support that.”

  “He should have said that then,” Amelia says heatedly. “And he should have never taken me at my word that I needed a few days away from him. That was just my way of letting him know how mad I was.”

  Shaking his head, Georges says, “Men are often more literal than that, Amelia. We do take you at your word and, even though we’ve spent decades with you, I fear we’re no closer to understanding you.”

  Agnes

  I waited until two in the morning and Drew never showed for our outing. As much as I was looking forward to some fresh air, I wasn’t about to go out by myself at that time of night. I tossed and turned most of the night and then, like some kind of cosmic joke, I woke up at seven, unable to go back to sleep.

  I don’t bother getting dressed or even brushing my hair this morning. If Drew didn’t come by last night, there’s no chance he’s going to stop by this morning. I clearly don’t mean anything to him.

  Dragging myself into the kitchen, I turn on the coffee maker and then check the refrigerator for something to eat. Why didn’t I ask them to stock better things than yoghurt and fruit? Picking up the telephone, I call down to the kitchen and ask for a scone with clotted cream and jelly.

  “Should we add that to the rest of your order, or would you like that sent up now?” asks the voice on the other end of the call.

  “What other order?” I ask. “I haven’t ordered anything.”

  I hear some shuffling of papers before the answer comes. “Someone has ordered breakfast for two served at eight o’clock, ma’am.”

  “Who?” I’m totally flummoxed.

  “I couldn’t say, ma’am. As to that scone, would you like it now or later?”

  “Forget the scone,” I tell her. “I’ll just eat whatever you bring up.”

  Once I hang up, I hurry to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Dear God, I’m a total wreck. There are dark circles under my eyes, and I’m so pale my skin almost looks gray. I hurry to start the shower before going into my closet and picking out an outfit for the day. I decide on a wrap dress, hoping it will make me look less frightening.

  After showering and blowing my hair out, I put on enough concealer to furnish a jet-lagged drag show. Then I slide into my dress and give myself a once-over in the mirror. I look pretty darn good, considering I’m running on fumes.

  I’m well through most of the pot of coffee by the time there’s a gentle knock on the door. I hurry to look in the mirror before answering the door. “Hello,” I greet the kitchen maid brightly. Darn it, I thought it would be Drew.

  I step aside to let her wheel in the cart. While the maid is laying everything out, Princess Sophie walks into my apartment. “I hope you don’t mind, but I thought we could have breakfast this morning.”

  I force what I hope is a pleasant expression to my face as my brain tries to absorb that Drew had no intention of joining me for breakfast. I’m sure I sound disappointed when I say, “No, not at all. I mean, how nice of you to think of me.”

  She waves the maid away and shuts the door after her. “Were you expecting Drew?” she asks while sitting down at the table.

  “What? No. Why would I be expecting him?”

  She eyes me like I’m an escaped mental patient. “Because you’re his secretary.”

  “Oh.” Ahahahahaha, that. “Actually, he has a temp. Everyone thinks I’m in St. Tropez.”

  “If they think you’re in St. Tropez, why aren’t you?”

  “Drew … rather, Prince Andrew, doesn’t want the press to see me.”

  She takes the lid off her plate while saying, “So go somewhere else. If they think you’re in St. Tropez, they won’t be looking for you in Singapore.”

  “One would think, but Prince Andrew and your mother don’t think I should leave this apartment.”

  “In that case,” she says, “why don’t we eat together occasionally to break the tedium? I can even bring some cards over and we can play a game of gin or something.”

  Breaking a currant scone in half, I tell her, “That would be lovely, but don’t you have a full schedule?”

  “I barely do more than show up to events and pose for the cameras.” She sounds totally bored by her life. “I’m sure you know that I was supposed to marry Thomas Harquardt.”

  “Of course.” What else am I supposed to say?

  “Once that went tits up, I just kind of lost interest in doing the things I’m supposed to do. You know, smile prettily and promise world peace if people only cared more about childhood literacy.” She waves a hand in front of her. “I don’t mean to suggest that childhood literacy isn’t important.”

  “Of course not,” I assure her. I don’t know Princess Sophie well, and as such, I’m not inclined to feel relaxed around her.

  “So, you and Drew,” she says after swallowing a bite of toast. “Love at first sight or what?”

  “Excuse me?” Why would she ask me a question like that? I’m her brother’s secretary, not his mistress.

  She raises an eyebrow and smiles. “Come on, that picture in the newspaper, you’re staying across the hall from him, that evening stroll in the garden …”

  “I was unconscious for the picture in the paper, and I’m only staying here because Prince Andrew told me I had to.”

  “If that’s what you want to believe.”

  “It’s not what I want to believe, it’s the truth. I would much rather be at home,” I tell her.

  “Then go home.”

  “It’s not that easy, Princess Sophie. Your mother and brother have told me that I need to stay here.”

  “First of all, call me Sophie,” she says. “Secondly, you can always quit. Then neither Drew nor Mum can tell you what to do.”

  I look down at my plate and realize that I’ve crumbled more scone than I’ve eaten. “I don’t want to quit. I like my job. I just don’t like feeling like I’m a prisoner here.”

  She snorts loudly. “You can’t possibly enjoy working for my brother. He’s a stuck-up prig, if there ever was one.”

  She’s got that right, but I’ve recently learned that he’s funny and kind when he chooses to be.

  I’ve also discovered that I really, really want him to kiss me.

  Chapter Thirty

  Queen Charlotte

  Charlotte looks up at her son from her morning newspaper. “All I’m saying, Drew, is that if you’re going to snog the stuffing out of the girl, you might as well marry her.”

  “Marry her?” he scoffs. “I can’t stand her. I was under the impression you felt the same way.”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Charlotte declares, “Who cares what I think? The press seems to love her.”

  “Yes, but I’d like to at least like my future wife?” Drew barely keeps the revulsion from his tone.

  “Then why were you all over her in the back of your limo?”

  “Mum, I wasn’t doing the kissing, she was. Every time we’re in public, she makes a great show of letting everyone know that we’re still together.”

  “Chantelle is the daughter of an earl, she’s an award-winning equestrian, and a graduate of very prestigious university. Surely you can’t do much better than her.”

  “If only I liked her,” Drew says.

  “Darling, for years your father and I wondered if you were gay …”

  “What? Why?” Drew interrupts before his mother can finish her thought.

  “Because you’ve only ever had one long-term girlfriend. All this breaking up with women after three dates nonsense doesn’t help your cause either.”

  “I adore women, Mum. I just haven’t found the one.” Drew pushes his chair away from the table and crosses his arms in front of himself like a petulant child.

  “I think it would be lovely if you were gay, dear. I’m not judging you. But if that’s the case, I still think it’s best for us to keep it from the public. You know, with your being the future king and all. You could marry Chantelle and have a nice big brood of test tube babies, and then install your special friend somewhere in the palace.”

  “What special friend?” Drew demands.

  “I don’t know who he is, I’m just saying …”

  Drew stands up so fast he almost tips his chair over. “I am not gay, Mother. And I do not have a special friend. Just because I don’t like Chantelle doesn’t mean that I don’t like women. I love women.” With that he storms out of the dining room without noticing the look of triumph on his mother’s face.

  Prince Andrew

  My parents have been wondering if I am gay? Where did that come from? And while I know they wouldn’t care if it was true, it’s not true. To make matters weirder, Mum thinks I should marry Chantelle? I feel like I’ve woken up in some alternate universe where up is down and insanity reigns supreme.

  Instead of going to my office, I wander back to my apartment. The reason I didn’t take Agnes out last night was because I was looking forward to it too much. I don’t need to have temptation dangled in front of me when there’s nothing I can do about it.

  As I approach the corridor leading to my residence, I see my secretary’s door open. My sister Sophie walks out saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow for luncheon. I’ll bring some cards.”

  I don’t see Agnes, but I hear her say, “That sounds nice, Sophie. Thank you for spending time with me. I’ve been very lonely.”

  Once my sister walks into her apartment, I proceed down the corridor. Standing in front of Agnes’s door, I lift my hand to knock, and then quickly drop it. What am I doing? I was a no-show last night because I couldn’t trust myself around Agnes and I’m no more dependable this morning.

  Yet, I really, really want to see her. If only there were some work reason…

  Raising my hand again, I knock loudly on the door. She opens it while saying, “Did you forget something?”

  She clearly thinks it’s Sophie, because when she sees me, she takes a step back and gasps. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed a reason,” I tell her. “You are my secretary, after all.”

  “I thought you’d replaced me.” Her tone is as warm as an arctic breeze.

  “No one can replace you, Agnes.” I walk into her apartment and shut the door behind me. Then I take another step toward her.

  “Where were you last night?” she demands hotly.

  “I believe I told you that I was at a benefit at the National Gallery.”