Chapter Eight
Allegra lay on the hotel bed in a puddle, one leg hanging off the side, the other bent at an angle that made her look like a broken yoga pose. The shutters were mostly closed, but the setting sun poured in through a crack, turning the room golden.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, vibrating its way closer to the edge. She groaned, her hand flopping toward it. The screen read Clara. She let it rumble a second longer, before swiping to answer and hauling herself up on one elbow. “Hey, Maus, how’s things?”
Clara’s face appeared on screen, eyebrows arched like she already knew exactly how much trouble Allegra was in.
“Same old, same old,” she said brightly.
“Our family’s lost its goddamn mind. They even released a statement saying you’re ‘recovering at home from exhaustion.’” She lifted her fingers in air quotes.
“Which I believe translates to please fling yourselves into a moat.” She rolled her eyes.
“And Daddy? He’s convinced that if he finds you, he can still Frankenstein you and Jullien back together. ”
Allegra grunted and fell back onto the pillow, arm stretched above her, phone threatening to faceplant on her nose. “Of course. He’s the one who set us up in the first place. Orchestrated a whole sit-next-to-each-other situation at the Sports for the Whatever gala.”
“Exactly. So now you’re the ungrateful heiress who dared sabotage a perfectly good dynasty. Oh, and by the way…” Clara paused, savoring the moment like a villain monologuing before the big reveal. “They know you’re in Switzerland.”
Allegra winced and flopped her free forearm over her face, blocking out the sun and her life in one dramatic swoop. “Shit. Already?”
“Mm-hmm. Want to guess how?”
“It’s not the phone,” Allegra said, voice muffled. “You’re the only one who has this number, and my palace-issued one’s powered down.” She peeked out from under her arm. “Unless you—”
Clara’s amusement vanished instantly. “Excuse you? No, I did not betray you. Try again.”
Her brain stuttered, and then—oh fuck. Her insides plunged as if they’d missed a step on the stairs. “Eeeek. The credit card?”
“Bingo. The flights. You used the allowance account, didn’t you?”
Allegra squeezed her eyes shut. “Ugh. I was stressed. The gate was closing. And the guy behind me was breathing down my neck.”
“At least tell me you’re using something untraceable now.”
Allegra pushed herself upright. “I am. A prepaid card.”
Clara stared at the screen. “You have a prepaid card?”
“Yes,” Allegra said, tucking her leg under her. “For, you know, discretionary expenses.”
“Wait. Discretionary like shoes, or discretionary like consumer electronics?”
Allegra pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
“Ah.” Clara nodded. “The ‘do not open in front of Daddy’ kind of expenses.”
Allegra huffed a breath, shoulders sagging. “Anyway, what happens now?”
“I lied for you,” Clara said, waving an arm with the serene confidence of a queen granting a pardon. “Told them you took a train to Interlaken to hide out in some mountain village. Daddy’s already got someone there snooping around.”
“You what?” Allegra squeaked, horrified and impressed in equal measure.
“You’re welcome. But now they’re huffy because I forgot to mention we’d been in touch, so you owe me. Big time. I’m thinking diamonds. Or maybe a state banquet swap. Your choice.”
Allegra laughed despite herself, the sound bubbling up and loosening the knot of anxiety in her chest. “Thank you. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Right, right,” Clara said, bobbing her head like it was no big deal she’d just committed low-grade treason on her behalf. “Now tell me everything. Peasant life treating you well? Learned to boil an egg yet?”
“You’re hilarious. Really.”
“Yep. And spill. How’s the ‘normal person’ experiment going?”
Allegra hesitated, then blurted, “I had rebound sex with an Irishman last night. That normal enough for you?” Her voice had that I-just-dropped-a-bomb-and-I’m-going-to-own-it edge to it, like she’d chugged liquid courage and regretted nothing.
“Eww! Allie! I meant…” She waved a hand as if she were trying to scrub the mental image. “Public transport. Paying for your own coffee. Not having someone iron your socks.”
“Oh,” Allegra said, grinning. “That too. All of that. Socks un-ironed. Coffee self-purchased. Character thoroughly built.”
Clara was still gaping at her like she’d just announced she’d run off to join a circus.
“Besides,” Allegra barreled on, “before you start planning a wedding, Irish Guy was very ‘nice meeting you, have a great life, but I won’t be texting’ energy. Zero drama.”
“Mmm,” Clara said. “Allie, ‘zero drama’ and ‘our family’ don’t even belong in the same sentence.”
Allegra ignored that. She shifted into a cross-legged position. “Anyway, that was the point of all this.”
Clara’s brow furrowed. “There was a point? So who’s the next victim?”
Allegra hesitated, her fingers tracing idle circles on the blanket beneath her. “Actually…” Her heart did that stupid, traitorous thump again. “I, uh. I kind of met someone else.”
Clara’s eyes sharpened. “Oh God, Allie. You didn’t sleep—”
“No!” Allegra cut in, heat flooding her cheeks. “We just hung out, okay? And it was one of those oh-crap-this-is-effortless kinds of things.” She exhaled, rubbing a palm over her thigh. “Like, we didn’t have to try. It just worked.”
Clara’s head tilted slowly, like a cat who’d just spotted a plump, unaware canary. “Ah.”
“Don’t,” Allegra warned, waving her free hand at the screen. “Just don’t start.”
“Too late,” Clara said, grinning. “We’ve started. Now keep going.”
Allegra groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “His name’s Nate.”
“Ooooh. English?”
“American. An actor. Or was an actor. Whatever.” She winced.
“I may have dumped an entire glass of wine on him. Not my finest moment. But then we spent the whole day together. Ate fondue—yes, in July—walked around, talked…” Her voice trailed off as her brain helpfully supplied a slideshow: Nate’s smile, the little crinkle by his eyes, the way his laugh sounded like warm honey poured over something sinful.
And then there he was again, stepping out of the lake, water sluicing down his chest, his boxers clinging like they’d been painted on.
Her thighs pressed together, heat pooling low. Oh, her body sighed, like a choir of traitorous angels, him.
Allegra shifted, clearing her throat. “Anyway, he didn’t know who I was.
Which was weirdly nice.” She picked at a loose thread on her shorts.
“He’s huge. Tattoos everywhere. Arms like he could bench-press a truck.
But he’s just this sweet, easygoing guy.
Made me laugh. Didn’t treat me like I was made of glass or a headline. ”
Clara snickered. “Finally. Someone immune to the crown and all its sparkly bullshit.”
“Except,” Allegra said, and the word felt like a bucket of water to the face, some of the warmth draining out of her, “he’s into someone else.”
“Someone else?”
“Yep. Ella Fischer. My Austrian student alter ego. Some art student nobody who can stay out all night and skinny-dip in a lake with a guy she just met, because why the hell not?” She swallowed. “Basically, everything I’m not.”
Clara winced in sympathy.
“Ugh,” Allegra groaned, the thought she’d been skating around all evening settling in her gut like a stone. “What does that even make me, if the version he’s into is basically a costume?”
Clara reached out and tapped the screen. “Whoa, slow down. Maybe that is you, Allie. You know, the one who walked away from that ridiculously pretty rugby player because you wanted actual feelings. That part of you is still in there, no matter how much glitter they throw at it.”
“Yeah, maybe. Or if he caught a glimpse of my royal clown show, he’d pull a Houdini and disappear.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Allegra scoffed, Nate’s face flashing behind her eyes again.
A pinch of guilt tried to sneak in, but she shoved it away.
“Right. ‘Hey Nate, got a sec? Just sign this NDA, this vetting form, and this waiver saying you won’t sell my secrets to the highest bidder.’” She shook her head.
“Anyway, we’ve organized to meet up again tomorrow. ”
“Eeeee,” Clara singsonged, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline. “Another date?”
Allegra rolled her eyes, which felt safer than acknowledging the flutter threatening to take over her chest. “It’s not like that. He’s flying back to the States soon anyway. This is just casual. Scenic. Very Swiss and neutral and not at all a big deal.”
“You explaining this to me, or yourself?”
“I am not catching feelings,” Allegra shot back, her knee bouncing. “I’m in Geneva to have fun. That’s it.”
Clara’s smile was serene, deeply unconvinced, and one hundred percent infuriating. “Uh-huh.”
Allegra glared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the End Call button. “Right. I’m going now. Bye, Maus. Please do not pass along my existence to Mom and Dad.”
She hung up and was about to put her phone away when a thought struck. She opened her browser and typed Nate Donovan, the name he’d added to her contacts.
IMDb returned nothing. Huh.
She tried Google. Also nothing. Just a dentist in Ohio, a real estate agent in Sydney, and a guy who’d won a junior sailing regatta in Nova Scotia.
She shrugged, flicking her hair over her shoulder like this mystery was no big deal. Maybe he used a stage name. Plenty of people did. Everyone knew Nicolas Cage wasn’t what his parents had shouted up the stairs at dinnertime.
Which made her pause.
What had his parents called him? Nick? Nathan? Nathaniel the Great?
A buzz cut through her thoughts. Her phone lit up.
Nate: Thanks again for the fondue. I had a really nice time.
Her mouth tilted up.
Allegra: Me too.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
Nate: I looked up what we need for tomorrow. Inflatable rings, dry bag, that kind of thing. Don’t suppose you’ve got those tucked into your suitcase?
She snorted, doing a mental inventorying of her bag—her PA’s handiwork for Paris: silk blouses wrapped in tissue, tailored shorts, heels in dust bags. Zero aquatic accessories.
Allegra: As it turns out, no. I foolishly prioritized shoes.
Nate: Tragic. Okay, I’ll go shopping tomorrow morning.
Allegra: You don’t have to.
Nate: I want to. Besides, I’m now fully invested in this plan.
Her insides did that annoying little swoop again, like it was trying to remind her that fun was allowed.
Allegra: Fine. But I’ll organize my own bikini, thank you. And if you come back with flamingo-shaped rings, I’m disowning you.
Nate: No promises.
She laughed, locked her phone, and tapped it against her forehead.
Tomorrow. Sun. A river. Floating in circles with a man who, according to the internet, was aggressively unremarkable—and yet somehow the most interesting person she’d met in years.