Chapter Thirteen
Allegra clawed her way back to consciousness, as if hauling herself from the bottom of a dark well. She cracked an eyelid open, sunlight stabbing into her like a hot poker to the brain.
“Ugh.”
The room swam into focus: rumpled sheets tangled around her legs, an overturned chair, the fruit painting listing to one side. And Michel? Gone. Thank God. Thank all the gods.
She pushed herself up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, and grimaced as her bare foot pressed into something sticky. Please let it be wine. Please let it be… nope. A used condom glinted accusingly from the floor, not too far from the shattered remains of a lamp. Classy, Allegra.
With a whimper, she dropped to all fours and groped blindly for her purse, which she found beneath the crumpled wreckage of her Dior dress. Her phone was inside, its screen glowing. She squinted as three missed messages popped up, all from Nate.
He wanted to meet up. Today.
Absolutely not. Maybe. Shit.
Allegra dragged her knees to her chest, pressing the cool glass of her phone against her forehead.
Ignoring Nate would be easier. Cleaner. It would let her pretend she was totally fine.
Unbothered. Not at all like someone who’d spent the night rage-performing adulthood like a pissed-off sixteen-year-old with revoked Wi-Fi privileges.
She could do that. She should.
Except the idea of cutting him loose lodged low in her stomach and refused to budge.
She wanted to see him again. Badly. Not because he owed her anything, but for that strange, buoyant feeling he gave her.
The way being around him made her feel expansive, even if only for a moment.
As though the world extended beyond palace gates.
Besides, coffee was still within the rules. It wasn’t like she was signing up for a relationship. She hadn’t even gotten him up to her room. It was closure. Or civility. Or self-inflicted torture. She wasn’t entirely sure which.
Her phone buzzed. She checked the caller ID, pulled the Dior dress tighter around her shoulders, and accepted the call. “Hey, Maus.”
Clara’s face filled the screen, her expression turning deeply. Her eyes flicked over Allegra’s face, then dipped, taking in the wreckage beyond the frame.
“Holy shit, Allie,” Clara said. “You look like death warmed over. Big night?”
“Thanks,” Allegra rasped. Her voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel. “And yeah. Something like that.”
“With the Nate guy?” Clara asked, leaning closer to the camera.
“No.”
Clara blinked. “No?”
“No,” Allegra repeated.
Clara’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? I thought you two were—”
“We were,” Allegra cut in. She winced and forced herself to slow down. “I mean, we did. Sort of. It’s just… complicated.”
That eyebrow came back, arching in a way that suggested Clara had at least twelve follow-up questions queued and ready to deploy. Instead, she sighed. “Okay. I’m filing that under ‘to be unpacked later with snacks and wine.’ Because there’s a reason I’m calling.”
Allegra’s teeth clenched. “That sounds ominous.”
“Unfortunately, yeah.” Clara’s voice dropped, and the playful edge vanished. “They’ve locked me out of the war room.”
“What?” Allegra pushed herself upright, the room tilting in response. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Since when?”
“Since I became too ‘emotionally compromised,’” Clara said, making air quotes. “But I overheard enough to know they’re onto you.”
Allegra closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Jesus. Why now?”
“As far as I could make out, they don’t know where you’re staying. Just somewhere in Geneva. But Papa’s sure to have people sniffing around.”
“Fantastic,” Allegra muttered.
“Oh, it gets better. Well, worse, actually. The paparazzi were tailing them in Interlaken. Apparently, when you travel with three black SUVs and matching security, people notice.
“Fuck.”
“You could come home,” Clara suggested. “Or at least move cities. Zurich. Milan. Somewhere harder to triangulate.”
Allegra shook her head. “I can’t.”
There was a pause. “Why not?” Clara asked.
Because Nate existed, and she couldn’t let their last moment be that train wreck in the hotel lobby. She needed to change the ending. Or at least add a new scene.
“I’ll explain later,” Allegra said. She swallowed. “And thanks. For the tip-off.”
Clara studied her for a moment, her expression softening. “Be careful, Allie.”
“I will,” Allegra promised, even though they both knew it was a hopeful fiction at best.
The call ended. Silence rushed back in. Allegra stared at her phone, her thumb poised over the screen. She opened the message thread from Nate and typed.
Allegra: Hey. Sorry, just saw these.
Then, before she could chicken out:
Allegra: Coffee sounds good. I know a place. I’ll message the details.
Her thumb pressed send, and adrenaline flooded her veins. It was the rush that came with doing something reckless, like leaping off a cliff and only afterward wondering if there was water below. But it was too late now. The message was out there, floating in the digital void.
“Okay then.”
Step one: hydration. Step two: aspirin. Step three: find a bra that hadn’t been lost to the chaos of last night. The rest? She’d worry about it later.
***
Allegra spotted him first.
Nate was hunched over a round table inside the Ariana Museum of Ceramics café, his espresso sitting untouched, like he’d ordered it out of politeness and immediately forgotten it existed.
The marble arches and soaring ceilings loomed overhead, making him look even more out of place.
A cowboy who’d wandered into a royal ball and decided to stay.
The café itself was tucked into a mezzanine corner, hushed and shadowed, the kind of place where even sunlight seemed to behave. Allegra had chosen it deliberately. Forgiving for someone trying not to be seen. Forgiving of hangovers.
Naturally, Nate looked unfairly good, if worn around the edges. Rumpled hair. Open collar. Sleeves shoved up his forearms like he had no idea what that did to her. Her pulse fluttered, even as her brain ticked off the lobby fiasco.
She lingered by the railing for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the thigh-high hem of her cotton cami.
The one she’d bought in a burst of practical optimism at Zara, as if a $49.
99 dress could armor her against the kind of morning that followed a night like last night.
She adjusted her sunglasses for the third time, the frames digging into her nose, and took a slow breath.
Then she exhaled and made her way across the cafe, her sandals clicking against the marble.
Nate looked up the second she stepped into his line of sight, standing so quickly his chair scraped. “Hey. Ella.”
“Hey,” she replied, her voice carefully neutral.
They hovered there, caught in that excruciating limbo where neither of them knew the rules.
Was this a hug moment? A cheek-kiss moment?
A polite wave-from-a-safe-distance moment?
They did a small, synchronized shuffle, rocking on their heels like they were both trying to remember how to move, before finally sitting down in unison.
Nate cleared his throat. “About last night—”
“No.” She lifted a hand, palm out. “I was tired. Fried. So let’s not.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then his shoulders dropped, visible relief loosening his posture. “Okay. It’s just—” He rubbed the top his head. “I meant what I said. About having some stuff going on. And about you being…” He hesitated and exhaled. “Incredible.”
Allegra gulped. She’d braced for smugness. For the glow of a man privately congratulating himself on moral fortitude. A subtle air of I did the noble thing, you’re welcome. But he didn’t look pleased. He looked shaken. Like walking away had cost him something.
And then he’d texted her, anyway. Not to claim a do-over. Just to hang out. That felt bigger than a hotel room ever could.
“Anyway,” he said, dragging her back to the present, “I’m leaving. And you are too.”
Her ribs constricted. Oh, come on. This was the ideal scenario—a man who came with a pre-scheduled exit.
No clingy goodbyes, no expectations, no “So what happens now?” slideshows.
They’d known each other for less than a week.
She’d spent more time picking out a state banquet menu.
So why did the thought of him vanishing into an airport terminal make her want to press her palm against her sternum, like she could physically hold the discomfort in?
He bent down, rummaging through his satchel, and pulled out her cap. She took it gratefully, yanking it over her hair and tugging the brim low. “Thanks.”
A waiter appeared at her elbow. Allegra didn’t even glance at the menu. “Un espresso, s’il vous pla?t.” He vanished. She slid her sunglasses off and grimaced. Even this well-behaved light was a betrayal.
“Aiee,” Nate said. “Another big night?”
“Yep.” And suddenly, absurdly, she wondered—could he smell it? Last night’s hissy-fit? The stranger she’d used to prove a point? Heat prickled her neck, and she ducked her chin, tugging at the strap of her dress.
“Not my place,” he said, palms lifting, “but maybe consider a rest day?”
She snorted despite herself. “Bold of you to assume my body listens to reason.”
That earned her a real smile. His fingers started tapping against the table. He hesitated. “I’ve been sitting here going back and forth, and there’s something I wanted to say.”
“Uh-huh?”
“It’s about—”
“NAAATE!”
The voice cut through the café like a dropped tray.
They both turned.
A woman stood near the entrance, tall and aggressively cheerful, blonde hair scraped into a high ponytail.
Black leggings, white trainers, a cropped silver top that suggested confidence, discipline, and a deeply committed core routine.
She radiated a kind of loud, sunny energy that made Allegra instinctively sit back in her chair, as though bracing for impact.