Chapter Fifteen
Clara: Sorry, can’t talk. Walls have ears.
Allegra pictured Clara half-curled on a gilt sofa beneath a portrait of some mustached ancestor, thumbs flying like pistons while pretending to listen to a briefing about an ambassador’s visit.
Allegra: Ominous. What’s the latest?
The typing bubble appeared immediately. Clara had always been a fast texter. Years of covert sibling communication under the dining table had honed her skills.
Clara: Bribed one of Papa’s assistants. Don’t ask which one. Plausible deniability.
Of course she had. Clara treated palace staff the way other women treated Sephora loyalty points.
Clara: They’re scouring every five-star in Geneva. Because obviously, you’d never lower yourself to a four.
Allegra rolled her eyes. She was currently sitting cross-legged on her narrow bed, springs nudging her ass, while a broken lamp slumped sideways on the bedside table. At least housekeeping had removed the trash bin with the used condom, so technically the place was improving.
Allegra: Okay. Buys me time at least.
Clara: Time for what?
That question hovered on the screen longer than it should have. Allegra glanced toward the window. Somewhere out there was Nate. Probably asleep. Probably shirtless. Definitely unfairly attractive.
Allegra: I’m seeing Nate again. Tomorrow.
There was a pause. Then:
Clara: OMG. OMG. OMG.
Another pause.
Clara: What’s the deal with you two anyway? He’s like your boyfriend now?
Allegra: No. NO.
Clara: Really?
Allegra: It’s complicated.
Clara: Interesting. Because I distinctly remember a speech. Something about no catching feelings.
Allegra pressed her lips together. That did sound like her.
Allegra: I’m not catching anything.
Clara: Sure.
Allegra: I’m not.
Clara: Allegra von Wildern.
She hated when Clara used her full name in text. It felt like being summoned to her father’s office.
Clara: You do realize you can’t keep saying “it’s complicated” like you’re in an OG Facebook relationship status, right?
Allegra rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe one day she’d confess the whole sordid saga to Clara—how she’d tried to lure Nate upstairs with the subtlety of a concussed peacock. How she’d channeled her wounded pride into a hookup with a sweaty Frenchman.
Today was not that day.
Allegra: We’re just seeing each other.
Clara: That’s literally what dating is.
Allegra: It’s not dating. It’s situational companionship.
Clara: OMG. OMG. OMG.
Allegra: It’s temporary!!!
Clara: Everything is temporary. That’s how time works.
Allegra huffed. Clara was insufferable when she got logical.
Clara: So why not ‘just see’ him tonight?
Allegra glanced at the clock. Ten in the evening. Her entire body felt like it had been wrung out and hung up to dry.
Allegra: No sleep = human-shaped puddle.
Clara: Solid argument.
Allegra decided to change the subject.
Allegra: Had a near-miss with a paparazzo today. That guy with the combover like a dead rat.
Clara: Dieter?
Allegra: Bingo.
Clara: How’d you dodge that one?
Allegra pressed a finger to her lips, her mind flashing back to the moment her mouth had collided with Nate’s—first as an emergency maneuver, then as something else entirely.
The way her stomach had swooped, her pulse had spiked, and her brain had dissolved into dizzy static.
She wiggled, heat blooming between her legs. And typed.
Allegra: Managed to hide.
Clara: You’re telling me Dieter Dead Rat Combover was within lunging distance and that’s the whole story?
Allegra: That is the official version, yes.
Clara: You’re bluffing.
Allegra: I’m sleeping.
Clara: Sure you are.
A final message popped up before the typing bubble disappeared.
Clara: Give your not-boyfriend my regards.
She glared at the screen for a full five seconds before tossing the phone onto the pillow beside her.