Chapter Nineteen
The SUV hummed over the asphalt, its tires eating up Geneva’s rain-slicked streets.
Allegra sat pressed against the buttery leather of the backseat, her knees bent at an awkward angle, fingers clutching the strap of her bag.
The world beyond the tinted windows was a smear of light and motion, as indistinct as her own thoughts.
She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the screen like it was a detonator. Google. She typed: Ryan Steele. The search results loaded instantly. She hesitated, then tapped the first video that appeared.
Thirty seconds. That’s all she had survived of the clip before jabbing the screen and shutting it off.
The images burned behind her eyelids—Nate, but not Nate.
Not the man who’d walked beside her on the lakeshore.
Who’d made her laugh until her sides ached.
Who’d held her hand on the Ferris wheel and admitted he was scared too.
This Nate was polished to a high gloss, his mouth curved in a grin she didn’t recognize. His hands on some blonde’s boobs, hips thrusting between them like it was just another Tuesday. Like it was nothing at all.
She slammed the phone down onto the seat beside her. For one suspended moment, she just sat there. Then she tipped her head back and screamed.
The driver didn’t even flinch. Years of training, probably.
Her face flamed despite the air conditioning, fingers curling into fists against her thighs. He’d let her kiss him like she was special. Let her fall for him. All the while failing to mention the elephant in the room—or rather, the elephant on the internet.
The phone buzzed, an incoming call lighting up the screen.
Nate.
She let out a slow breath and answered.
“Hello, Nate,” she said coolly.
A shaky exhale. “Hey.”
“Or should I call you Ryan?”
A pause. An incredulous snort. “Yeah, that’s rich coming from you, Ella.”
“That’s not—don’t call me that.”
“Oh, sorry,” he shot back. “Allegra. Princess Allegra. My mistake.”
She slid lower in her seat, the strap biting into her neck, her pulse thudding against it.
“So, when,” she said, voice stretched thin, “were you planning to mention you’re a porn star?”
A huff of breath. “I prefer ‘adult video actor.’ And anyway, I’m not.”
Allegra barked a humorless laugh. “That’s funny. Because the internet seems confident you are.”
“I was. Past tense. That part about looking for a new career? That part was true.”
She laughed again, and it scraped her throat raw on the way out. “God, you’re such a lying asshole.”
But the words didn’t land the way she’d hoped. They echoed instead against the memory of the museum café, Miranda’s tight smile, Nate’s low, emphatic I’m done.
He’d meant it. She’d heard it in his voice. So why did none of this add up?
“Really?” he snapped, pulling her back. “This from the ‘Austrian art student’?”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“What was I, huh?” he continued. “A joke? A story to take home and tell your friends? That one time I slummed it with the commoner by the river?”
“Yeah, and me?” she shot back. “Some trophy you couldn’t even be bothered collecting?”
Allegra shifted on the seat, suddenly aware of how exposed she felt, despite the bulletproof glass and reinforced doors. “Why wouldn’t you sleep with me?” she asked. The words surprised her even as they left her mouth. Too raw and honest. Too late to take back.
On the other end of the line, his breath hitched.
“Was I not good enough?” she went on, hating how small her voice sounded. “You didn’t think I could perform like all those other women you fuck? That I wouldn’t be worth the effort?”
His inhale dragged through the phone, uneven. “It’s not like that,” he said. “I—I…” And then he stopped.
Which was, frankly, worse. Because her mind immediately filled in the blank with something far more dangerous than rejection. Maybe he hadn’t touched her because it would have meant something.
Maybe… he actually cared.
The SUV slowed for a light. Reflections of red and white slid across the window, striping her face. She pressed the phone harder against her ear. No. No, no, no.
Don’t go there, Allegra.
“Look,” Nate’s voice cracked. “I don’t know how to—”
The driver cleared his throat. “Your Highness, we’ve arrived at Cointrin Airport.”
The words slid into the backseat like a knife between her ribs. Allegra blinked. Through the tinted glass, the terminal glowed against the wet tarmac. Beyond it, the private jet waited. White, polished, unmistakably hers.
Reality rushed in. Title. Duty. Exit.
Through the phone, Nate was still breathing, still there.
“I have to go,” she said. Her voice sounded distant to her own ears.
The SUV purred to a stop.
“Allegra, wait—” he tried again, urgency bleeding into his words.
“Haven’t you done enough?” she said, cutting him off mid-sentence. The driver cracked open his door and slid out onto the asphalt. “You lied to me. I lied to you. Congratulations, we’re even.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Nope,” she said, snapping the word like a rubber band.
The rear door swung open. Warm air rushed in, tangy with rain and jet fuel, brushing her hair across her cheeks.
“Just… don’t contact me again, okay?”
A pause. A small, shattered silence.
“Fine,” he said, his voice hollow. “If that’s what you want.”
She swallowed. “It is.”
She ended the call before she could change her mind.