I smile, but Alexei scowls. It’s like a part of him is starting to believe me. “Are you happy, Gracie?”
Now it’s time to laugh and smile and tell him that every little girl dreams of growing up and marrying a prince and living in a palace.
But this is Alexei. He knows I never was a typical little girl.
“Princess Ann did it—when she was a girl. She and my mom and, I guess, your mom thought that Ann was the heir, so she married the prince. Now I’m going to marry the prince.”
“You don’t even know him!” Alexei’s shouting, but Embassy Row doesn’t care.
“We’re not getting married tomorrow. I’m just going to move into the palace for now. The official story will be that Ann was my godmother, so I’m living with her. And then the prince and I will get to know each other, and in time, I’m sure—”
“Do you think I care about time?” Alexei shouts, but I want to tell him that he should care. We’re running out of it, after all.
“Gracie, you don’t have to do this. Jamie would never want you to do this!”
He reaches for me again, but this time I manage to pull away. I’m too cold and too hard to cling to. Maybe Alexei realizes that if he were to squeeze me, I might break because he doesn’t reach for me again.
“Maybe I want this,” I tell him. “Did you consider that?”
For the first time, he seems to wonder if it might be true.
“Do you?”
“It’s my birthright,” I say with a shrug. “I was born to be a princess.”
Alexei laughs now. A cold, cruel sound. “You could have fooled me.”
I talk on. “Really, there’s no reason not to do it.”
I’ve done things—terrible things for which I will never, ever be forgiven. But this is the first time I’ve been intentionally cruel. I see the words hit him, and as big and strong and stoic as he is, he actually stumbles.
The sun is rising, and I can feel Alexei’s gaze on me, like he’s looking for some clue that I’ve been drugged or replaced. I’m not Gracie, Jamie’s kid sister. I’m not the crazy, reckless girl next door. I’m not the young woman he has been getting closer and closer to for weeks now.
I am a stranger.
And for the rest of our lives I’m going to have to stay that way.
“I can think of a reason.” Alexei’s arms are around me then, his lips pressing against mine. It’s not like the kisses that we’ve shared before. This is stronger, deeper. This is a kiss that is going to have to last us both a lifetime, because the thing that we both know about this kiss is simple: It’s probably our last one.
“You’re a nice boy, Alexei,” I say when, at last, I pull away. “I’m sorry, but this is for the best. You’ll always be one of my very best friends, you know.”
“Friend?” Alexei says, and steps away.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other sometime. It’s not like this is good-bye.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what this is.”
He doesn’t follow me down Embassy Row. I’m alone when the limo pulls up in front of the US gates and the uniformed driver comes around the car and opens a door.
I look up at the residence, but there’s no use going inside. I can’t bear any more good-byes, I tell myself.
So I give one last wave at Alexei and climb into the dark backseat. The windows are black and bulletproof. It’s as good a place as any to shatter.
I’ve been to the palace three times.
Once, when I was new to Adria and stuffed into a pretty pink dress. That night, I danced and I curtsied and I tried to make my grandfather proud.
Once, when I was adrift and needed Princess Ann to explain my own mother to me, to make the past make sense.
And once more when my brother was dying and the crowds were descending and I was desperate for fences and walls, anything to hold the tide at bay even if for just a little while.
But that was before I knew the truth. About my mother and Amelia and Ann—about the terrible, twisted fate that another mob set in motion on another night.
It’s been two hundred years since the Society smuggled a baby girl through the palace gates.
Two centuries have past, but now it’s like Amelia is finally coming home. I’m taking her rightful place and reclaiming her birthright. No one seems to care that that means turning my back on my own.
The car is quiet and dark, so I close my eyes and savor the last sounds of silence that I might ever hear. I have no idea what to expect when the gates swing wide and we pull onto the grounds. We drive up to a portico on the far side of the palace, a place sheltered by tall walls and heavy trees. We’re in the heart of Valancia, but the rest of the world feels a million miles away when the limo stops and a man opens the door.
I have to squint against the sunlight as I slide to the edge of the seat and step outside. A hand in a white glove reaches down to help me, but for a second I honestly don’t know what to do. I’ve never been one to ask for help—I don’t even know how to take it—so I crawl out of the backseat by myself, study the man in the ornate uniform who stands before me, formal and surreal. It’s like stepping into a dream. A bad one.
“Hello, Grace!”
That’s when I turn to see Princess Ann coming down the stairs, walking past a long line of uniformed servants. A man in a full tuxedo follows closely behind the princess, carefully listening to every word.