“A marriage of convenience,” she says in a detached tone.

“Yes.” I cup her cheek, bringing her eyes to mine. “It’s been done for centuries—because it works. Or maybe…I could marry Ezzy. It would make things easier for her…and for us.”

Olivia’s gaze touches the ceiling and her hand scrapes into her hair, tugging. “Jesus fucking Christ, Nicholas.”

And my voice is raw with desperate emotion. “Just think about it. You’re not even considering it.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re asking me?”

Frustration turns my tone cold. “I’m asking you to stay. Here. With me.”

And hers bursts into flames. “Yes, stay and watch you announce to the world that you’re marrying someone else! Stay and watch while you go to parties and luncheons and pose for pictures with someone else. Stay and watch you…give her your mother’s ring.”

I wince.

Olivia shoves me, rises, and scrambles off the bed.

“You are such an asshole!”

She heads for the bookcase, but I bolt off the bed, chasing her. I wrap an arm around her waist, locking her in place, my chest against her back—my hand in her hair, my scraping voice at her ear.

“Yes, I’m a fucking arsehole and a bastard, too. But I can’t…bear it. The thought of you being an ocean away. The thought of never seeing you, never touching you again.”

I close my eyes and press my forehead against her temple, breathing her in, holding her too tight but too desperate to loosen my grip.

“I love you, Olivia. I love you. And I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let you go.”

She shudders in my arms. And then she’s sobbing into her hands. Great, heaving, heartbroken bursts that wreck me.

I should’ve left her alone. I should’ve walked away the moment I started to feel…everything. I had no business trying to keep her. It will forever be the cruelest thing I’ve ever done.

She turns in my arms and presses her face against my chest, wetting it with her tears. I hold her close and stroke her hair. “Don’t cry, love. Shhh…please, Olivia.”

Broken eyes look up at me.

“I love you too.”

“I know.” I stroke her face. “I know you do.”

“But I can’t…” Her voice quakes. “If I stay here, if I have to watch you…it’ll be like being burned alive, one piece at a time, until there’ll be nothing left of me…of us.”

My ribs squeeze as if a snake has coiled around them, making every breath painful and hard.

“It was unfair of me to ask you, Olivia.” I push at her tears, wiping them away. “Please don’t cry anymore. Please…forget. Forget I said anything. Let’s just—”

“Enjoy the time we have left,” she finishes softly.

My finger traces the bridge of her nose.

“That’s right.”

I wait outside the Queen’s office. Her secretary, Christopher, told me she can’t possibly see me today, but I wait anyway. Because I have to—I have to try.

When she walks into the room, brisk and efficient, I say, “I need to speak with you.”

She doesn’t even look at me.

“It’s important.”

She walks past me toward her office door.

“Your Majesty, please!”

Finally, she stops and turns her head. Her lips purse, looking me over. And that Christopher guy must have mental telepathy, because without a word, when the Queen proceeds into her office, he raises his arm and leads me in behind her.

I don’t know how long she’ll let me speak, so as soon as the door closes, I start right in.

“Nicholas needs more time.”

Her words are clipped and dismissive. “Time will not make this better.”

“He’s not ready.”

She walks behind her desk, scanning the papers there. “Of course he is. He was born for this—quite literally.”

“He doesn’t want this.”

“But he’ll do it. Because he is honorable and it is his duty.”

“I love him!”

That makes her stop. Her hand pauses over a piece of paper, and her face slowly lifts, meeting my eyes.

And then, the Queen’s expression goes softer—the lines around her mouth and eyes smooth out, making her look gentler. Like the grandma she’s supposed to be.

“Yes, I believe you do. He loves you too, you know. When he looks at you…His father used to look at his mother the same way—like she was the Eighth Wonder of the World. These last months, Nicholas has reminded me so much of his father, at times it’s been almost as if my son were standing right there.”

She gestures to the sofa near the fireplace. “Sit.”

I do, carefully, while she takes a cushioned chair, facing me. “I had a second child, after Thomas—a daughter. Did Nicholas ever tell you that?”

“No,” I answer, all of the righteous heat leaching out of me.

“She was a sickly, beautiful creature. Born with a heart condition. We brought in all the specialists, doctors from all over the world. Edward was out of his mind with grief. And I would have given up my crown to save her…but there was nothing to be done. They told me she wouldn’t last a month. She survived for six.”

She seems lost for a moment, in the memory. Then her gray eyes blink out of the reverie. Her gaze falls back to the present—back to me.