Page 36 of The Princess and the Fraud

“My Californian blood will freeze, but what can you do?” His tone was teasing, and his gaze lifted over her head to meet mine.

Paige grabbed my arm then. “Enjoy your match!” she said in a voice that was way too cheerful, tugging me off toward the left, toward the hotel, away from the country club and the couple lingering in it. “Awkward. So he and Fiona really are a thing?”

I hummed amm-hmm, because I didn’t want to speak and chase away the swell ofsomethingwithin me. Determination? Surety? Whatever it was had bloomed at the opening notes of the composition, budding further the moment Aaron spoke its name. If there was another world out there, I liked to think Mom sent the piece to me from it.

Almost there. I sent the thought out there again, and even though Paige had led me further from my Alderton-Du Ponte post, and I’d have to jog to get there on time, I felt lighter.

The mental image of Fiona pressing a kiss onto Aaron’s cheek wouldn’t vanish, though, no matter how many times I shook my head.

CHAPTEREIGHT

Paige had been right—it rained Saturday, throwing a wrench in Mrs. Holland’s party. The sky had cracked open and begun pouring while staff were setting up, which led to “Dies Irae”ringing on my phone an hour before I was supposed to clock in. For the second Saturday in a row. This time, they needed help with a hasty tear-down filled with sopping linen and crushed paper flowers—and they needed the Staff Princess for the job.

I was the Staff Princess when they needed me, but expendable when they didn’t. Right.

“This is my first true event of the year, and it’s ruined!” Mrs. Holland’s crying filled the Alderton-Du Ponte event hall, to the point that, even though I was across the room, I heard it in my head. “Just absolutelyruined!”

“It’s not ruined, Mom,” Caroline cooed, her placating tone high and sweet as she patted her mother’s hand. Mrs. Holland slumped against one of the finished tables, planting her head down and almost landing it on the centerpiece. “We just had to move it inside. That’s okay.”

Paige and I were put in charge of hanging the new linens across the room, squeezing out the water of the lesser soaked ones and retrieving new ones from the laundry room. We worked near the entrance’s doorframe now, where Paige struggled to pin the linen pleats even. “Didn’t she host last week’s event?” Paige muttered down to me.

“Yep.”

Annalise held a box of tissues beside Caroline, passing them down when Mrs. Holland’s tears and snot soaked through the others. Michael stood behind her with his hands in his pockets, and though the event hadn’t even started, he looked wholly out of place.

Maybe because he was the only guy in the room without Aaron at his side.

“Why am Isobad at this?” Paige groaned from where she stood on the ladder’s sixth rung, waving her hand down. “Can you pass me a pin?”

“It doesn’t look that bad.” But it did look pretty rough. The pleats weren’t the same thickness across the most recent stretch of fabric she’d put up, making the entryway seem frumpy. I wasn’t going to say that, though. We were almost finished. “If Mrs. Pine wants it done better, she can do it.”

And then I glanced over my shoulder, paranoid. No scary event coordinator in sight.

As I scanned the space, though, my eyes fell on the full grand piano that was tucked in the corner of the ballroom. It was like I was noticing it for the first time, the way it glittered underneath the chandelier light, almost making it look golden and glowing. It was more of a display piece than one for actual use, only tuned when a musician played it for events and galas. It hadn’t been too long since the last time, but I never allowed myself to reallylookat it before.

Now, though, as I eyed its glossy surface and bench seat, I couldn’t help but wonder what Aaron would look like perched there.

It was almost shameful, thinking about him in that context.

Since he came back to Alderton-Du Ponte, I nearly convinced myself that he’d lied about playing the piano.You have to be honest to play the piano, I’d said back in June.Bad guys are rarely ever honest with themselves.Which, like, hello—Aaron Astor was anythingbuthonest.

I needed to hear him play. I needed to know whether that was a lie… or if something else was.

Paige glanced over at my friends. “Are you wondering where the hottie is?”

I straightened, looking down at the pins in my palm. “Of course not. Why would I?”

“Oh. Well, I was going to say you don’t have to wonder.” She stretched up to fold the next inch of fabric. “Because I know.”

Don’t be curious, don’t be curious. “How do you know?”

“Well, when I was collecting laundry yesterday, I volunteered to check the country club’s workout areas for towels. Which includes the tennis and pickleball courts.” She smirked. “But if you’re not curious?—”

I tapped the ladder’s legs, rattling the metal. “Spill.”

“Fiona asked Aaron if he’d like to go out on her family’s yacht last night for a moonlit dinner on the water. Mentioned how cushy it was, with a private suite, and a chef who makes a killer full breakfast.” Her voice lowered to sound suggestive. “Breakfast. Which means…”

“They most likely had a sleepover.” The thought was nothing short of skin-crawling.

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