Page 132 of Prince of the Palisades

“I’m so sorry, son. For not listening. For everything.” It sounds like he’s crying too. But happy tears. Like we’re finally okay. “Promise me you’ll visit Réverie. You’ll come see your mom and me. Promise.”

And I do.

The Sunset Ball is an absolute spectacle. Chic suits and glamorous gowns. A long, blush-pink carpet draped across the Getty Center’s front steps.

I climb out of the Bentley. Photographers scream my name. Camera flashes shimmer against the darkening sky like exploding diamonds. But it’s not only my attention they’re scrambling for. It’s the boy next to me, whose hand I don’t hesitate to grab, threading my fingers through his.

Reiss grins nervously. I’ve done a million of these things before. But this is his first real taste of dating a royal.

“Don’t worry,” I say into his ear. “You look great.”

He’s wearing a custom-made Tom Ford suit in a familiar shade of cardinal. His gold tie pops against a black button-down. At least he’s getting used to the designer wardrobe, having a stylist stand over him to fix his hair. It’s freshly dyed. Pacific blue.

“It helps,” I add, smirking, “that you’re standing with me.”

He squints against all the bursting light. “Is that so, Your Royal Arrogance?”

My nose wrinkles. “It is. Now, come on. You’re blocking my dimples.”

His mouth flexes into that crooked grin.

Ajani escorts us through the storm.

Inside, the main lobby is crowded with guests. Models and actors and political influencers. I don’t search for Grace. We haven’t talked since that night with her father. I’m giving her space to figure out who she wants to be, the same way being banished to LA gave me that chance.

As corks pop and the orchestra tunes up, I find us a quiet corner. My stomach churns anxiously. A million conversations are happening at once. In thirty minutes, I’ll give my speech, right before the dinner. Bile crawls up my throat.

Annika’s not far away. Standing in a gorgeous off-the-shoulder Carolina Herrera number, surrounded by the cast of a popular Netflix series. Nearby, Luc trades glances between her and me. His subtle eyebrow lift asks,Do we need to get you out of here?

With a small head shake, I smile his way, grateful.

He’s not the only one who’s noticed my pale face and tight shoulders.

Reiss squeezes my hand. He catches Ajani’s attention. “Can I borrow him for a minute? Or, like, fifteen?”

Her eyes narrow with distrust.

“His, uh,” Reiss stammers, “bowtie needs fixing.”

I look down, frowning. I’m not wearing a bowtie. The all-black Prada suit Dion chose didn’t require one. In the lobby’s light, the gold accents threaded through the suit jacket sparkle.

“Ten minutes,” Ajani says stiffly. “Not a second more.”

Reiss beams. “I’ll take it.”

Before I can ask what’s happening, Reiss hooks an armin mine. He drags me through a maze of faces. Around the champagne fountain. Behind a thick curtain where the noise is softened to a dull hum.

“What are we—”

My words are cut off as Reiss guides me against a wall. His hands splay on either side of my head. He grins slyly, something familiar flashing in his eyes.

“You’re tense,” he says.

I inhale a tight breath. “A little, yes.”

“Cool. I’m here to help.”

“Help?” I parrot, confused. Until his gaze drags over my mouth. His body presses against mine. One hand leaves the wall to run through my hair, down my cheek. “Oh. You want, um, to do that?”

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