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‘Always something.’ He studied her, amusement in his eyes. ‘You’re glowing. Everyone in the room last night was swooning over the sight of you—they’d never seen two people so taken with each other. And then the vanishing act…’

Tilly flushed. Vanishing wasn’t all that good.

‘You’re going to the Estate?’ She went for diversion.

He shook his head. ‘Antonella. You and Alex bailing on a big wedding means an epic from us to distract from some of those other things, so it’s planning time.’ He shot her a sideways look. ‘I’m sorry about Hugo and all that online rubbish, Tilly. It’s terrible. Are you okay?’

‘I am. Truly,’ she insisted when she saw his eyes tighten. ‘Alex has helped me keep it in perspective. It’s not real.’

There was so much worse to go through. She needed to focus on herself and him.

Erik squeezed her shoulder. ‘I’m glad for you, but more so for him. He couldn’t focus on anything but you.’

She wished that was true.

‘But he’s making plans. I always wished he’d talk to me more. I think he’s going to need you, Tilly.’

She glanced up at the sombre edge in Erik’s tone. ‘And I’ll be here.’

That was her realisation—she wasn’t going anywhere.

Erik paused. ‘You really like him, huh?’

Emotion clogged her throat, so she just nodded.

‘Call me if you need anything. I mean it.’ There was a vestige of concern in Erik’s eyes. ‘Any time.’

She hugged him. ‘I’ve got this, honestly.’

She hoped it would be true.

‘You’re both too independent,’ he muttered.

After they parted ways at the end of the corridor, she checked her phone. Still nothing from Alex. Bracing, she ventured into the main palace wing. She’d just passed the portraits when a group of liveried staff emerged from the ballroom and hurried to the throne room. Another flurry of staff moved towards the press offices. As they opened the door high-pitched voices echoed.

No sign of Alex and it would be too awkward to ask any of those people. Hardly selling the ‘happy marriage’ if they knew her husband hadn’t told her where he was going.

Intuition in overdrive, she headed back to Alex’s suite, hyper-conscious of the whispering staff and the number of guards arriving. Something was going on. She walked faster. By the time she got back to Alex’s apartment she was hot and breathless. She walked in to see him striding across the lounge buttoning a crisply starched shirt, closely tailed by a manservant holding an ornate jacket.

‘Where have you been?’ Alex waved his hand and the dresser handed him the jacket and fled the room. ‘You need to pack. Just enough for a week. The helicopter will depart in ten but I’ll send your other stuff on.’

Tilly gulped a breath. ‘We’re going back to Zaffira?’

‘You’re going to London. You can choose wherever next from there, but that will be secure for now. Rafa will go with you for protection.’

‘What are you talking about? What’s happened?’ She registered the high colour in his cheeks. ‘What’s happening?’

He lifted his chin jerkily. ‘My father has abdicated.’

‘What?’ Her legs emptied and she grasped the back of the nearest chair. ‘He’s what?’

Alex glanced at his watch. ‘The official announcement is about to be posted on the gate, then he and I will make a media appearance in the throne room. He’ll go first, brief, then me. Longer.’

He swiftly tucked his shirt ends in. Ribbon adorned the sides of his trousers and the jacket had gold braid, buttons. This was a uniform he’d never before worn.

‘Why has he abdicated?’ Tilly gripped the chair harder. ‘What did you say to him?’

There was no doubt that this was Alex’s doing.