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“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I say, finding my voice amidst my stupor.
He gestures his cane toward the interview queue but keeps his eyes on me. “Shall we? Or would you like to linger?” When I don’t immediately answer, his lips quirk up at one corner. “There are certainly parts of you I wouldn’t mind lingering over.”
His seductive teasing manages to cut the rest of the way through the daze I find myself in. My mind clears, and I let out a playful laugh. “You’re too brash, Your Highness.”
“And you are too damn stunning not to be.”
My cheeks warm with a traitorous blush. Hopefully my layers of rouge and cosmetics are able to hide it.
Dante—much to my ludicrous disappointment—removes his hand from my lower back and offers me his arm instead. I take it, and with all proper refinement, we make our way to the back of the queue.
* * *
The first severalinterviews are brief, with the reporters asking me and Dante some variation of the same questions: if we’re excited to see the play, if we can share any details regarding our upcoming wedding, and who we’re wearing tonight. I try to evade the topic of our nuptials, as I have nothing exciting to share on that front. Per my request, my wedding to the prince will be a sober affair—nothing more than signing our names on a contract. Questions about my ensemble, on the other hand, I address with no small amount of enthusiasm. Dante too speaks about his attire with pride. I’m unsurprised to discover his suit was made by a famous designer from Bretton who works exclusively for the royal family. The cut is slightly different from the styles popular in Faerwyvae, and the fabrics are certainly of royal quality. I imagine serving as the prince’s decoy comes with the benefit of having a royal wardrobe tailored with precision.
We continue down the red carpet, pausing for more photographs and interview questions. Everything is going perfectly. Better than I imagined. That is, until we near the end of the row of reporters, and I spot the last person I care to come into close contact with tonight—Mrs. Vance. How is she still on the red carpet? She arrived well before me. She stands chatting with a reporter, back facing me and Dante. I freeze in place, torn between accepting more interviews and exiting the red carpet at once.
“What is it?” Dante asks, following my line of sight. “Ah. It’s her.”
Despite having met only Howard Vance at the restaurant, he seems to have no trouble identifying the source of my distress. He steers me toward a reporter on the opposite side of the carpet. My relief is short-lived, for that’s when I recognize a tall, lanky man with dark, slicked-back hair. He’s the reporter Lydia Mangrove brought to barge in on me in the fitting room with Mr. Vance.
A slight arch of his brow is the only sign of recognition he shows. I’m about to ask Dante to shift course again, but before I can say a word, the reporter steals my companion’s attention.
“Prince Albert, I’m Eaton Farris. Who are you wearing tonight?”
I do my best to keep my composure as Dante guides us toward him. As the spy answers the other man’s question, I cast a glowing smile to our neighboring reporters, hoping to catch their eyes. Unfortunately, those nearby are actively engaged in interviews, and none seem eager for an excuse to extricate themselves from the conversation. Unlike me. Though, perhaps if I keep my focus anywhere but Eaton Farris, he’ll take the hint and not speak a word to me.
Commotion at the middle of the queue provides a genuine distraction. I angle my head this way and that, trying to see what has the flash bulbs popping several times faster than before while reporters and their interviewees halt mid-conversation.
“It’s Holly Abercrombie!” someone exclaims from nearby. That’s when I see a tall, slim human female with long blonde hair worn loose around her shoulders. She wears an old-fashioned dress and apron, which tells me she must be in costume. I’m surprised the starlet isn’t backstage, what with the play starting so soon. She waves for the cameras, pausing to chat with only a select few reporters or guests.
I reluctantly divert my attention from the actress to my partner, hoping Dante has finished speaking to Mr. Farris, only to find his attention is fixed on Holly Abercrombie. His jaw is tight, eyes slightly narrowed. Mr. Farris stares expectantly at the spy as if he’s awaiting an answer to a question Dante left hanging. But Dante doesn’t seem at all aware of the reporter anymore, his interest fully taken by the actress.
He isn’t the only one, I tell myself, but it doesn’t stop my chest from feeling tight.
Mr. Farris leans forward to find the source of his interviewee’s engrossment. When he does, a smirk twists his ratlike face. “Prince Albert,” the reporter says, voice louder this time.
Dante blinks rapidly and swivels back toward Mr. Farris. “Yes, sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin. “What was the question?”
The way Mr. Farris lifts his chin and narrows his eyes has my stomach sinking. It’s the same expression I saw on his face when he found me and Mr. Vance in the fitting room. I squeeze Dante’s arm, hoping I can convey the warning I feel brewing in my gut.
But it’s too late.
“Is it true you and Holly Abercrombie arrived at the theater together tonight?”
The blood leaves my face, and Dante stiffens at my side.
“Excuse me?” The words leave my mouth, conveying the full weight of my shock before I gain control over my countenance.
“Our interview is done,” Dante says and takes a step away.
“And is it true the two of you dined together three days ago and spent the night at a hotel together the evening before last?”
Dante takes another step away, but my feet anchor in place, separating us.
The questions slice through me like an iron blade. Dante was seen with the actress…three days ago? That was the day before he missed our date at the gallery. And the night before last was when I got his letter canceling our plans for some important matter that took priority.
This…she…was his important matter?
