She nodded. “I just seem to have misplaced something.”

“Ah. What?”

Diana patted her chest. “My necklace. Do you happen to see it anywhere?”

“Oh. Poor thing.” She started to scan the ground around them. “What did it look like?”

People were beginning to clear out of the balcony, leaving the smooth marble floor empty, glistening in the moonlight. It was easier now to see that the necklace wasn’t there. “It had rubies, and a giant, eighteen-carat diamond,” she said, her spirits sinking. “It’s pretty big. You can’t miss it.”

The woman’s eyes snapped to her. “Oh, my. That sounds . . . expensive.”

Don’t remind me. “It’s not mine, of course. It belongs to Versailles. They just let me borrow it from the rental station.”

Now the woman looked truly alarmed. “And you lost it?”

Diana gnawed on her lip. “I had it, before I came out here. I don’t know . . .”

“It’s possible someone turned it in to authorities at the main entrance,” the woman said. “I can ask for you?”

Diana shook her head, “No, thank you. I’ll do it myself.”

She wasn’t sure what about the woman rubbed her the wrong way. On the surface, it seemed like she was just trying to be nice. But Diana couldn’t help feeling that the second her back was turned, Marie would find a knife to drive into it. Maybe she’d take the necklace and head off with it. Grabbing her skirts, she hurried inside, still scanning the opulent palace for any sign of her lost jewels.

By the time she reached the grand main foyer of Versailles, the situation was all but hopeless. A depression settled over her as she stepped toward the doors and looked up at the sparkling chandeliers that until this day, she’d only seen in pictures. She’d waited so long for this and not only had nothing turned out like she wanted . . .

Now she was fairly sure she was in some pretty deep trouble.

Well, you have certainly gone and made this night an unforgettable one. Talk about a Sliding Doors moment. Maybe her decision to travel to Versailles for a night of decadent fun would lead her to spend the next twenty years in a French prison.

She imagined herself shackled to a wall in some Bastille-like prison cell with leaky walls and cockroaches, and her corset felt even tighter. Or maybe her fate would be more like Jean Valjean’s in Les Mis, doomed to a prison and hard work for eternity. And he’d only stolen bread, not some priceless treasure. Did they have the firing squad here?

Shaking off those thoughts, she went outside to the tent where she’d rented her outfit. As she did, she sighed. She’d dreamt about this night forever. The party was supposed to go on all night, with fireworks and dancing until morning. But now, all she wanted to do was escape as quickly as possible.

Maybe Lily and Bea were right. Maybe I should forget the rest of the trip and just go home.