It was true. Alexa had spent many nights in Simon’s efficient two-bedroom Gramercy Park apartment, a luxury he bought long ago when he was a music journalist and his life was his own, free from family and family obligations. She was sure a lot of bad behavior had gone down during his trips to New York, Simon entrenched in its music scene, which involved drinking, drugs, and groupies galore even for a journalist. But now he was married with two of his own children. His wife, Hazel, was twenty years his junior, the daughter of a country lawyer and well suited to life on a farm. She had turned their estate, Caston Park, into a destination orchard with a small restaurant, a gift shop, even a glamping area at the far edges of the property. There was merchandise and a revived apple festival in Ledbury, to the delight of the locals, thanks to Hazel. His boys were in boarding school, but closer to home and in a warmer environment than Wales. He was content, fulfilling his obligations to crown and country. His trips to the city that never sleeps were few and far between. And much tamer than in the past.

For years, Alexa had used the apartment whenever she was in New York, whether he was in residence or not. She could have stayed with him on this trip but wanted some space and to be closer to Penny’s apartment. Plus, she didn’t want to give the new relatives anything to suspect. The dinner had left her with the impression that the Blakemans had a very narrow definition of acceptable behavior. And she needed Simon to be his best self for her real concern: her daughter. “Thank you for coming tomorrow. You’ll be a welcome buffer between Penny and me. She’s running hot and cold. Today she had a breakdown in a public place over a friend’s divorce and the wedding industrial complex. And then later, she told me to calm down when she was describing the exact blue and white place settings that she wants for the venue we haven’t secured and probably can’t afford. I’ve barely heard a word about this wedding, and she’s already tablescaping, which she informed me is what one does at a reception.”

Alexa filled Simon in on all the details from the last thirty-six hours with Princess Penny, including the bit where the bride informed her mother that she should not wear yellow at any official events, because it had never really been her color. “As if I would wear yellow to a holiday wedding. And for the record, I love yellow. Wait until she sees my outfit for the engagement party. I’m losing her, Simon.”

“Aren’t brides allowed to go off the rails a bit? Isn’t wedding planning considered a sanctioned escape from decent behavior?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Alexa replied dryly.