And, completely in opposition to everything he had once thought he would do when he saw his father again—the harsh truths he would unveil; the cold, disdainful words he would give to the family who had banished him—Konstantin found himself burying himself in his father’s arms, like a child again.

“And he makes ice rinks,” announced a small voice loudly. “Are you the king? When I am bigger I am going to marry him. Maybe next year .”

The older Konstantin looked faintly perplexed. “Well, thank you for the advance warning, miss,” he answered formally, as Konstantin buried his head in his father’s shoulder in order to hide his tears.

GASPARD LED THE rest of them back to the kitchen as the waitstaff was pouring back in with crockery, and there was still much to be done as the tables were cleared for dancing.

Isla, stony-faced, stood by the sink alone. It was ridiculous; two hours before she had been building castles in the air, fantasizing about the two of them, just the two of them, going out properly, making a life together, working in the hotel, enjoying the spring that lay ahead and the long summer months, celebrating Hogmanae and Burns Night.

And now it was all over. His rich family—she had seen the way they were all dressed—his rich family was back and of course he was going to want to go with them, off to where all his bloody trees were and all his great fun and sleigh bells and skiing and parties and all those skinny rich blondes.

And she’d be left behind, as she’d always been.

She scrubbed a pot particularly hard. Kerry came over.

“They’re not worth it,” she said dully.

Isla looked up at her, wondering if there was more wisdom coming.

“Men,” said Kerry slowly, “are all minky-manky spinky-spanking copper-bottomed bollock-wobbling fucking dickheads .”

Then she shut her mouth, turned round, and went back to tidying up her station and helping with the mountain of plates coming through.

Isla put her ugly hat back on, got her elbows soaking wet in the suds. She should be wearing her gloves, but who even cared now if her hands got red and chapped working in the water and with knives all day? What did it matter if she grew careworn and old back here, hidden away—well, yes, just like a scullery maid, while the young dukes and princes lorded it around outside, just as it had always been, just as it was always ordered to be.

“Only at Christmastime” came on the radio, which was just what she didn’t need right now, and she was very close to tears by the time the kitchen swing door banged open once more.

One of the waiters yelped. “A dog in the kitchen!” he howled, as Bjårk immediately turned round, stupid doggie eyes shining brightly as he smelled the many delicious scents of the forbidden area, and he jumped up with two paws on the kitchen unit and started licking down the dirty plates.