“All right,” she said, still stretching, still not looking at him. “I’ll marry you, but I have conditions.” She rolled back over, her eyes twinkling. She pulled her hands together under her chin in a way that made his heart twist. “I want everyone to address me at all times as Baroness Daniela von Martinez. Hmm. What else? Oh! I want Max Minimus to get a gold-plated collar. No, wait. Solid gold.” She laughed but cut it off quickly and turned genuinely contemplative. “But would a solid gold collar even work? Would it be flexible? I’ll have to get back to you on that one.” She shook her head, and the twinkle returned. “But certainly he can have a solid gold tag. Ha! I demand a solid gold dog tag! Okay, what else? I’m sure I can do better than this with my list of conditions. Give me a sec.”

“You can have all those things. Marry me, and you can have whatever you want.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a confused scrunch of her brow. “Oh, come on, Max. I was kidding.”

“I know you were, but I’m not.” He grabbed her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Think about it. You’re tired of your job. I’m tired of toeing the line with my parents. I . . .” I love you. But he couldn’t say that. It was too soon—for her, not for him. She herself had said that the fastest way to get her to run for the hills was with a declaration of love. “Everyone would benefit. It wouldn’t be that different from what Marie and I had planned on, except . . .” He waved his free hand between them, not knowing how to say Except we get to have mind-blowing sex.

And I will secretly love you.

She took her hand back. She looked aghast. He was spooking her, which was fair enough. He tried to get them back into a joking mode. “There are family jewels, if you want them.”

“I don’t want them.” She sat up and moved to the edge of the bed, covering herself with a sheet. “Why would you think that? Why would you think I would marry you?”

He was making a hash of this. “Will you let me start again?”

She made a sarcastic, exaggerated “hurry-up” gesture.

“Forget the marriage part. That part was a fleeting idea, but the impulse behind it wasn’t. I was lying here earlier thinking about how much I would miss you when you go back to New York, so what if you just don’t? You don’t have to marry me. Shack up with me, as I believe the Americans say. You can hole up in the garret and write, or we could move to—”