I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the amount of people on the deck. It’s hard to not feel exhausted by the constant socializing that takes place during parties like this. I’m so used to my grandmother’s quiet house, the mundane normalcy of my day-to-day life. Sure, I attend galas and ballets and dinners, but nothing like this. From sunup until sundown, I’ve been surrounded by people.

I break off from the group and slip around the side of the deck, curious about the areas of the yacht I haven’t seen. I don’t have to go far to find a bit of peace and quiet, but it doesn’t last. I’m barely halfway done with my glass of champagne when Victor rounds the corner, spots me leaning against the rail, and hurries over, not even bothering to mask his look of delicious triumph.

“The jig is up, I’m afraid. I saw you with your man earlier. I feel like a congratulations is in order. You’ve managed to ensnare the most eligible man of the weekend. Hell, the whole of the European continent, actually.”

Apparently, he’s as excited about my betrothal as my grandmother is. I wonder what he knows of Royce’s family.

I smile. “I’m happy you approve.”

He scoffs. “Approve? Wholeheartedly, my dear. In fact, I’ll do whatever I can to expedite the wedding. Have it here if you must—just get a ring on that man’s finger now.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not worried about him fleeing our engagement if that’s what you mean.”

He waves away my worry. “Of course not. With a face like yours, he’ll be hoisting you over his shoulder and rushing you to the altar himself.” He shakes his head, a warm smile on his face. “I’m so happy for the two of you. What a pair. The gossip pages will be hungry for every salacious detail. I think a full-page spread in Vogue is in your near future. I won’t even have to put in a good word with Anna. She’ll be coming to you.”

I’m not sure how to reply to his effusive support. I didn’t realize he had such a high opinion of Royce.

“And his father,” he continues. “Does he approve?”

Royce’s father? I hadn’t even considered it.

“Oh…I think so?”

“Don’t worry. Frédéric can be brusque at times, and that’s putting it politely. I can’t imagine he’s been all that welcoming, but he must be pleased with the match. I can’t think of a better pairing myself.”

I hold out my hand, doing a poor job of masking my confusion. “I’m sorry, you’ve lost me. Frédéric?”

“Frédéric Mercier.” He laughs. “Your future father-in-law…how much champagne have you had, dear? Should I bring you some water?”

“No.” I force out a laugh, though it comes out slightly quivering. I’m trying to play this whole exchange off and doing a terrible job of it. “I’m fine. I just…”

I have no idea how to put this to rights, how to explain to him that I’m not engaged to Emmett and, furthermore, I’m not sure what gave him that idea.