This is far from our first interaction, although I’m sure she wishes it was our last. We spent a protracted amount of time together in the wake of the media bombshell consisting of my undercover status and father’s illness, and I doubt she’s pleased to learn I withheld details that have now been spun into an even juicier story.

Sure enough, she’s pacing circles around her desk and muttering to one of her many assistants when I enter the office. My mother follows after me, still sporting the glower she managed to hold for the entire five-hour flight.

Anne snaps to attention as we walk in, dropping into a deep curtsy. “Your Highnesses,” she greets before rounding her desk and taking a seat, gesturing for us to do the same. She takes a long swig from a mug sitting next to her keyboard.

I wonder if there’s something stronger than coffee inside.

“I already have a statement prepared for release, but first we need to make sure it’s completely airtight. No more leaks. We’ve barely mitigated the last scandal. Another misstep could cause irreparable harm to this office and the monarchy itself. No one will listen to what we say if they’re revealed to be half-truths.” She takes another sip from her mug. “Now, Princess, what is the current nature of your relationship with Mr. Dawson?”

It’s strange, hearing Anne ask about Jace. In some crazy way, today has served as affirmation that we really existed.

“We don’t have a relationship anymore,” I tell her. “Before the hospital, I hadn’t seen or talked to him since I left Lincoln last December.”

“You’re certain about that? No contact whatsoever. Nothing that could link the two of you in any way since then?”

“I’m certain,” I affirm. “There’s nothing.”

Anne visibly relaxes. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“So, we’ll deny any ongoing romantic relationship and say Vivienne rushed to the side of a good friend?” my mother asks Anne.

“I’m not sure ‘good friend’ is quite accurate,” I hedge.

“Will Mr. Dawson try to allege there was more?” Anne asks me.

“Jace? No, of course not.”

“All right. Let’s try to spin this as platonically as possibly, then. Vivienne, you’ll need to make an appearance with Charles as soon as possible. An engagement announcement would be even better.”

“Fine,” I agree, eager to end the conversation and get to bed.

It doesn’t even take twenty-four hours for that decision to backfire spectacularly.

I arrive at Edgewood College Monday morning to rampant stares and speculation. I’m unsurprised by the attention in the wake of the media coverage surrounding Saturday’s events. I am surprised by the sight of the abandoned magazine laying on top of one of picnic tables I normally sit at.

The cover is two photos of Jace and me. We’re standing against a wall I recognize as belonging to Lincoln’s athletic facility. In the first one, I’m smiling up at Jace and he’s grinning down at me. We look happy, oblivious, in love. In the second? We’re kissing. Bold white letters spell out Just Friends? above Jace’s head.