“Out of duty, not out of love. Just answer me this, have you ever once kissed her the way you kiss me? Are you desperate for her the way you are for me?”

Rosalina held her breath, her body suspended over a bed of needles. The wrong answer would pull the lever, releasing her, leaving her skin pierced and bleeding.

“No, okay? What you and I have…it’s exciting and…I can’t sleep at night for wanting you, but I am going to marry the princess. I mean, the passion fades in all relationships, but at least with Rosalina, I’ll be left with my best friend. Please, please understand. I never meant to mislead you.”

Every word slapped across her skin like a whip, leaving her raw and hurting. A pain unlike anything she’d ever known.

“She’s not capable of passion. She’ll never satisfy your needs. You don’t want her sexually, so let her go. What kind of life are you going to give her, when you’re lusting after me?”

Rosalina couldn’t take it anymore. Climbing the last two steps, she grasped the doorknob.

“You’re only marrying her so your family can become the royal bloodline. That’s all you care about.”

“Of course that matters. We want our due, but it’s not the only reason. I love her, and she’s my dearest friend.”

Their due? The Allards had worked for her family for generations. They’d been like cousins, included in all the celebrations and dinners and special moments. They were paid well, given housing and all kinds of benefits.

Nobody owed them anything.

“I could never hurt her by calling it off. And I do think we’ll be happy.”

Enough. Rosalina flung the door open so hard it slammed against a cabinet. Both of them whipped around to face her. Fabiana—the woman who’d held her hand through a pregnancy scare, who’d shared the most important moments in her life over the last seven years—looked horrified, and Marcel—her best friend, the only man she’d ever been intimate with—rushed toward her.

“Oh, God. Rosalina.” But the threatening look she gave him made him freeze.

She could only stare helplessly at her assistant. “I trusted you. In every possible way.” God, she hated how weak she sounded. But she couldn’t process it. She wanted them both to break out laughing. Tell her the scene had been staged. They’d pulled a prank.

Gotcha.

But their expressions told the truth. Anger, hurt, disbelief created a mix so toxic it burned her skin. “Fabi, how could you do this to me?”

Marcel reached for her. “It’s not like that. Nothing’s happened. We haven’t—”

“Shut up.” She couldn’t even look at him. Her friend, wearing a plain wrap dress and beige and white heels, stood there with her shoulders slumped, the energy drained out of her.