Too late to pull back before he leans in to kiss me.

At first, I barely process what’s happening.

The only thing I’m aware of is Danni’s name echoing inexplicably in the back of my mind.

When I return to myself, I freeze. I don’t kiss him back, but I don’t pull away. The first thought that springs to mind then is that if I pull away it would be an obvious rejection. In front of all of those cameras. I can’t do that to him.

I suppose my stillness somehow gives the impression that I’m not opposed to the kiss, because he wraps his arms around my neck, looping his fingers through the soaked strands of my hair. In response, I place an awkward hand on his arm, half for show, half so I can give him a subtle push. I’m horribly aware of his lips on mine, of his closeness. It feels unnatural, wrong.

When he finally pulls away I stare at him in what I hope doesn’t look too much like horror.

He doesn’t seem embarrassed. Bashful, perhaps, but nothing more. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he isn’t. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

I clear my throat, and the camera flashes strobe in the distance. I have to smile at him. If I don’t, they’ll spin a story out of it. Either way, there will be articles. Oh, Father’s going to kill me. He will quite literally have me done away with at this point, surely. One job. I had one task today: be on my best behavior for the cameras.

I force my lips to stretch apart in a mockery of a grin. “Um, just so you know, we’re not supposed to do that in public,” I say. For goodness’ sake, my parents don’t even hold hands when there are witnesses, let alone make out in the middle of a garden gazebo.

Oh, now Alfie finally looks appalled at himself. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Plenty to worry about. Myriad worries. Worries here, there, and everywhere.

“Private next time,” he says, smiling with relief at my assurances. “Got it.”