The rest of the evening went shockingly well as Edgar asked me one charming, genuinely interested question after another, about my job and my education and my family. On one hand, as a professional prince, he’d been trained to be socially adept and to make less titled people bask in his conversation. But there was something isolated and curious about him, which I’ve noticed in people who’ve been homeschooled. They have an innocence to them, because they’ve never experienced the schoolyard bullying and classroom competition of the real world. Edgar had been raised around prime ministers and oligarchs and visiting movie stars, but not around other kids, so his hunger for everyday information was heartfelt.

And of course, the more questions he asked, the more I chattered, and yes, it was exciting to have Prince Edgar, of all people, interrogating me about the cartoons I’d grown up on, and the plays and books that had changed the way I saw the world, and whether I’d ever been hit by another vehicle while riding my bike (yes, and both times by someone opening a car door in traffic, and yes, I’d called those people every possible name I could think of ending in stick, wad and hole).

When we’d polished off our pancakes and I at last took a breath, I was embarrassed, because I’d monopolized our date and barely asked Edgar a thing. I’d behaved selfishly, both because he’d kept wanting more details—about whether I ran outdoors or on a treadmill, whether my sister and I had gone to summer camp (yes; for soccer and theater, respectively) and whether I’d made it through all the Avengers movies (I had, although we agreed that three more had probably been released while we were eating). There was also an unspoken barrier between us; James had cautioned me about not asking Edgar personal questions, and my blunder about his parents was still fresh.

“All right, we can both feel it,” Edgar admitted. “You’ve been wonderfully generous and amusing, although we’ve barely scratched the surface of your life. But I’ve been reticent.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“Thank you. But let’s try something, a small episode of trust. Ask me something. Anything. And don’t be afraid of offending me, or crossing a line. Just ask, and I promise I’ll be honest.”

Whoa. Jesus. I’d shared incredibly intimate confessions with Callum and earlier boyfriends. But none of them was a prince. None of them could serve up steamingly authentic royal dish. I’d never had pancakes with anyone who’d be justified in asking me to sign a nondisclosure agreement.

And did Edgar really mean it? Or was this a test, of my discretion and sensitivity?