Especially the receptionist. She’s immaculately beautiful and flirts unabashedly with Rafe, smiling her perfect toothy smile and flipping her perfect blond ponytail. She even says we can have our room right away although it’s hours before check-in. But when she mentions that her shift ends at four thirty and slips Rafe her phone number, I get pissed. What’s her problem? Isn’t it obvious that we’re here together? We’re not actually together, but she has no way to know that. Rude.

“I thought you hate provincials,” I say to Rafe. “But you don’t seem to be having any trouble making friends.” I hear the grouchiness in my voice.

“I’m just doing my part to fit in,” Rafe replies. “But I must say, I find your jealousy… hot.” He tries to put his arm around my waist, and I slap it away.

Rafe knows how to speak to all the fancy staff and flash all the right smiles and all the right plastic cards. He knows how to be escorted by the bellhop to our tenth-floor room and how to tip him without being the slightest bit awkward.

I’m insanely resentful. This is my world, and he’s doing it better than me. But it’s hard to stay annoyed when I see our room.

It’s opulent and cozy at the same time. Lots of crisp white and rich gold. There are two queen-size marshmallow-soft beds and a view of New York that makes it look like the sanitized movie version of the city instead of the real one I grew up in.

The bathroom has more gold and more white with beautiful marble tiles and a bath big enough to swim in. Once I’ve dumped all my things, I take a luxurious shower with sweet-smelling soaps and towels made of clouds. It’s only when we’re both scrubbed clean and wearing fresh clothing that I realize that I’m alone in a hotel room with His Highness Raphael Vanguard.

“I’m famished,” Rafe says. “Let’s go get some food.” Well, that solves that problem… for now.

Rafe stands out on the streets of New York. Even though he’s wearing his regular-people clothes—jeans and a T-shirt and his leather jacket, which I did eventually return to him—with his looks and his build and his man bun, admiring eyes are constantly drawn to him. I see the assumption that he must be someone famous, an actor or a model, because regular people just don’t look that good. Those eyes all then slide over to me questioningly, then quickly away when they realize I’m no one special. It’s an incredibly familiar feeling. The exact way I always feel alongside Kor. It’s been months since I’ve felt this invisible.