1. Eve

CHAPTER 1

EVE

W hen I squinted hard enough, the rose garden changed. The aisle, strewn with petals, became a red carpet. The guests became camera crews awaiting their shot. When I walked out there, shutters would snap. Flashbulbs would burst and the crowd would erupt. I'd smile, answer questions, gracious. Serene. Hollywood's darling, star of stage and screen.

In another life, maybe.

I turned away.

"You look amazing," said Gabriella, and plucked at my hair. I swatted her off.

"Quit it, quit fiddling."

"You have a flyaway." She went in again, and this time, I let her. There came a time with my sister where fighting was pointless. Gabriella did what she wanted, and that was that. "There, you look gorgeous. Doesn't she, girls?"

My bridesmaids fluttered, cooing over my dress.

"Stunning," said Emma. "You could be in Vogue ."

I winced. I had been only last week, twelve entire pages in their bridal issue. They'd shot me right here on my parents' Monaco estate, against the broad sweep of the Mediterranean Sea. The air had been still that day, the sky clear and blue. Ten minutes in, I had been sweating. Ten minutes more, and I'd been gasping for breath. I'd felt my dress shrinking, crushing my ribs. Squeezing the wind from me. I'd smiled. Struck a pose.

Gorgeous. You're radiant.

A glowing bride.

"Prince Rafael's going to die when he sees you."

"Yeah. He'll drop dead."

"Go on, get out of here. Give her some space." Gabriella shooed out my bridesmaids, all except Emma. I'd known Emma forever, since we were both tiny, and we'd been best friends from the moment we met.

"He will die," said Emma. "One look at that hotness, and boom. Heart attack."

I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek. I wasn't going to fantasize about Rafael dying. About his eyes going round, then he'd drop like a rock. His groomsmen would rush to him, his family, his friends. I'd rush in too, and I'd hold his hand, but I'd be too late. He'd slip away. I'd kneel in a pile of my extravagant dress, skirts bunched in a snowdrift up to my chest, and the garden would empty. They'd take down the arch. They'd leave me alone with the birds in the trees, and I'd be like one of them. Finally free.

"You nervous?" said Gabriella.

"Not really. Maybe." I glanced down at myself, at the spill of my dress. Nervous didn't describe the way I was feeling. I'd always been fine with crowds, with performing. With being a Hansley, with being seen. Since I could remember, our lives had been public — my father's tech empire, my mother's royal connections. The cameras followed us wherever we went, part of the scenery. Part of our lives. I'd learned to smile for them before I learned to walk. I'd smile today too, even if I felt hollow. Even if I'd rather be anywhere else.

"It's not cold feet, is it?" Gabriella took my hand. I pulled away so she wouldn't feel me stiffen.

"I had cold feet," said Emma. "On my blind date last week. I started thinking, you know, what if he's boring? Never do dinner on a first date. You're stuck for three courses, and that's if you're lucky. If they're doing a tasting menu?—"

Gabriella smacked her. "Shut up."

"I've never had a blind date," I said.

"Wait, what? You haven't?" Emma's brows shot up. I looked down, embarrassed. I hadn't been on any date since I left college. My public ones with Rafael didn't count. Those had been… pageantry. Choreographed. We'd danced in the moonlight while cameras flashed, walked by the seashore with our families in tow. We'd done the rounds first in Spain, then Monaco, then after three months, we'd announced our engagement.

"I mean, my first date with Rafael was semi-blind," I said. "I knew what he looked like, but I'd never talked to him till our first date. Or, no, I had, but we were both seven. He gave me a daffodil from the royal gardens."

Emma giggled. "That's cute."

I managed a smile. It was sort of, I guessed, but I didn't remember. I hadn't thought once of Rafael after that day, not till it came my turn to marry. Then Mother had come to me with his bio and that story, and I had gone numb. Smiled on autopilot. I'd always known it would be this way — it had for my parents, and their parents before them. But in some deep part of me, I'd always dreamed. Dreamed of another life, where I was… like Emma. Emma went out with models and actors. With a bullfighter, once, with a scar on his cheek. She found "the one" every month and fell wildly in love, then she fell out and had a big, splashy breakup.

"It's not cold feet, is it?" Gabriella tried to catch my eye. I bit back a snide response — Would it matter if it was?

"Of course not," I said. "Rafael's lovely."

"But do you think… Do you feel… Could you love him?" Gabriella followed me as I went to the window. We stood looking out, shoulder to shoulder. I glanced at Gabriella and wondered about her feet. Soon, it would be her turn, but would she accept it? Or would she carve her own path as she'd always done?

"They're in love now," I said, nodding at our parents. They were up by the rose arch, deep in conversation. "Maybe they weren't always, but they made it work. They grew into each other. Don't they seem happy?"

Gabriella's brow wrinkled. "They seem kind of annoyed."

I squinted at them. They kind of did. Mother was gesturing, flapping her hands. Then they both turned back and marched up the aisle.

"Where are they going?"

Gabriella frowned. "I don't know."

"Could you go check on them?" I asked. "Aren't we running late?"

Gabriella checked her wrist, but she wasn't wearing her watch. She found her phone instead and peered at the screen. "Not that late," she said. "But I'll go see what's happening."

I turned my back on the window, tired of the view. Annoyance pricked at me, and a dawning unrest. What was the holdup? I'd been ready how long? Half an hour easy, and that felt too long. They'd pinned the flowers in my hair at the last minute so they wouldn't wilt in the midsummer heat. My makeup felt like it was starting to melt. It looked fine in the mirror, but that wouldn't last.

"Champagne?" said Emma, and offered a glass.

"Better not. My lipstick…" I took the glass anyway, and tried a small sip. The bubbles tickled my palate and I almost sneezed. I set the glass down and blinked back the impulse. Another bridesmaid poked her head in the door.

"Hey, Gabriella? Is Gabriella here?"

"She went looking for Mother." My stomach did a backflip. "What's going on, Céline?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. I'd better find Gabriella." She went to duck out, but I caught her arm.

"Seriously, what's happening? What is it? Céline?"

She shook her head. "I swear, I don't know. Your mother just sent me to run and get Gabriella."

"Well, where's Rafael? Is something the matter?"

Céline looked panicked. "No. I don't know. They just said ‘get Gabriella.' That's all I know."

I went to the doorway and scanned the wide hall outside. Up by the cloisters, the coast was clear. Down by the garden, a knot of guests had formed. I spotted two of Rafael's cousins. One of them noticed me and elbowed the other, and they hurried back out into the garden. The rest of the guests followed more slowly, all sneaking furtive glances in my direction.

"Okay, what the hell?"

"Don't stress," said Emma. "Bad wedding, good marriage."

"That's not a saying."

"Sure it is." Emma tugged at my arm. "At my mom's wedding, the flower girl got sick. She threw up red grape juice all over my mom. Her dress was ruined. She had to wear her mom's. Thirty years later, they're still going strong."

I tried to smile, but I felt sick, myself. Hadn't I just been picturing Rafael dead? What if I'd somehow… if something had happened? I'd never forgive myself for wishing it would. Maybe Rafael wasn't the man of my dreams, but he'd always been kind to me. He hadn't asked for this any more than I had.

"Come sit," said Emma. "Whatever the hitch is, your parents will fix it."

"But—"

"By this time tomorrow, you'll be in Paris, eating macarons in a bubble bath in your hotel."

I laughed despite myself. "What, I'm stress-eating? On my honeymoon?"

"No, you're relief eating, because you're out of that dress. And you'll never have to fit into it again."

My brittle laughter faded. I hadn't thought once about fitting into my dress. I hadn't had to — I'd been losing weight.

"Something's wrong," I said again. I cocked my head, listening. "The garden's too quiet."

"Now that you mention it?—"

"Excuse me, Miss Hansley?"

I whirled, startled. I hadn't heard the maid come in.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. This came for you." She held out an envelope on a gold tray. I snatched it up, barely pausing to thank her. That seal, that crest — from Rafael?

Emma craned for a look. "What is that, a note?"

I turned my back on her, shielding the note with my body.

"Is that his crest?"

I tore the envelope open, then stopped, breathing hard. The air was hot, close, but I felt cold inside. A shiver ran through me, a chill down my spine. A note from my fiancé on the day of my wedding, mere minutes before it? What could he have to say that couldn't wait?

I closed my eyes. My hands had gone numb. Did everyone else know what was in this note? They did, I was sure, and they hadn't told me. Whatever blow had been struck here, I'd be last to find out. Anger swept through me, so hot my face burned, then a sour wave of humiliation. I drew in a long breath and counted to five. When I let it out, I was calm. I was ready. I unfolded the note, and?—

"I don't believe it. That bastard! "

I spun away, but Emma was raging. She'd seen it; she knew. Everyone knew. Everyone in the garden, my parents. The press? All of Monaco, social media, the world. Everyone everywhere knew I'd been jilted.

"I'll find Gabriella," said Emma, and brushed by my shoulder. I stood gaping blankly at Rafael's note.

I'm sorry, he'd written. I thought I could do this. But I had a dream last night that felt almost real. I was in my car, racing in the Grand Prix. Racing that last lap, leading the pack. I was flying so fast the track was a blur, and if I could only describe to you the way that felt — the thrill, the adrenaline, the absolute freedom — you'd understand I can't give that up. If you had a passion like I do, I'd want you to live it. I'd want you to chase it without compromise. Please understand, I never set out to hurt you, Eve. But I'm not done with my own dream. I'm not ready to settle.

I hope this letter reaches you before you find out from ? —

"Eve!" Gabriella burst in, all pink and flustered. "I don't know how to tell you this, but Rafael?—"

"I know," I said. My voice sounded foreign, all toneless and flat. I crumpled Rafael's note and let it drop to the floor.

"You don't understand." Emma pushed in behind her. "He's literally racing . Like right now, this minute. It's all over socials."

I squeezed out between them, into the hall. Gabriella trailed after me.

"Where are you going?"

I didn't know, but I was picking up speed, first trotting, then jogging, then sprinting away. I skidded in my heels and paused to step out of them, then I hiked my dress up and ran even faster. Gabriella raced after me, puffing in the heat.

"Wait, Eve?—"

"Don't follow me!" I ran with no plan and no destination in mind. All I knew was I had to get out . I tore through the cloisters and the wide, grassy terrace, through the sunny conservatory with its exotic plants. A twig caught my sleeve and tore the fine lace, but I kept running. I couldn't stop. I flew through the house like a ghost all in white, faster and faster, rooms blurring by.

" Eve! "

Gabriella's cry barely reached me, I'd left her so far behind. I burst out the front doors panicked, unthinking, into the glare of the late morning sun. Into the dazzle of hundreds of flashbulbs, the press on the steps and crowding the dooryard. I screamed, spun around, but the doors slammed behind me.

"Eve! Are you going to confront Rafael?"

"Did you know he was leaving?"

"Why did you split?"

I shoved through them, past them, rough in my panic. But five steps from the house, my train jerked taut. It caught with such violence I staggered, then tripped. I dropped to my knees on the hard marble steps, and a sharp cry escaped me. Pain lanced through my legs. My head spun, my chest hitched, and I crouched, stunned.

"Eve!"

"Are you hurt?"

I surged up, eyes prickling, my neck flushing hot. My stupid damn dress was stuck. Caught in the door. My last shred of dignity?—

"Eve! Over here!"

I seized my skirts with both hands and jerked till they tore. Tiny crystals broke loose and spilled down the steps. I ran over them barefoot, yelping in pain, and stormed through the press corps elbowing wild. Microphones came at me and I slapped them away. Cameras thrust themselves full in my face. I batted them back and barged out the front gates, and dove for the limo with its festive rosettes. The limo still waiting to whisk us away.

"Open the door," I screamed, and I heard the lock pop. I jerked the door open and tumbled inside. The driver peered back at me through the glass shield.

"Miss Hansley? Should I?—"

I dragged myself up, tattered, knees bleeding. "Just get me out of here. Drive and don't stop."