Max: Grand. Pass my contact info on to your mother in case there are any problems. You have my card, yes?
Dani: I do have your card. You have a Gmail address!
Max: Yes. That’s my real address.
Dani: As opposed to your fake one?
Max: Well, it’s the one I use for my friends. The family has a domain, and I have a professional address there.
Dani: And what is your profession?
Max: Man-whore, remember?
She laughed, and Dog Max started barking again. “I’m going to the ballet, Max.”
Dani was a younger, darker carbon copy of her mother. Max was waiting at their agreed-upon meeting spot outside Lincoln Center, and the likeness was so uncanny that he couldn’t stop staring as they got out of the car. Dani had light-brown smooth skin; her mother had a pale, finely lined face. But the shape of their faces was exactly the same, down to their high cheekbones and thin, slightly upturned noses. Dani’s hair was a deep mahogany and her mother’s was a mixture of light brown and gray, but they had similar shoulder-length, layered styles.
He shook himself out of his paralysis and hurried to greet them. “Hello, hello.”
“Max.” Dani smiled. “This is my mom, Valerie Arbour. Mom, this is Max von Hansburg . . .”
The way she trailed off suggested she was unsure if she should be adding his title. He extended his hand to preempt that. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Arbour.”
“Please call me Val.”
“You’re a Brit!” She had an accent. “A Northerner, I think?”
“Yes! Leeds! I’ve lived in the States since I was eighteen, though.”
He ushered them inside and to the coat check and— Oh. There was the green dress Dani had referenced. It was the color of the mountain at home in the peak of summer, but it was made of shiny taffeta, which turned the summer association into a Christmas one. The skirt was short—it came to just below her knees—but it was dramatic in the way it jutted out from her waist. It was shaped like a bell, which was an apt metaphor because the whole thing seemed exuberant and elegant all at once, like the bells at St. Stephen’s in Riems pealing on Christmas morning.
He cleared his throat and, realizing he’d probably been staring a little too intensely, suggested they visit the bar. “What can I get you ladies?”
“Oh, I’d love a glass of prosecco,” Val enthused.
“Prosecco for you, too?” he asked Dani, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Or perhaps a negroni?”
“Diet Coke, thanks,” she said.
“Not a drinker?” he said teasingly, but he ordered a Diet Coke for her and a tea for himself. Last night had been a lot of booze for him, too. He knew better—he thought. It had just been so much fun, keeping up with Dani Martinez. And not only in terms of the negronis, but matching her wit, or trying to.
She shot him an exasperated look, but he flattered himself that it was an affectionately exasperated look, and he winked before turning his attention back to her mother. “What brought you to New York at age eighteen, Val?”
“I first visited when I was fifteen, and I met Dani’s dad. I fell in love with him and the city at the same time.”
“My parents met as teenagers attending Model United Nations,” Dani said.
“Yes,” her mom confirmed, “and we made a pact to try to return for college, and we were reunited three years later at NYU. We haven’t left the city since. Well, we’re on Long Island now that my husband’s retired, but we still consider ourselves New Yorkers.”
“Well, that’s about the most charming thing I’ve ever heard. Model UN. I have a close friend who’s a UNHCR goodwill ambassador.”
“He’s talking about the princess of Eldovia,” Dani said drily. “That’s his ‘friend.’”
“I know!” Val said. “I heard all about that!”
“My dad was a translator at the UN until he retired, and my mom still teaches high school Spanish and French, so we’re a very worldly family,” Dani joked.
“We are a very worldly family,” Val said with a twinkle in her eye. “After all, you’re going to be the best woman at the Eldovian royal wedding.”
“And I’m going to be the man of honor,” Max said.
“Actually, I need to talk to you about that at some point,” Dani said. “Someone from the palace has been in touch about my dress, but there must be other stuff I should be worrying about. Leo said he would tell me if I was supposed to be doing anything in particular—like, do I have to make any speeches? Are there any traditions I should know about?—but I’m not sure he’s the best source for royal wedding protocol.”
“I don’t think you need to concern yourself overmuch, especially this far ahead of time. The wedding itself will be planned by palace staff, and it won’t be that large. If your image of a royal wedding is a British one, you’re off base. It won’t be televised. There won’t be commemorative plates. We’re a small country, and though everyone loves Marie, she isn’t a fixture in the headlines in the way the Brits are.”
“I guess she leaves that to you.”
He could not deny it. He had never really cared one way or the other before, but he found himself wishing that when Daniela Martinez—or her mother—googled him, she got something other than that horrible picture.
The bells signaling they should take their seats chimed, and he gestured for them to walk ahead of him. “We can talk more about it, but I think we merely need to show up and do what they tell us. You should probably prepare a toast for the dinner, though.”
“I admit I’m a little nervous about it,” she said over her shoulder as they queued up at the correct aisle.
“Don’t be. I’ll look out for you.” The prospect was buoying. Max was not looking forward to the wedding. He was thrilled for Marie, and, ultimately, relieved to have the reprieve even though the broken engagement had thrown his plans into disarray. But his parents were still so angry. And his own conundrum aside, there was no way around the fact that Marie’s marrying Leo, a cabdriver from New York, was a bit of a scandal. He’d meant what he said about the Eldovian monarchy not operating on the same celebrity plane as the Brits, but the princess’s choice of groom had still made waves. Max didn’t care about any of that, and he liked Leo, but that didn’t change the fact that there were going to be raised eyebrows. And—back to Max and his conundrum—he frankly wasn’t looking forward to all the whispers about him. Since everyone already thought he was a wanton playboy—the Depraved Duke—he was fairly certain the narrative was going to be that he’d only wanted to marry Marie so he could be prince and was upset to have lost his chance.
Not to mention the fact that Father plus weddings was not a winning mix.
The idea of Dani being there, though, felt like a bit of a reprieve.
The ballet was lovely, if you were into those sorts of things, and Dani and her mother clearly were. Max had always thought of the ballet—and the theater, and the opera—as formal, singular occasions. You might be sitting next to a friend or a relative or a date, but once the lights went down, the experience was, essentially, solitary. You watched the performance, and perhaps you had thoughts about it—even if they were merely “this is boring” thoughts—but you kept those thoughts to yourself.