“What was her name?” She was suspicious, though she wasn’t sure why.
“Karina Klein,” he said without hesitation.
“Never heard of her.”
“I don’t think anyone has outside of Eldovia.”
“Tell me more.”
He did. For the next ten minutes, she forgot she was at a faculty party as Max launched into a tale of heroism and sacrifice. “When I was still at Cambridge ‘finishing my thesis,’ I found an issue of the student newspaper from Karina’s college from before the end of the Michaelmas term in 1943. It was a roundup of sorts of where everyone was spending the holidays, and Karina mentioned a trip to New York. I wondered then, and I still do, why in 1943, a young, single woman—a student—would flit off to New York for her Christmas holidays.”
“So you are truly here to investigate!”
“God, no. I’m here for a huge party and to avoid my family.”
That was both unsurprising and oddly disappointing. “What are you—”
“Hello, Dani.”
Oh, shit. She’d forgotten about Vince.
She’d forgotten about Vince. Sending a message to Vince was half the point of being here tonight. She’d been planning to pretend that she no longer gave him any real estate in her brain. But thanks to Max and his storytelling abilities, it had actually been true for a while. How remarkable.
Vince was wearing his own khaki pants and button-down, though he had a sports coat over his—he’d always been better dressed than everyone else. Berkeley, clinging to his arm, looked stunning in a white jumpsuit with a plunging neckline.
“Vince, Berkeley, meet my friend Max.”
“The duke, right?” Berkeley said, eyes wide as Max stood to greet them.
“Alas, a mere baron,” Max corrected. Wow, the Depraved Duke nickname must have everyone thinking Max was actually a duke.
“What brings you to New York?” Vince asked.
“Just visiting,” Max said smoothly, sitting back down and sliding his arm around Dani’s shoulder in such a way that implied it was her he was visiting. “New York at Christmastime has so much to recommend it.”
Dani had the sudden notion that Max’s answer to the “What brings you to New York?” question was changing based on whatever answer would paint her in the most flattering light. With her departmental chair, it had been an intellectual mystery Dani was helping him solve. With her shitty ex, it was her.
He was turning up his accent, too, in a way that seemed to accentuate his fanciness. Dani had had a crash course in all things Eldovian when Leo had been swept off his feet by Princess Marie and had learned that both German and French were official languages. If pressed, Dani would have said Max tended toward French over German, with perhaps a bit of British thrown in, perhaps owing to his years at Cambridge. But really, his accent sounded vaguely European-posh, like Madonna in her “putting on airs” phase.
“Speaking of visits,” Max went on, “I thought I might pay one to the bar.” He stood again. “Allow me to bring a round of drinks. What can I get you, Berkeley? Wine? Beer?”
While Berkeley was old enough to drink in Europe, she wasn’t here. Dani glanced at Vince, though she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was going to jump in and say something to save Berkeley. So Dani did it, reminding herself that the girl was just that—a girl. A girl who was very likely to grow up and realize that all she had gotten in exchange for quitting college was custody of an entitled man-child who could talk a good game.
Dani pasted on a smile, held up her empty glass, and said, “I think Berkeley’s a Diet Coke aficionado like I am, aren’t you, Berkeley?”
“Yes!” Berkeley exclaimed.
“But I think maybe it’s time for us to go?” She turned to Max and raised her eyebrows. They had accomplished more than she had dared dream this morning. Not only had she seen Vince and not died, she had come out looking good, thanks, amazingly, to Max, the perfect party accessory. This was as good a moment as any to flounce off.
Max held out a hand to help her up. “Your wish is my command.” Once she was up, the hand settled on her back again. It was starting to feel normal. Dani widened her fake smile, said goodbye to Vince and Berkeley, and let herself be escorted off by a baron who looked like a movie star.
As if by silent agreement, they did not speak as Max collected their coats and held hers for her as they strolled out of the building. It was snowing big, fat, fluffy flakes, and with each step they took, Dani started to feel a little lighter. Not only was the dreaded party over, so was the semester. A week of grading—and she could do that at home in her pajamas—and she was free until January.
“Well,” Max said when they were safely out on the sidewalk. “That was . . .” He quirked a brow. “Bracing.”
Max. Her surprising secret weapon. He had pitched everything perfectly in there—his words, his accent, his outfit, his posture, all of it.
He wasn’t wearing a hat, and the snow was accumulating in his hair, laying down an extra glazing on the cool blond. With the streetlights glinting off him, he looked like an ice prince. If she called him that, he’d probably say, “Ice baron, actually.”
She was getting that delicious “Christmas break” feeling, that sense of another term under her belt, a pause in the grind of regular obligations. Dani loved Christmas. Or at least she used to. Last year’s, her first with Vince gone, had been bleak. And Leo and Gabby had traveled to Eldovia for the holidays, leaving her alone with her sadness. Dani hadn’t gotten the “Christmas break” feeling last year. She was glad it was back.
“I have a car,” Max said, pulling out his phone. “Can I drop you at home?”
“No,” she said, not wanting to let go of her Christmas buzz, wanting to ride this crest of joy a little longer. Joy. It had been a while. “Let’s go for negronis.”
Chapter Two
“I think negronis are supposed to be more . . .” Dani scrunched her nose as she searched for the word she wanted. “Spitting drinks. Spitting drinks? That’s not right,” She laughed, shook her head, picked up her glass, and took an exaggeratedly dainty sip.
“Sipping drinks?” Max suggested, as they seemed to be playing charades. Playing charades with Daniela Martinez at a bar in the Bronx—this was not how he’d expected this evening to end. He was going to look back on this as a bright spot in the New York trip he’d made to placate his parents.
She pointed at him. “Yes! I don’t think you’re supposed to chug them like I’ve been doing. You’re supposed to sip them!” She demonstrated again, but this time she tried to get her pinky to extend, as if she were a caricature of a tea-drinking aristocrat. But her little finger wasn’t cooperating. It kept springing back in line with the rest of her fingers, which were clutching her highball glass. She tried to use her other hand to hold it up, but she came close to spilling her drink.
“Allow me to assist.” He was matching her pace, so they were each on drink number two, but she was smaller than he was. He set down his drink and arranged her hand so her pinky was fully extended and let go. It sprang back.