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them. Now that Luca had granted royal assent, several people had excited questions and seemed eager to carry the campaign forward.

Amy contributed as best she could, but she was having trouble concentrating. She’d nearly fainted when Luca walked in. She had half expected him to announce she was off the case and should catch the first flight back to London. Last night had been a rough one full of self-recriminations—and not just because their kiss had been so improper.

Was it, though?

Or was she searching for a way to rationalize her own poor judgment?

She wasn’t an impressionable student any longer. She was an adult and their kiss had been completely consensual, but Luca did have power over her, most of it financial. He also had enough influence politically and socially to destroy London Connection if he wanted to call her out as offering sex to entice his business or some other twist of the truth.

Was it naive of her to believe he would never do such a thing? She barely knew him, but she didn’t believe that he had it in him to act so dishonorably.

No, the real power Luca wielded was his ability to make her cast aside common sense.

As she’d ruminated alone last night, over a meal she’d barely touched, part of her had been tempted to tear up their contract, pack up and disappear in the dead of night.

It would cost her a nonperformance fee and impact her own reputation as dedicated and reliable, but Amy had suffered through hard times before. She wasn’t as vulnerable and cushioned from reality as she’d been when she’d first been expelled, either. She didn’t want to start over, but she knew how to do it. And she had modest savings set aside for exactly the sort of emergency that would arise if she turned her back on Luca as a client.

Amy wasn’t a quitter, though. And she didn’t want to believe she was so weak she could fall under a man’s spell and ruin her own life in the process. Not again.

Eventually, to quiet her mind, she had gone back to working on the gala presentation and the other, private assignment. If Luca decided to fire her for lacking professionalism, so be it. She, at least, would carry on as if she still had the job.

Which, it turned out, wasn’t any easier than being fired. It meant facing him again. In front of a crowd. She had tried to sound knowledgeable and unaffected by the memory of their kiss while her ideas were picked apart and his laser-like gaze watched her every move.

Now the meeting had broken up and a footman was leading her back to the private wing of the palace. He showed her into a different room from last night, this one a parlor in colors of olive and straw and pale, earthy reds.

“The king will be with you shortly,” he said before he evaporated.

Amy took a cleansing breath and allowed the open doors to draw her out to a small, shaded courtyard. It was full of blooming roses exuding fragrances of lemon and raspberry, green tea, honey and cloves. She felt like a bee, incapable of deciding which to sniff first.

A small round table was set with snow-white linens and a splendiferous table setting fit for—well. Duh.

She studied the gold pattern on the china plates and the scrolls of what had to be real gold applied to the glasses. A yellow orchid blossom sat on the gold napkin ring. The flatware was gold, too. Intricately patterned and heavy and engraved with the Italian word for—

“Caught you,” Luca said, startling her into clattering the gold knife back into its spot.

She sent him an admonishing look while his mouth curled into an amused smirk.

He was so effortlessly perfect. Lean and athletic, confident in his own skin, moving as an intrinsic part of the beauty and luxury that surrounded him.

“I was trying to make out what it said,” she grumbled. “My Italian needs work.”

“The setting was commissioned for my grandparents’ wedding by my great-grandmother.” He touched different pieces of cutlery as he translated the various words etched upon each. “Respect, honesty, trust, loyalty. The foundation of a strong marriage.”

Don’t read anything into it, Amy ordered herself, but couldn’t help the way her pulse quickened and her cheeks grew warm with self-consciousness.

“My grandmother always used it when she had private luncheons with her women friends.” He touched a fork to minutely adjust its position. “So did my mother.”

“What a lovely tradition.” Her heart twisted as she realized she was being very firmly friend zoned. “It puts a literal spin on women coming together to dish the dirt, doesn’t it? I’m honored you would share it with me.”

“I’m sure it made the women feel privileged to hear palace gossip from the queen herself, but if we’re being honest?” He gave the knife with Lealtà scrolled upon it a sardonic nod. “I think it was also a reminder that the secrets she revealed were meant to be kept.”

“The qualities of any good relationship, then.” Amy spoke with casual interest, but her veins stung with indignation. She wasn’t going to tell anyone that they’d kissed, if that’s what he was worried about. “I’ve signed a nondisclosure contract,” she reminded him, chin coming up a notch. “You don’t have to drive it home with a golden spike.”

“I thought you’d think they were pretty,” he said in a blithe tone that disconcerted her because why would he care what she thought about anything? “The dishes and the courtyard.”

“They are,” she allowed, feeling awkward now. Privileged and entrusted.

He nodded past her and staff approached to seat them. Wine was poured, and as they took their first sips, her gaze clashed with his over their glasses. His expression was inscrutable, but the impact of looking him in the eye caused her to rattle the rim of her glass against her teeth. Her throat contracted on the wine, so she choked a bit, which she tried to suppress. The burn

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