Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(66)

“Yes, Grandfather,” Thomas says, then pulls me forward. I know there’s no use in looking back. It’s started now. And looking back won’t do anything but make me turn to salt.

I blame my new designer shoes for the fact that my footsteps are unsteady.

I blame the fact that I can’t breathe on the blue dress’s tiny waist.

“It’s okay, Grace.” Thomas places his hand over mine and squeezes. “I told you my grandfather would see to it. And he has. Very soon you will be free of me.”

I’m supposed to laugh. I suppose I really should smile. Telling the king sounded good in theory—it made sense at the time. But now that it’s real and there’s no going back, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m about to make everything worse.

But Thomas doesn’t understand my silence.

“It is okay, you know.” He looks a little sheepish. “I wouldn’t want to marry me, either.”

We’re nearing the end of the hall, and the music is louder. I can hear the dull hum of laughing, gossiping guests. We’re so close to the party, but I have to stop.

“You’re kidding, right?” I ask him.

“I know you have no reason to trust any member of my family, but I assure you my grandfather does not lie. If he said he will fix your situation, then it will be fixed.”

“No. Not that.” I shake my head. “You really don’t know?”

“Don’t know what?” He honestly looks confused.

“That basically every girl in the world is going to want to marry you.”

He blushes a little. In his tux and white tie, he really is quite charming. He looks down. I half expect him to drag his toe across the carpet. “But not you.”

Now I want to laugh. “I’m not princess material.” I take his arm again, steer him toward the big open area at the end of the hall. The ballroom is down below. From up here, we are eye level with the massive chandeliers and the arching ceiling inlayed with gold, painted by an old master.

“Okay. So who do you want to marry?” the prince asks as we reach the railing of the balcony and look down on the dance floor below.

But one boy isn’t dancing.

He leans against the railing of the wide, sweeping staircase, looking up. I can’t help but think back to that day at the beginning of summer when my biggest worry was impressing Ms. Chancellor and trying not to cause an international incident in the rose garden. I was his best friend’s kid sister then, the bratty girl who was always climbing up trees and jumping off walls. So many things have changed, but one thing is constant: Alexei’s still the boy who will try to catch me.

“Wait,” Thomas says, following my gaze. “Don’t answer that.”

I’m pretty sure the prince and I are supposed to descend this gorgeous staircase together, arm in arm. Flashbulbs are supposed to go off. People are supposed to turn and stare. This is my big moment, my introduction. For the first time in my life, people are supposed to ask, Who’s that girl?—and not out of horror.

I know the prince knows this. I also know he doesn’t care, and that’s why he pushes me toward the stairs.

“Go on.”

I look back at him.

“He’s not here for me,” the prince says. Then he winks and walks away.

I can feel Alexei’s gaze on me as I descend. I keep my hand on the railing and am careful not to hook my heel in my hem or anything else that might send me tumbling down the stairs and into his arms. Not that I’d mind the end result.

“What are you doing here?” I say when I reach him.

Alexei smirks. “I was invited.” He pulls an invitation from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “A palace messenger delivered it personally this morning. I felt very important.”

“You are important,” I say. Then I can’t help myself as I glance back at the boy who stands at the top of the stairs, grinning.

You’re welcome, the prince mouths, then walks away.

“I—” Alexei and I both start at exactly the same time. Then we both stop.

I want to tell him about the prince and the king and the key. I want to say out loud that it might be over, that I’ve placed this problem in the hands of the most powerful man in the land—that it’s no longer my burden to bear. I want to hug Alexei, kiss him, dissolve into him until all of the worry and dread that I’ve carried inside of me for weeks just fades away, rises up like the sound of the music.

But there’s not time for that because a tiny blond blur is already streaming toward me.

“Grace!” Rosie says, plastering herself against me. “How are you?”

“I’m okay, Ro,” I say, then look up at Alexei. Something about my face must show that something’s changed, though, because the wider I smile, the more worried Alexei looks.

“Wait. What’s wrong?” Rosie senses something and pulls back. “You look … happy. This worries me. Is anyone else worried about this?”

Megan and Noah have joined us now. They’re holding hands, I notice. And Noah looks so handsome in his tux. Megan is in a red gown with small gold flowers embroidered at the hem. But as soon as Rosie says it, they both stop smiling.

“Yeah.” Noah studies me. “What’s wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong?”