the time difference between New York and Eldovia, they often talked early in the mornings New York time. Dani missed Leo and his sister, Gabby, something fierce, missed being able to go across the hall and just walk into their apartment and have coffee in the mornings. Sometimes, before she was caffeinated, she forgot he wasn’t there anymore. And then it would hit her anew: her best friend lived in Eldovia now, where he was engaged to a princess.
Eyeing the slumbering ball of fur next to her, Dani did a slo-mo roll to grab the phone from the nightstand—she wanted the ball of fur to stay slumbering until she’d had coffee.
The text was not from Leo. Hey, it’s Max von Hansburg. Marie gave me your number. I’m in New York for a few days. Can I take you to dinner tonight?
Max. Human Max. Max was Princess Marie’s best friend. Human Max was also Marie’s ex-fiancé. Marie and Max’s past was like a telenovela, complete with conniving royal parents, arranged marriages, and elaborate balls. Leo had crash-landed in the middle of it, getting swept up in a gender-swapped Cinderella story that had made even Dani’s stone-cold heart defrost a degree or two.
Dog Max did one of his signature snore-snorts, and Dani swallowed a laugh. She even had Cinderella’s animal companions, except hers didn’t help with the tidying.
Max: Or lunch?
The Cinderella thaw in Dani’s heart did not extend to Human Max, who, in addition to being a baron, was also an insufferable man-whore. She considered the various ways she could decline his invitation. In the end she just went with No.
Max: A drink?
Dani: No.
Max: Coffee?
Dani: Coffee is a drink.
Max: So that’s still no?
Dani: Yes.
Max: Yes that’s still no, or yes you’ll have coffee with me?
Dani: Listen, dude. Or should I say listen, duke?
Max: Baron, actually. My father has to kick the bucket before I attain dukedom, and I can report that he is in excellent health. He climbs a literal mountain every day.
Dani: Okay, but here’s my point: I am post-men. As I told you last summer. Repeatedly.
Max: Yes, meaning you don’t want to date, correct?
Dani: Right.
Max: But what about Leo? You talk to Leo all the time. You flew across the Atlantic to visit him.
Dani: Leo’s my best friend.
Max: I rest my case.
Dani: What the does that mean?
Max: Leo is a man.
Dani: Your powers of observation are astounding.
Max: My point is, I don’t want to date you either. I just want to hang out with you.
Hmm. Not sure what to say to that and seduced by the smell emanating from the Greatest Invention of All Time, aka the programmable coffeemaker, Dani carefully pushed back her covers and conducted a stealth army-crawl out of bed. For some reason, minute shifts in the mattress were enough to wake Dog Max, but once she was out of bed, she could turn on the radio and have a dance party and he’d be oblivious. She padded to the kitchen.
Dani: Why do you want to hang out with me?
Max: I like you.
Dani: Why?
Max: Because I get the sense that you don’t give a shit that I’m an almost-duke.
Dani: That is correct.
Max: I would even go so far as to say that my almost-dukeness works against me.
Dani: Still correct.
Max: I like that about you. You’re normal.
Dani: Is that a supposed to be a compliment or an insult?
Max: You don’t want to hang out with me. Therefore I want to hang out with you. I’m like a kid who wants what he can’t have.
Dani: So in this scenario I’m like a toy you want.
Max: No, you’re just a cool person I would like to spend time with since I happen to be in your city.
She almost cracked as she took her coffee back to her bedroom to try to figure out what to wear that telegraphed “It’s just a normal day, a day in which I continue to be unbothered by the fact that my husband is boning Undergrad Barbie, tra-la-la.” You’re just a cool person I would like to spend time with. When was the last time someone had said anything like that to her? Well, never, because grown-ass adults did not speak like that, so openly and without guile. Her limited interactions with Maximillian von Hansburg—she’d met him last summer on her visit to Eldovia—suggested that he did, though. He told the truth. And even though that truth was often about his many and varied romantic and sexual conquests, there was something refreshing about his cheerfully