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Whatever awaits, I can’t help but imagine it unfolding in some hidden space below, like the dungeon back home.

An elegant couple approaches, dressed in gold and extravagance. It takes me a moment to recognize them as the Davenports, our hosts, whom I met briefly last night. Now they greet us with that same manicured grace, as if warmth were something they rehearsed for years.

“We’re so glad you made it,” Mr. Davenport says, his blond hair smoothed back for the evening. He extends a hand to Oliver before turning to me with a smile full of perfect white teeth. “Miss Van Buren, lovely to see you again.”

“You as well, sir.”

The title slips out without thought or intention, and a hush lingers between us. Mr. Davenport raises my hand to his lips as Oliver shifts, sliding his palm over the small of my back.

Virginia, his wife, breaks the tension. “I can hardly believe we have a real-life queen as a guest. We Americans tend to get a little excited over royalty.” She takes the hand her husband just kissed between her own. “I trust you slept well after your trip?”

“Yes,” I manage, despite the lump of nerves in my throat.

“Well, you look amazing.” Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, braided around the crown. “Your gown is flawless. Is it one of yours?”

I nod, surprised she knows.

“Mr. Whitney mentioned you’re a designer. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Davenport rests a hand on his wife’s shoulder in an ushering gesture and nods toward the dinner guests on the other side of the room. He guides us through the crowd, weaving between diamonds and tuxedos, until we reach a table where a couple is already seated.

“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Channing and his wife, Kayla,” he announces.

The dark-haired man stands in greeting, his eyes a startling shade of blue that catches me off guard. For the briefest moment, I think of Sebastian.

Then the thought is gone, swallowed by another round of handshakes and pleasantries.

I take my seat beside Kayla, Oliver settling next to me, and ignore the chilled glass of white wine at my place. I’m not about to touch it—not after what happened in Los Angeles.

The men begin discussing overseas investments, accounting issues, and a kind of restructuring talk that sounds too coded to be about business. I’m only half-listening when Kayla leans in, the chandelier threading glints of red through her auburn hair.

“How are you enjoying your visit to the States?”

“I’m still recovering from jet lag,” I admit, nudging the wine aside with a quiet scrape of glass on linen. “We arrived late last night, but I spent most of the day in my suite.”

“Time zones can be brutal. Do you have plans to see the city while you’re here?”

“Oliver promised to take me sightseeing before we return home.”

“Portland has beautiful gardens,” Virginia cuts in.

Kayla nods. “The coast is breathtaking too, even during the winter.”

A female server approaches, wine bottle in hand. She looks close to my age, younger than the wives at the table, with her blond hair swept up in a classy twist.

“More wine, sir?” Her voice drops to a honeyed whisper, fingers lingering on Mr. Davenport’s shoulder.

“Please,” he answers with a wide smile as she bends to refill his glass, offering a view down the front of her dress shirt. She rounds the table, paying special attention to the men, radiating flirtation and sugary perfume.

The blonde reaches Kayla’s husband last. “You’re looking empty, sir.” Brushing against him, she tips the bottle with a teasing glance.

Kayla’s shoulders tense. “Careful, sweetie. You’re pouring my husband’s wine, not auditioning your cleavage.”

The server straightens, but it’s Mr. Channing’s expression that pulls my attention. His blue gaze narrows at his wife, subtle disapproval making her face flame. She snaps her mouth shut and stares at her lap.

Virginia lets out a practiced laugh. “Our staff is always so attentive, isn’t that right, darling?” She places her hand over her husband’s, and he nods, clearly entertained.