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Clara considered the remains of the hors d’oeuvre and then took a bite of what remained more or less assembled. When she had swallowed, she fastidiously wiped her hands again. “Are you Flip’s boyfriend?”

“Uh… yeah. I am.” Had Constance delegated the shovel talk to the nine-year-old? That seemed especially devious. Brayden had agreed to this charade without realizing it would entail lying to children. “Is that okay?”

She finished the last bite and wiped her hands yet again. “You’re not like his other boyfriends.”

What did that mean? Brayden looked down at himself, self-conscious. He thought he’d cleaned up nicely, but maybe he’d forgotten to tuck in a middle-class label somewhere. “Oh?”

“They didn’t dance like you. And they followed Flip around all night.” Was Brayden supposed to do that? He really didn’t want to do that. “And they only wore black and white.” She said this last as though it disgusted her, and Brayden realized her dress matched his vest.

“You sound like you didn’t like them very much,” he said carefully.

Clara shrugged one bony shoulder. “They were okay. But Flip likes you better.”

Brayden swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “Oh? What makes you say that?”

“Because you are better.” She started ticking things off on her fingers. “First there was Armand . He’s going to be a duke. But he didn’t smile, and he smelled like cheese.”

Brayden took a moment to be fervently glad he’d remembered extra deodorant. “He sounds serious.”

“He didn’t even have fun at Midsummer. Midsummer is when you get to drink elderflower wine and dance in the heather fields and stay up all night. And he talked to me like I was a baby. I was seven and a half!”

Nodding seriously, Brayden agreed, “It sounds like Flip is better off without him, for sure.”

“After that, he didn’t have a boyfriend for a long time. And then he met Adrian .” She inflected the name with the linguistic equivalent of an eye roll as she ticked him off on her fingers as well. “Aunt Constance said he followed Flip around like a lost duck. Do ducks really get lost?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some of them do.”

“Adrian smiled a little bit. More than Armand, anyway. But he was so boring. He didn’t like anything except going to the beach. At least Armand liked cheese.”

“Maybe too much,” Brayden reminded her.

“Liking cheese is not the same as smelling of it.” Clara pushed the empty plate to one side and leaned closer over the table as though to better examine him. “Now there’s you.”

“Now there’s me,” Brayden agreed, trying not to show fear. Curiosity, though—there was no help for that. “Why do you think Flip likes me better?”

“Because he smiles at you.” He would have bet that if they’d been talking in English, she would have added duh .

Brayden was torn between relief and disappointment at this simple answer, which didn’t reveal much, but then Clara went on.

“And he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking, like now. ”

Alarmed, Brayden moved his head to look, but Clara stopped him with her hand on his arm. “No, don’t turn. He’ll be embarrassed. Anyway. He always dances the opening dance with Aunt Constance, but tonight he danced with you. And he took you for ice cream.”

Brayden felt a little faint. “He told you about that?”

“It’s our spot,” Clara said. “He promised he would only take special people there. So he must like you a lot. ”

Brayden had gone into the evening certain that no one would seriously believe Brayden thought he could be an appropriate suitor for a crown prince.

And now here a nine-year-old had laid waste to his careful rationale.

“Well,” he said, and if it came out a little strangled, Clara had a pretty small sample size to compare it against. “I’m glad.

” Then, desperate to change the subject, he asked, “Do you want to dance?”

Clara’s pleasant, open face shuttered. She frowned at the tabletop. “I don’t know how.”

Finally something Brayden felt equipped to respond to.

“Then you’re in luck, because it just so happens that I am a fantastic teacher.

” The orchestra was playing a leisurely waltz—boring under most circumstances, maybe, but perfect for a beginner.

He stood and bowed, offering his hand. “Milady. Might I have this dance?”

For a second she looked at him, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Then she stood up and put her hand in his.

Brayden suspected Clara might have some musical training, because she had no trouble at all finding the beat. She watched with intent focus as Brayden demonstrated the natural step—first his part and then hers.

“The grip will be a little weird since I’m just a smidge taller than you, but we’ll improvise.” He put his hand on her shoulder instead of beneath it. “Ready to try?”

She pursed her lips in thought and then gave a decisive nod. “Okay.”

“Count with me, then. We’ll go on zero.” Brayden counted down from nine, giving her three measures to get the rhythm.

Then they were off, not exactly flying but not doing too badly either.

Clara moved gracefully, though she was a bit quicker on her right than her left—a little practice would close that gap.

“You’re doing great,” Brayden said, noting a couple who appeared to have imbibed a little too freely heading in their direction. “We’re going to try it going the other way now, okay? Or we’re going to get run over.” He indicated with his head.

Clara’s eyes widened. “Okay.”

He didn’t want to push his luck by adding a leg cross on the fly, so he improvised a reverse step.

It would have been perfect, except the drunk couple had sped up and changed course too.

One of them bumped into Brayden hard enough to send him careening into Clara, though he managed to avoid doing her a worse injury than stepping on her toe.

“Oh my God,” the woman who’d bumped into them said. She looked mortified. “I’m so sorry. Babe, I think maybe we should sit the next couple out and drink some water. Can I get you anything?” She directed this last to Brayden and Clara.

“I’m okay,” Brayden said, hoping his protégée wouldn’t be discouraged by their setback. “Clara?”

She shook her head that she didn’t want anything, and the couple left.

“I’m sorry I stepped on your foot,” Brayden said. “Even good dancers can’t always avoid a collision if there’s alcohol involved. Don’t drink and dance. Are your toes okay?”

Clara looked at him as though he’d grown a second head. Then she smiled like the sun coming up and lifted the hem of her dress.

When she was standing, the hem went nearly to the floor. Now, though, Brayden could see that her left leg ended in a prosthetic just below the knee.

He shook his head and offered his hand once more. “Well, if your toes aren’t hurt, do you want to try again?”

Flip watched from across the room as Brayden sat down at Clara’s table and struck up a conversation.

He ached to join them, but he couldn’t. Though the scholarship facilitator had taken over emcee duties, Flip had compatible people to introduce—dancers and choreographers, musicians and conductors, actors and directors—and hands to glad.

Still, he did his best to move in that direction.

Maybe he could steal Brayden for another dance.

If not, at least Clara would regale him with her observations from people-watching.

He had made it halfway there when they got up to dance, and Flip stopped listening to the person he’d been speaking to. His aunt happened to be walking past, and he touched her arm as she went by and pointed discreetly to the lesson.

His conversation partner turned to look as well as Flip’s cousin Clara took her first turn on the dance floor in Brayden’s capable arms. Flip wanted to tell them to turn away and let her have this moment, since no one else seemed to be paying attention. But he didn’t want to be rude.

“She’s not bad for a first-timer,” Flip’s erstwhile companion commented.

Flip was still trying to pick his jaw up off the floor. Aunt Ines clutched his arm hard enough to bruise. “Did you put him up to that?”

He shook his head, not taking his eyes off them. “That’s just… Brayden.”

Ines dug her fingers deeper when the heiress and her husband got too close and then knocked into Brayden, pushing him into Clara. Flip’s stomach knotted too. But the drunken couple ambled off, leaving—

Clara raising the hem of her dress to show her leg, beaming .

Ines sniffed. Flip wanted to sit down.

How was he supposed to pretend to end things between them when all he wanted was to begin something real?

“That’s a good man,” Ines said a few furious blinks later.

Flip couldn’t disagree.

By the time he made it over to their table, the dancing seemed to have finished, and he interrupted a lively conversation about the merits of skiing versus snowboarding. Clara almost looked willing to entertain the idea of switching when she saw Flip.

“Flip!” She flung herself at his waist. “Brayden taught me the waltz.”

He reminded himself she was too big to spin around, and she wouldn’t like it in public anyway. “I saw. You didn’t save your first waltz for me?”

“You were busy doing prince things . Brayden was bored.”

Brayden sputtered and set down his water glass. “Hey, now—”

Flip grinned and leaned over their table. “I thought I might steal Brayden for a dance. If that’s all right with you, Clara?”

Sighing exaggeratedly, she said, “I guess ,” and then burst into giggles.

Brayden let Flip pull him out of his seat and lead him back toward the dance floor. “Your cousin is a riot.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

The song wound down before they could do more than clasp hands, leaving them standing together somewhat awkwardly as the emcee introduced an entirely new group of musicians—and accompanying dancers.