But the impact comes from behind me instead. My body is catapulted forward, my right knee skidding across the asphalt. Then it stops and I can’t breathe.

My face is hovering above the hot, dusty gutter and there’s something heavy on top of me. And it’s moving.

Voices are closing in as a crowd forms around me. I move to try to get a look at the person on top of me. The person who saved me. But something is stopping my head from turning. This person is holding my head still.

“Let me go!” I shout.

In one swift motion, my savior stands up and lets go of my head. I turn onto my back, but all I see is a crowd of people standing over me. They’re all looking over their shoulders, no doubt watching as the person who saved me leaves the scene.

“Stop him! Or her!” Why do I want them to stop this person? Whoever they are, they saved me. They did nothing wrong.

Then I smell it. Fresh soap and earthy oak.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring the searing pain in my scraped knee. Pushing my way through the crowd of onlookers, I race toward the direction of their gaping stares. And within seconds I see him. Running toward the hotel.

He seems to be the right height and build. But every time he glances left or right, I can see he has a thick beard. It would be very easy for Daimon to grow a beard in… How many days has it been? Eight? Nine? Is that enough time? It could be fake.

Or I could be desperately grasping for some sign that he’s still alive.

I stop in front of a camera store across the street from the hotel and watch as my savior slides into a taxi and leaves in a hurry. If it were Daimon, he would face me. He wouldn’t run. Unless the revenge plot he’s hatching is much more sinister and involved than a simple showdown on the streets of La Palma. Which would make sense. Daimon knows I meticulously planned his demise. To consider himself a worthy adversary, he would feel obligated to do me the same courtesy of properly plotting my death.

The longer I’m away from Daimon, the more truth I discover in his words. We are the same. Even if that wasn’t him who saved me, but especially if it was.

***

The entire cab ride back to my cottage, I’m fraught with worry over being thrown onto the asphalt. A spill like that could easily cause a miscarriage. The evil, calculating part of my brain keeps telling me that a miscarriage would be a good thing. It would save me from having to make a difficult decision. But the female hormones coursing through my veins keep screaming at me to see a doctor immediately. Or at least lie down and put my feet up for a while.

I suppose a little rest never hurt anyone. I could use a good siesta right now after the morning I’ve had.

I pay the cab driver and breathe a sigh of relief when I step out onto the street in front of my island home. I’m going to miss this place when I leave in a few days. I’ll miss the salty air, the friendly neighbors, and the open-air market. I’ll even miss the swollen wood floors and the faulty water heater.

“Alyssa!”

Shit.

I turn around and Nick is waving at me from his garden, beckoning me to join him. Yes, I’ll even miss Nick.

“You left early this morning,” Nick says, planting a kiss on my cheek as he greets me at the garden gate. “And you dyed your hair.”

He smells and looks freshly showered and not at all hungover.

“I didn’t want to disturb you. And, yes, I was getting a little tired of the other color.”

He opens the front door for me to enter. “Where did you go?” His eyes widen as he looks at my leg. “What happened to your knee?”

I glance down at my knee as I step inside the house. “Oh, it’s nothing. I tripped on the curb when I was running to catch a cab. Stupid cab driver pretended not to see me.”

I allow Nick to baby me for a bit as he insists on cleaning my wound as I sit on his sofa. “Why were you in the city?”

“I had to get a vaccination.” Even I’m surprised at how quickly that lie came out.

“Vaccination? For what?” he asks, dabbing the scrape on my knee with a wet washcloth. I wonder if it’s the same one I used to wipe down his face last night.

“A vaccination to go to Africa. I’m leaving very soon.”

“To Africa? Why? For work?”

“Yes. Inspiration calls.”

He furrows his brow and sets the washcloth down on the coffee table. Then he picks up a tube of antibiotic ointment and begins dabbing a good bit of it on my knee. Something about this feels very familiar; me on a sofa having my wound cleaned and dressed by a handsome man. My stomach twists at the idea that the twisted string of events I call my life for the past five or six weeks has finally come full circle. Now, more than ever, I understand that I must leave. And I must leave Nick behind.

Nick puts a large bandage over my kneecap, but part of the scrape is still showing on either side. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a bigger bandage.”

“It’s okay,” I reply, patting his shoulder. “Let’s go eat something. I’m starving.”

So much for resting.

Nick stares at my knee for a moment as he sits on the edge of the coffee table and I see something in his eyes. Something has changed in him.

“Alyssa,” he says, looking up and into my eyes. “Would you like to take a trip with me?”

“What? I… I just told you I’m leaving soon.”

He takes a deep breath and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I received an email this morning from a friend of mine in Spain. Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to discern where this conversation is going. “No.”

He shakes his head, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s disappointed with my answer or because he’s unsure how to proceed. “Alyssa, my friend works for Europol and he tells me that the Prince of Monaco has been talking to American and European law enforcement agencies. He’s requesting the safe return of his daughter… Alex Carmichael.”

My stomach seizes up and all my muscles tense at the mention of my real name. Either Nick is lying to me about his friend and he’s been working his way up to this lie for the past week so he could trap me… Or Daimon was telling me the truth. I’m a princess.

Nick continues, his tone more cautious. “Alyssa, he showed me a picture of this Alex Carmichael, taken when she was boarding a plane in Los Angeles.” His eyes flit to my newly dyed blonde hair. “She looks just like you.” I move to get up, but he lays his hands firmly on top of my knees to stop me. “Please. I don’t want to get in the middle of family business. That’s not my intention. I just… I think it’s time for you to be honest with me… Please. Tell me what I should believe.”

His green eyes are pleading with me to tell him the truth and that’s when I realize I can’t hide anymore. Everywhere I go, someone is going to find out who I am. As long as I’m running, I’ll never be able to be Alex Carmichael again.

But if Daimon was telling me the truth, that means the prince is requesting my safe return so they can kill me. But why would he contact Europol if he were planning to kill me. Unless… Maybe the prince found out his wife was trying to have me murdered. What if he’s trying to save me?

No, I shouldn’t flatter myself with such dangerous delusions. I have to go to Monaco. I have to kill the prince and princess before they kill me.

“I’ll go with you,” I whisper, barely able to force the words out of my mouth.

“You will?” He seems almost as surprised as I am.

I look him in the eye and nod. “Yes, I’ll go with you to meet this prince. We’ll leave in a couple of days.”

He smiles and grabs both my hands. “You’re doing the right thing, Alyssa. I mean, should I call you Alex?”

“Call me Alex and I’ll break your neck.” His face turns two shades whiter, then I chuckle heartily. “I’m kidding. You can call me whatever you want.” I lean forward and lay a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Alyssa, Alex, keeper of your heart…”