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blend. Acting meant pretending to be Lady Macbeth or Juliet. Blending was different. When she blended, she fed off the personalities around her and became just like them.
    â€œDon’t be so hard on yourself,” Trevor said. He stretched, lacing his fingers over his head. His long torso dwarfed the fragile-­looking chair, a gilt frame with white cushions sporting elaborate embroidery. “I know you can do this, Christina.”
    Christina frowned unhappily, looking up at the massive crystal chandelier as she watched Princess Véronique stroll closer to the high windows, framed by burgundy draperies and topped by elaborate pelmets. The windows overlooked a man-­made lake, complete with black swans. “You’re about the only one. Jay would have kept me at a desk forever if not for you contacting the CIA.”
    The princess glided back to the sofa and seated herself, crossing one elegant leg over the other. ­“People see what they wish to see.” She glanced at the man sitting across from her. “M’sieur Carswell, do you not agree?”
    â€œCall me Trevor, please, Your Royal Highness. And yes, that’s been my experience. Also, we’re going to limit your public appearances, Christina.”
    â€œYou,” Christina said, “are going straight to a safe house.”
    The princess clicked her tongue. “After our princess lessons, non ?”
    Trevor made a sound of assent. “You’ll have round-­the-­clock guards, Your Highness. I’m sorry, but you’ll be all but under house arrest.”
    â€œI understand.” The princess inclined her head in acquiescence.
    Christina surveyed the sitting room. It was opulent and formal. Delicate settees, spindly-­legged chairs, tapestries, and huge formal portraits on the walls. The sitting room was larger than her entire apartment. She shook her head. It was a different lifestyle, that was for sure. “Your home is beautiful.”
    Princess Véronique glanced around, as though seeing it for the first time. “Yes, I suppose so. I find myself wishing for something simpler.”
    â€œWhy don’t you redecorate? It’s your home, right?” she asked.
    Véronique’s smile was small. “We are not a wealthy country, Christina. The expense cannot be spared merely for my whims.”
    â€œBut . . .” She shut her mouth. She wasn’t here for that.
    Now that she’d arrived in Parvenière, her encounter with the gray van seemed surreal. Jay Spicer had promised to call her if the local police found the van or the men, but he wasn’t optimistic. The license plate had been stolen from a hapless teenager’s aging Buick. The sketch artist had done a reasonable job, but Christina had gotten barely a glimpse of the men. No matches had come up on any database.
    Now she needed to give her full focus to this mission.
    To ensure the secrecy of their plan, the princess’s living quarters had been declared off limits to all but the most discreet servants and cleaning staff. Véronique sent her chef on vacation and replaced her with an Italian woman. Trevor had explained the dangers of having Princess Véronique and Lord Brumley in close proximity; Julian had conceded only when Trevor pointed out that Véronique might be in danger simply by being at his side.
    The princess had insisted that her private secretary, the longest serving and most trusted member of her household, be brought in on the charade in order to help Christina. She now sat unobtrusively off to the side, in a narrow red velvet chair with an oval back.
    â€œChristina, we’ve rearranged your schedule to include only those appearances where we can control the environment,” Trevor went on. “Also where you won’t run into anyone who knows the princess well. At least, that’s what we’re trying to do. There’s one exception to that; and, I’m sorry, but this