“I wasn’t invited,” he said. He studied his reflection, pursing his lips then regarding himself from several angles. The smile that had pulled up his wide mouth slowly relaxed into a frown, and he grabbed a tissue and held it between two fingers.

“That’s probably because your brother thinks you hate him,” she said, gently taking the tissue from between his fingers and replacing it with a sheer highlighting stick. “Because you’re kind of acting like you do.”

Lukas shook his head and began dabbing angrily along his temple. “Johan doesn’t care. About any of that feelings stuff. He’s always so busy worrying about what people think, and what I have to do to make them think certain things. It’s exhausting. Even if I did hate him, he’d probably just say something like, ‘Oh, how devastating. Now I won’t have to waste my time looking after you.’”

Nya sucked in a breath. Though that had been a very good impersonation of Jo-Jo, it was a terrible one of Johan. She’d seen the hurt on Johan’s face when his brother had cursed at him. She’d seen his frustration when Lukas had run off. And she had seen his hidden pain, snapped in an accidental photo and when she’d walked into the sauna. She’d felt his gentleness with her, and not just when he kissed her. Johan cared about feelings stuff. But he’d have to show his brother that himself.

“I think that you and your brother are having a communication problem,” she said diplomatically.

“You have no idea,” Lukas said with a deep sigh, then glanced at her. “Do you think he meant what he said the other day? About me looking foolish?”

Nya finished dusting on her setting powder, and then looked at Lukas. Really looked at him. His hunched shoulders and the bluish circles beneath his eyes.

She had her own family problems to worry about. Or to not worry about. If she took a moment to really think about her father starving himself . . . the man had always been stubborn, but now it was clear that he would go to any length to maintain his hold on her.

She shouldn’t interfere with this von Braustein issue when she couldn’t even deal with her own family, but she also couldn’t just let Lukas think the worst.

“No. I think your brother was hurt because he expected you to confide in him, and instead of saying he was hurt, he hurt you back. Redirecting. Projecting. Stuff like that. In the short time I’ve known him he’s only spoken about you from a place of love. Intense love. He’s a good liar but that can’t be faked.”

Lukas regarded her suspiciously.

“Are you a therapist?”

“Just an observer.” She would have said she was a teacher, but she was unemployed. Another aspect of reality that loomed ahead of her.

There was a knock at the door connecting her room to Johan’s. Lukas quickly gabbed another tissue and wiped off the lip gloss, then slipped the tube in his pocket.

She grabbed her coat and they walked over to the door together.

“Look who I found!” Nya said cheerily as she ushered Lukas out in front of her.

Johan’s cool gaze took in Lukas’s change in appearance from the day before, but he apparently decided not to make any comment. “Hallo, bruder.”

“Hey,” Lukas said bleakly.

“You both look very nice,” she said, sliding her arm through Johan’s then placing the other on Lukas’s shoulder so he would feel included, too.

“I always look nice,” Johan said jokingly, and Lukas humphed. To be fair, the joke didn’t really seem like Johan . . . the Johan she’d gotten to know. He may as well have been miming, performing the act of untroubled older brother.

“Let’s go,” she said. She hoped they figured out their issue because as much as she liked Johan and was coming to like Lukas, she couldn’t fix it for them.

THEY LEFT THROUGH the palace’s main entrance this time, and there were more than three photographers waiting. The street was lined with cameras, the lenses all turning toward Nya, Johan, and Lukas, with the photographers behind them calling for their attention.

Nya had a brief flashback of a lone journalist in Thesolo who’d snuck into the hospital room where she’d recovered from her breakdown after her father’s arrest—and where she’d first discovered that the mystery illness that had plagued her for most of her life had been another of her father’s means of controlling her. She’d awoken to the journalist going through her chart, and when he’d noticed she was awake he’d demanded to know whether she’d helped her father with his crimes.

Nya had thrown a pitcher of water at him, and he was arrested after the nurses came to see what the noise was.

She hadn’t thought about that in some time, but in the face of all those journalists, the memory froze her for a moment.

“?a geet et, Sugar Bubble?”

She glanced up at Johan, whose voice called her back to the present.

“Sorry, just got a little overwhelmed,” she said.

“Why are you apologizing?” His voice was harsh but his gaze was intent. It was a question and an inside joke—and a reminder that Johan would protect her from anyone, even himself.

“Not sorry,” she said, her tension loosening.

He raised his hand, cradling her face in the soft warmth of his leather gloves. “We don’t have to do this. I didn’t bring you here to overwhelm you.”