Mark lets out a gust of air. “Ouch.” Scratching the back of his neck, he chuckles. “I guess I should be more superstitious, huh?”

He’s right. I screwed this up. I should have salvaged the date, his pride. And I should have broken Galen’s Royal nose with my own Syrena fist. I turn to His Highness. “Galen, could you give me a minute please? You’ll have the next hour to talk to me since you’re taking me straight home.”

Without a word, Galen nods and walks away.

I can’t quite meet Mark’s eyes when I say, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what his deal is. He never acts like this.” Except that time he beat Toraf like a stepchild on the beach when he kissed me. But only because Toraf betrayed Rayna. Right?

Mark smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Can’t say I blame him. I can already tell you’re worth it. I just never had the guts to ask you out. Chloe threatened my life. You know that chick could hit like a man, right? She said you were too good for me. I think she was right.”

“Wh … what? Chloe knew you liked me?”

“Yeah. She never told you? Course not. She thought I was a player.”

I nod, still too stunned that my best friend also acted as my bodyguard without me knowing. “She did think you were a player. And she could definitely hit like a man.”

“That’s what my friend Jax says anyway.” Then a little lower, “Geez, Galen’s watching me like a hawk right now. He has serial-killer eyes, you know that?”

I giggle.

“What do you think he’d do if I kissed you good-bye on the cheek?” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” He has no idea how serious I am. As he leans in, I brace myself. At the slightest spark of electricity, I’m prepared to turn around with my fists up. But the lightning doesn’t strike. Galen is behaving for now.

As Mark pulls away from his barely there peck, he sighs. “Do me a favor,” he whispers.

“Mmm?”

“Keep my number. Give me a call if he screws up again.”

I smile. “I will, I promise. I had a good time tonight.” Did the date and Mark’s face get salvaged? Do I have a chance to redeem myself with him?

He chuckles. “Yeah, glad we got to drive here from Middle Point together. Next time, we’ll make it a real adventure and take the bus. See you at school, Emma.”

“Bye.”

I turn on my high heel, which is no easy feat in a gravel parking lot. Not losing eye contact with Galen, I stare him down until I get to the door he’s opened for me. He seems unconcerned. In fact, he seems downright emotionless. “This better be good,” I tell him as I plop down.

“You should have returned my calls. Or my texts,” he says, his voice tight.

As he backs out of the parking space, I yank my cell out of my purse, perusing the texts. “Well, doesn’t look like anyone died, so why the hell did you ruin my date?” It’s the first time I’ve ever cursed at royalty and it’s liberating. “Or is this a kidnapping? Is Grom in the trunk? Are you taking us on our honeymoon?”

You’re supposed to be hurting him, not yourself, moron. My lip trembles like the traitor it is. Even though I’m looking away, I can tell Galen’s impassive expression has softened because of the way he says, “Emma.”

“Leave me alone, Galen.” He pulls my chin to face him. I knock his hand away. “You can’t go forty miles an hour on the interstate, Galen. You need to speed up.”

He sighs and presses the gas. By the time we reach a less-embarrassing speed, I’ve abandoned my hurt for rage-o-plenty, struck by the realization that I’ve turned into “that girl.” Not the one who exchanges her doctorate for some kids and a three-bedroom two-bath, but the other kind. That girl who exchanges her dignity and chances for happiness for some possessive loser who beats her when she makes eye contact with some random guy working the hot dog stand.

Not that Galen beats me, but after his little show, what will people think? He acted like a lunatic tonight, stalking me to Atlantic City, blowing up my phone, and threatening my date with physical violence. He made serial-killer eyes, for crying out loud. That might be acceptable in the watery grave, but by dry-land standards, it’s the ingredients for a restraining order. And why are we getting off the interstate?

“Where are you taking me? I told you I want to go home.”

“We need to talk,” he says quietly, taking a dark road just off the exit. “I’ll take you home after I feel you understand.”

“I don’t want to talk. You might have realized that when I didn’t answer your calls.”

He pulls over on the shoulder of Where-Freaking-Are-We Street. Shutting off the engine, he turns to me, putting his arm around the back of my seat. “I don’t want to break up.”

One Mississippi … two Mississippi … “You followed me like a crazy person to tell me that? You ruined my date for that? Mark is a nice guy. I deserve a nice guy, don’t I, Galen?”

“Absolutely. But I happen to be a nice guy, too.”

Three Mississippi … four Mississippi … “Don’t you mean Grom? And you’re not a nice guy. You threatened Mark with physical pain.”

“You threw Rayna through a window. Call it even?”

“When are you going to get over that? Besides, she provoked me!”