Red- White Royal Blue <INSTANT>

“A scuffle?” Alex’s voice cracked. “I had my hand on his—we were laughing.”

Henry picked up a blue one. “Tentative allies.” Red- White Royal Blue

The photograph was a disaster of biblical proportions. It wasn't just that Alex Claremont-Diaz, the First Son of the United States, had his hand firmly planted on the backside of Prince Henry of Wales. It was that the flash had caught them mid-laugh, mid-stumble, and mid-catastrophe, their faces flushed a brilliant, undeniable scarlet. The pristine white of Henry’s dress shirt was smeared with the remnants of a large slice of Victoria sponge cake, and Alex’s own navy blazer was hanging off one shoulder like a flag at half-mast. “A scuffle

Outside, the lights of London glittered like a minefield. And Alex smiled—a real, unguarded, politically catastrophic smile. He was the First Son. He was red, white, and blue. And he was falling, headfirst, for the prince in the grey suit. It wasn't just that Alex Claremont-Diaz, the First

The backdrop was the Royal Wedding of the year. The crime scene: a forgotten linen closet off the main gallery.

Then: “I don’t know. But for the first time in my life, I desperately want to find out.”