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him the whole time. If he really meant to break up with me during our whole “cool it” thing, I know deep down inside that I’d still be devastated.
    Mom assured me that it was fine that I went out with David while I was home and told me not to feel the least bit guilty. She said I wasn’t cheating on Georg. That I was learning what I don’t want in life, which is as important as learning what I do want—or something Oprah-ish along those lines.
    At the time, it made perfect sense. After all, it’s not like I’m thirty and married to Georg and still trying to figure out what I want by messing around with another guy. I’m fifteen, I just started going out with myfirst-ever boyfriend, and we haven’t been together very long at all.
    But now, waiting in the lift line with Georg next to me and Dad and The Fraulein behind me, I have to wonder if I handled things the right way. If I really should have been listening to Mom, the Self-Help Book Queen of the World, instead of my own gut. And if I should have fessed up to Georg the minute I got home and realized that he didn’t want us to be broken up, but just wanted us to keep things low-key.
    Georg and I get up to the front of the line. Thankfully, I don’t take a header as I scoot to the red STOP marker and wait for the chair to come around behind me so I can sit. Once we’re airborne and Georg has pulled the safety bar down in front of us, I close my eyes, enjoying the morning sunshine and the soft breeze blowing on my face. I can hear the swoosh of skis against snow as we sail over the heads of the skiers who got here before us and have managed to squeeze in a run or two already.
    This is so much better than just hanging out in the palace scribbling essays for school or killing time vacuuming the apartmentfor Dad while I wait for Georg to get home from a soccer game.
    That thought instantly makes me picture Georg in his soccer shorts. Yummy, yummy, yum, yum, yum. His legs are all muscular without being bulky. The kind you can just run your hands over and—
    Georg’s arm bumps against mine. “Perfect day, huh? The snow’s just glittering. And it’s not too cold, either.”
    I turn and look at him. He’s so gorgeous I can’t stand it. His helmet is covering most of his dark hair and he’s pulled his goggles down over his eyes, but I can still make out a devilish gleam through the lenses that makes me go all loopy. Mostly ’cause I know that gleam is one hundred percent for me.
    “You know I love you madly, right?”
    It just blurts right out of my big mouth, right there with my dad all of twenty feet behind me on the next chair.
    We’ve never done the “I love you” bit. I made a pact with Christie, Jules, and Natalie years ago that if any of us ever felt that way about a guy, we’d wait for him to say it first. But I couldn’t help it.
    And now that I’ve had two shocked seconds to think about what I just said, I don’t want to take it back.
    Even though we’re totally in public here on the lift and Dad and what’s-her-name are on the chair right behind ours, Georg eases his hand across the seat and slips his gloved fingers over mine.
    “You have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now,” he whispers.
    Oh, I can guess.
    I scoot just a little closer to him on the chair, lace my fingers up through his, then squeeze. We let go quickly, since neither one of us wants a lecture from Dad or The Fraulein about how inappropriate it is for a prince to engage in PDA.
    “We’ll find an empty section of the trail after we ditch them.” There’s enough urgency underlying Georg’s scrumptious accent to have me scanning the slope immediately, trying to see what areas are in view of people riding the chairlift so we don’t do anything stupid in any of those places.
    We get off the lift and decide to take one of the easy runs, just to warm up.
    On the good side: Even after nine monthsoff, I pick up right where I left off from skiing. I glide right