Lady Grace Fountainsworth II, Duchess of Central England, lay in tangled in the satin sheets, exhausted, her crown hanging from the bed post.

“Oh, Active Dan!” she cried. “No one has ever made love to me like that before! The way we were both naked, and your breath didn’t smell of marmite at all!”

Dan smiled. British women had such low expectations. “You weren’t too bad yourself, sweetness. Now scoot over, I’ve got be inside a volcano in half an hour.”

“You’re going already?” She clung to him desperately as he dressed himself. “But I’ve only just learned what it is to be a woman!”

“Well write it down so you don’t forget! Shit, honey, this’d never work out. You’re a Duchess, and I’m just an old cop soldier trying to do his job. Sure, I was President for seventeen minutes there, but that’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.”

“Oh Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan! Will I ever see you again?”

“If you do,” he said as he left, “it’ll mean the Ukrainians have Edison’s Girdle.”

And they both knew what that meant.