“Princess,” he growled, tossing a shovel into the snow beside her. “You are late.” She crossed her arms. “You switched the clocks again, didn’t you?” Dmitri’s mouth twitched—just slightly, the closest he ever came to an admission. “You Americans. Always blaming someone.” He bent down, adjusting the angle of the shovel so it was easier for her to pick up. Not that he’d ever acknowledge the gesture.