Page 44 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

“You totally need socials. You’re soo secretive.

At first, everyone thought you died doing an equestrian event, though nobody could figure which one.

Half of people said you died tragically and that the equestrian event was a cover-up.

Another half of people said the equestrian accident was a legit event so exclusive we haven’t heard of it.

Filming for television makes much more sense,” she muses over her wine, playing with a long tendril of her hair.

“I didn’t say anything about horses or jumping or competitions.

Or TV.” I fork some salad and tangerine and raise it to my mouth.

The tart taste is grounding. Thankfully, the lights are on low in the room, mainly lit by candlelight.

I’m sure the venue thinks it’s to set the romantic mood, while I’m keen to avoid triggering another headache.

And also, bonus for poor lighting and candid photos making their way to social media, or worse, the paparazzi.

“I can help you set up some social media accounts,” Laura offers generously. “It’ll be a laugh. Look, let’s take a selfie right now.”

“What?”

Laura comes around to my side of the table, drapes herself artfully around my neck, and proceeds to take several high-angled selfies, where no doubt I look bewildered and she looks fabulous.

“You need to consider your angles,” she informs me, matter-of-fact, as she moves through several well-studied poses like she’s one of my magazines come to life. “Like this. Or this. You have brilliant cheekbones. Use them.”

“Maybe I’m not meant for the limelight?”

“You’re a prince. Of course you’re meant for the limelight—and you’re literally going to be on prime time. Anyway, all the other royals have social media accounts, mostly private. Except for you.”

“I like my privacy. Real privacy being, you know, private.”

“You’re born to be a public figure.” She gives something suspiciously like a pout, shaking her head. “You need to play the game, Auggie. It’s all about being seen, strategically. You can control the message.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh yes. Absolutely.” She nods with certainty. But then Lady Laura didn’t grow up with my father. Or knowing she’ll be the monarch one day.

My lips twist as she shows me a series of our selfies, rapid fire. The first few are dreadful, and then when the initial alarm across my face subsides, I look almost normal in them. Except, Laura laments, I’m not smiling.

“Let’s try again,” she says brightly. “Maybe show a little teeth. You have lovely teeth.”

I groan.

“Smile!”

And I give my official royal event smile, where the muscles in my face move to the right configuration, with the right amount of teeth, but my heart is elsewhere. She kisses me on the cheek for the last one, then fusses over me, wiping off lipstick from my cheekbone.

“May I finish my meal now?” I ask politely, looking down at some lonely greens and salmon. “If the photo shoot is over?”

“Go on.” Laura smiles, then leans in. “Who’s your publicist? I’ll send these to her as well. They may come in useful.”

“My publicist? Do you mean for the Royal Family?”

If I wasn’t alarmed before, I am now. Past alarmed. She can’t be serious.

“You must have one.” She looks horrified at the idea I might not. “For yourself, of course. Especially with all of the media coverage after your accident.”

“I’m meant to have one? I know we have someone who handles our media requests… I mean, I do live a sheltered life, but I’m fairly certain most people don’t have a personal publicist.”

“It’s not the same,” Laura informs me with authority. “You need one to shape public perception of you. You’re a celebrity whether you like it or not. People are thirsty, Auggie. You’re hot. Also, you’re quite fashionable for a royal. I’m trying to tell it as it is. No offense, I mean.”

“Um, none taken?” Mortified, I look down at my salad.

I chase a caper around and around my dish.

In the end, I catch it and a few arugula leaves.

I shrug, trying to digest both the meal and the publicity machine and how to respond without offending her.

“As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll send you the names of a couple of the publicists I use. They’ll help you design a public profile, tell you how to target the press, control your social media. Everything.” She gives a decisive nod. “And then we can go out again to discuss once you’ve had a chance to review?”

“That’s very kind, but?—”

“Nonsense,” she waves me off. “It’s my pleasure.”

My heart sinks as she texts me with an authoritative chime from across the table announcing our next meet-up.

“Second date, can’t wait to see you again.” Laura gazes at me fondly from across the table. The candlelight dances between us, a slight draught in the room. “Maybe we can have a viewing party together of your first episode of Renaissance Man .”

I nod. Then, I lower my head and finish eating.

I may as well go along with it. Katie’s dating someone officially, so there goes our marriage backup plan.

And Thomas now has Adam the Influencer in his life, like what we had never happened.

It didn’t, officially. We were each other’s secret.

So, I may as well go out with Laura again for episode one because at least that’s safe.

That’ll buy me time to think of how to get out of any more dates—and before I spill my heart out on national television.