Page 51 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

I’m lost in my thoughts once my father leaves, shutting the door behind him. When I sit on my bed, my hand brushes the letter I left earlier on my bed, confirming my attendance at the Renaissance Man finale in front of a live studio audience. And, most importantly, a chance to see Thomas again.

* * *

Needless to say, on Friday, I keep trawling Instagram between Thomas’s and Adam’s feeds.

Which, admittedly, isn’t the moral high ground and no way for someone with minimal social media exposure to act.

The pull of Thomas’ social media is like gravity, and I can’t resist, especially when the payoff is so glorious.

Every time I see him, I’m taken back to our secret summer dream together when the world was ours.

When Katie comes over in a downpour, she calls me out after the third surreptitious check when I don’t think she’s looking.

We’ve finished our makeup, both of us with smoky eyes for maximum drama, and we have now moved on to our nails.

I’m in a pink-and-red silk kimono over my T-shirt and jeans, Katie in a cropped pullover and skirt.

“Out with it,” Katie demands, reaching out a hand for my phone. “What’s going on? You’re acting stranger than usual. And you, my lovely, are strange enough for several.”

Startled, I laugh. “Sorry. I should be more present.” I flip my phone face down, resting my chin in hand, elbow against the table. A variety of nail varnishes and makeup is spread between us. I give her my sweetest smile and flutter my eyelashes.

“You’re a ridiculous creature,” Katie informs me. “If only the world knew. Now, tell me. What are you doing? Watching choice porn? What?”

“No! Fuck.” My eyes widen. “What do you take me for? It’s only Instagram.”

“You? Instagram?” Katie frowns at me with concern. “Maybe we should tell the concussion team about this.”

I hold up my hands. “It’s purely innocent. And, by the way, they’re not called a concussion team.”

“Semantics.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You corrupt boy.”

I redden. “Okay, it’s maybe not entirely innocent.”

“Called that too. I know my target audience.”

Picking up my phone, I unlock the screen to discover a gorgeous headshot of Thomas, which makes it difficult to breathe. Trying to shake off the inevitable fluster, I show her his photo. She’s more immune to his charms.

“Ob-sessed.” She takes my phone, scrolling through Thomas’ feed.

There are all kinds of photos, him alone, him with friends, him with Adam.

Except there’s nothing today, and it’s making me wild.

“Not that I can blame you. But why the frantic scrolling tonight when I’m not looking?

Are you that desperate for a wank? Can’t you do this on your own time? ”

I laugh. “No! It’s, err. Well. Alright. I’ll come clean. Let’s back up. I saw Thomas the other day.”

“You did what?” Katie squeaks. Her eyebrows lift. “You didn’t tell me that. Auggie! That’s important.”

“Well, it came together last minute. We went out hillwalking. In the fog.” I do my best to sound like I have any semblance of calm when it comes to Thomas. Even when fog is involved.

“Sounds romantic. Or daft.” Katie scrutinizes me like I’m up for a lobotomy. She slides the box of nail varnish over. “Except I thought it was over between you two. And choose something already.”

I peer in, select something called “leather daddy,” and roll the bottle between my hands. “It wasn’t romantic, exactly. Maybe. It was… a lot of things. It didn’t end well, before I could really explain how I truly feel about him. And he’s been seeing this guy?—”

“Adam Theroux.”

“How did you know that?” I ask. Perhaps she’s a hacker the tabloids would envy.

“Darling, by now, you should know I know everything.” Katie looks at me knowingly, rolling her eyes.

She takes the polish from me and then picks a bottom coat.

I put my hands on the table, holding my ground despite her amazing omniscient powers.

She starts with the clear coat. “Fact. Also: Instagram, silly.”

“Fine. Oracle. What happened, then? Since you’re all-knowing and all-seeing?”

“You’re trying to see what they’re up to?” She lifts her head, one hand done. She shakes her head before she moves on to the next one. “Desperation doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’m not desperate!” I frown at her. “I’m… invested.”

“You’re creeping on Instagram, and you don’t even have a profile. Wait. Can you see Instagram if you don’t have a profile?” Katie wonders aloud, then gives me a piercing look. “Did you set up an Instagram to creep on Thomas?”

My blush can be seen from space. I try to protest, but Katie waves me off. “Have you posted anything?”

“No.” I look scandalized.

“You can’t go creeping around Insta without offering up your own thirst trap in return.” Katie peers at me, aghast. “Selfie time, I’m afraid.”

“What? Wait. Oh no. I don’t do selfies. I’m a prince.” I try to look dignified. “One thing I’m confident of is that I’m not a thirst trap. And we’re not supposed to have our own accounts.”

“Nonsense. It’s a modern era. Try a selfie. We don’t have to post it if you look too silly, but let me tell you a secret—you’re hot as fuck, Auggie. Go for it.”

“Like this?” I peer into the phone.

“You look like an eaglet peering at a webcam perched on the edge of your nest.” She giggles. “Not like that. This isn’t a nature documentary.”

She gets up, leans into me, and we do a selfie together. “Better. Now, on your own. And look happy. And like you’re having fun. Hold your phone like this.”

“Happy? Fun?”

‘Unless you want to be the moody, sulking prince?’

“Kind of appealing, actually. I’m into gothic vibes. Let me find a suitable moor to haunt and pout on. Or a turret in a pinch.” There’s a strong appeal in windswept, open places. Nature doesn’t give a shit about royalty.

“No. Selfie. Go.” She stands with her hands on her hips, looming.

I start laughing because this is so ridiculous. I take a photo, tentative. I frown and try again. “You’re as bad as Lady Laura on this point.”

“Another,” she instructs, waving me off. “Take several. We’ll review.”

I don’t argue, doing as she tells me. I even blow a kiss, which makes her squeal with delight. She snatches my phone and scrolls through.

“Some good ones, surprisingly.”

“Hey, a minute ago, you said I was hot.”

“That was before the eaglet moment. My comment’s been redacted.”

I’m smiling. It’s been ages since I’ve had fun like this. Fun and I have an uneasy relationship. Usually, it leads to drinks, and drinks lead to mess. I make a pact to keep away from booze tonight.

“Definitely the kiss-blowing one. It’s adorbs. Also, you look very healthy and with color in your face. And happy. No one will think you’re on your deathbed if this goes public.”

“Is that what people think?”

“You’d be amazed. Some conspiracy theorists say you died in the accident and a couple of stunt doubles have taken your place.”

“Intriguing. I should have faked my death sooner.”

She shakes her head with sage experience behind her. “Now you need a caption.”

I groan. “Sounds dreadful.”

“I know, the worst part. Let’s see: Happy Friday night from London. Xoxo-signed-Auggie-who’s-definitely-not-a-creeper.”

“You’re not typing that!” I dive for my phone, laughing deep from the core of my stomach as she pulls it away. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had such a lighthearted night. Not since before the accident.

Not since Thomas.

“Victory!” I cry when I get my phone back. “I’ll leave the first part, but the second definitely wouldn’t get past our press secretary.”

“Throw in a couple of hashtags. You know what those are, right?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I may not be on social media, but I haven’t entirely been living under a rock.”

“Hard to say with you. How about #hotprince #hottotrot #blowme?—”

“You’re so fired.” I laugh, shaking my head, keeping my phone away from her as she reaches again. “Lady Laura, by the way, thought I should have my own publicist. Imagine.” I enter #RenaissanceMan #realitytv #London #princelife. “Now what?”

“You post. Done. And follow a couple of people so you don’t look like a loser.”

I post, laughing again, then hold my breath.

“If this is a disaster, it’s your fault.

” I search for her, but she’s already found me, and I follow her back.

I find Anne and Gav and a couple of others, including my cousins James and John.

Feeling cheeky, I follow Thomas because then I can admire openly.

“Way to take personal responsibility.” Katie tsks at me.

“Are you sure this photo is appropriate?”

“Very. People will swoon. And it won’t make you seem so desperate when you next see Thomas. Plus, the added benefit, like I said, verifying you’re alive. And that you’re not actually a stuffed shirt.”

“People won’t recognize me under the makeup,” I decide with relief, setting my phone down. “Now what?”

“Music. Let’s relax.” Katie smiles at me. She leans in. “And let me tell you about the guy I’ve been seeing.”

“Is he as hot as me?”

“Hotter.”

“That’s definitely a win.” I grin encouragingly at her. “Lucky you.”

“Lucky him!”

“And tell me about work too. I need all of your news. Did you find sponsors for your show next summer?”

“Oh God, we’re trying to decide between gin sponsors…”

“Sounds tasty.”

“You’re just thinking of Thomas again?—”

And we settle in for an evening of banter like it’s old times again, until exhaustion sets in and a familiar headache rolls in. But the pain is worth it to laugh with unbounded freedom again for a few hours with my best friend. And finally feel optimistic for once.

I don’t see the flood of notifications till the next morning.