Page 54 of Royal Trouble
“I thought I had everything lined up for June the seventh, but I must have transposed the dates on the contracts because everything is scheduled for July the sixth.” He paused, that rosy color filling his cheeks again. “I have trouble with numbers—and letters—and I was in a bit of a rush. I obviously didn’t check the contracts carefully enough, but I can’t very well hold Liam’s stag night the month after the wedding.”
Everly chewed her lip as his words sank in. Xander was dyslexic. That was why he’d had so much trouble in school and probably why he’d received extra help. He hadn’t cheated, then; he’d simply needed accommodations for his learning disability. Just another story she’d gotten wrong by reporting unreliable teenage gossip. Could she possibly be a bigger asshole?
Focus. Now isn’t the time to dwell on the past.
“Doesn’t the palace have secretaries and event planners and whatnot to help with this sort of thing? Why the hell were you planning such a large event solo?”
Talk about a recipe for disaster.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said, a smile quirking his lips. “The palace leaks like a sieve, and I wanted to surprise Liam.”
Made sense. Surprising the groom was traditional, and she doubted Liam had many surprises in his life given the entourage of media and security that normally surrounded him.
“Okay, fine, but why are you calling me for help?” she asked, exasperation creeping into her voice. After all, he’d made it quite clear he wanted nothing to do with her when he walked out. “Call one of your friends.”
“I am,” he said, the words ringing with sincerity. “Besides, the rest of my friends are men, and they’re clueless about this sort of thing.”
Everly arched a brow. “Oh, and because I have a vagina I must be good at planning parties?”
“No, but you do owe me.”
Dammit. He had her there.
“Fine,” she said, grabbing a pen and pad from her bag on the floor. Her flight home wasn’t until the day after the wedding, and it wasn’t like she had anything better to do. “I’ll help, but I want it on the record that I’m not a miracle worker.”
His gravelly laugh sent a shiver down her spine. “So noted.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Xander quickly ran through the details as she took notes. The man was asking for a freaking miracle. She didn’t even know where to start with most of this stuff, but maybe Lucy could help. She checked her watch. The Maldives were five hours ahead. She hated to bother Lucy on her honeymoon, but desperate times and all that.
Besides, Lucy lived for this crap. Knowing her, she’d want to fly home and plan the damn thing herself.
Once she’d hung up with Xander, promising to check in after she made a few calls, she dialed Lucy. Guilt gnawed at her insides, but it was a small price to pay if it helped Xander. This was nothing compared to the debt she owed him.
The phone rang endlessly, and just when she thought it would go to voicemail, Lucy picked up.
“Hey, Luce. How’s the honeymoon?”
Lucy spent the next ten minutes gushing about white sand beaches, crystal blue waters, and killer spas. Honestly? It sounded like a dream.
“So, what’s up?” Lucy asked. “I know you didn’t call just to hear all about my honeymoon.”
Everly sighed. “I need your help. Long story short, Xander fudged the royal stag night, and now he’s asked me to help put together a last-minute shindig for HRH Prince William. I owe him—big time—otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”
“Wow,” Lucy said, dragging the word out. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry to bother you with work stuff on your honeymoon,” Everly said, ignoring the shit out of her guilty conscience, because, hey, what was one more log on the fire? “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Lucy made a dismissive sound. “First of all, you’re my best friend. You can call me any time. Second of all,” she said, dropping her voice to a whisper, “don’t tell Max, but I’m bloody bored. I mean, lying on the beach was fun for like the first two weeks, but I’m actually looking forward to coming home and getting back to work. Third of all,” she said, her voice rising about ten octaves, “since when the hell are you on a first name basis with Prince Alexander? I want all the details. Spill.”
“Luce, I will give you all the details when you get back, but I’m working against the clock right now. I’ve got forty-eight hours to plan a stag night of royal proportions.”
“Fine,” Lucy said with a huff, “but when I get back, we are talking about this. At length. And don’t think you’re going to get out of it by running back to New York.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” They’d been friends long enough to know that when Lucy set her mind to something, there was no stopping her.
“Okay. So tell me what you need.”