Page 110 of The Thing About My Prince

I turn to see a blue door in the corner.

When I look back, he and the rest of both families are stepping out between the police officers stationed on either side of the porch and into the early fall sunshine.

What the hell is behind that blue door?

I hang back, pretending to admire the stained glass windows that line the walls, until all the guests are milling outside the church. The windows are definitely impressive. And some have dates on them going back to the late eighteen hundreds.

As soon as the coast is clear, I head to the mysterious blue door in the corner.

Could someone be in there?

Should I knock?

I try the handle gently first. It clicks, and the door opens with a conspicuous squeak that echoes around the now-empty space.

Shit.

My heart races and blood rushes to my cheeks as I’m taken back to being the kid who doesn’t belong in the private school. The kid who’s about to be ridiculed by her classmates for not knowing the right thing to do in some particular circumstance regular folks never find themselves in.

Thankfully, everyone is focused on the chatter and fun going on outside. I can just about make out a photographer shouting instructions for where people should stand.

Easing the door open, I struggle to adjust to the darkness, but it’s obvious the room is small and windowless, and the sound is deadened compared to the large echoey stone space behind me.

I fumble around on the wall and find a light switch.

Ah, this is the robe room. Is it called a robe room? Or did I get that from one of the many magical fantasy books I read when I was a kid?

Whatever it’s called, it’s lined on three sides by open wooden closets with rails jammed full of the robe things vicars wear when they’re conducting services. Some are black, some white. A green one and a red one with some embroidery on it stand out from the pack.

Against the fourth wall is a dresser with an armchair in front of it.

I step inside, pulling the door closed behind me, jumping again at the squeak—my nerves jangled by doing something I’m pretty certain I should not be doing.

It’s kind of cozy in here. And much warmer. It smells dusty, but in a welcoming way, like a secondhand bookstore on a rainy day.

“Well, hello.” The voice behind me makes me jump so hard at least one of my feet leaves the floor.

Thank God it’s Oliver.

“How did you open the door without it making that awful sound?” I can barely hear my own voice over the thump of my shocked heart.

“Special technique finely honed over many hours of playing hide-and-seek in this church with my sister when we were kids.”

“It squeaked back then too? It hasn’t been oiled for thirty years?”

“Possibly more like a hundred and thirty.”

“Are you done with the photos already?” I dust some confetti off his shoulder.

“I was only needed for a couple. Sofia wants more candid shots than posed ones. But my mother disagrees and is making them take about four thousand more. Anyway, my duty is done and I’m now superfluous to requirements, so…” He clicks the door closed behind him and turns off the light, plunging the room into darkness.

And I am instantly turned on.

Well, I can’t deny that my panties have been damp since he jogged up the castle stairs toward me wearing that kilt, but now they’re next-level soaked.

“Do you have a tissue in that tiny bag?” His whispered voice has moved closer, quickening my heart.

“Yes.” I barely get the word out over the sound of blood rushing through my head.