Page 123 of The Thing About My Prince

“There isn’t,” my mother says. “Do you want to publish the book? Or do you want your…friend…to have the job of her dreams?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

LEXI

I’m not sure what’s worse, the headache from the scotch or the furry mouth from all the sweet ice cream.

“She lives,” Becca declares as I stumble into the living room in my bare feet and pajamas, yawning and running my fingers through my tangled hair.

Becca is sitting under a big fuzzy plaid blanket on the sofa in her pj’s, which are covered in terrible sleep-related headlines like “Napping Now Legal in All Fifty States,” “Feathers Fly After Fight at Pillow Factory,” and “Yawn of the DeadBreaks Box Office Records.”

“Sorry. I was worried that making this coffee might wake you.” She holds up her steaming mug and puts down her novel with a cartoon couple on the front. “But I couldn’t wait any longer. And I didn’t want to go out to get some in case you woke up while I wasn’t here. I’m not leaving you alone today.”

She pulls back the plaid blanket. Fuck, even that reminds me of Scotland and therefore Oliver. “Get under here,” shesays while standing up. “I’ll pour you some. It’ll make you feel better.”

“What time is it?” I obey her instructions and climb under.

“Almost noon.” She takes the four steps to the kitchen area of our small living space and grabs the coffeepot.

“Shit. I haven’t slept in that late since college.”

“Well, we didn’t go to bed till three a.m.” Becca grabs the dishcloth and wipes up some coffee she’s slopped onto the counter. “And there’s the jet lag as well.”

“And the unemployment and the heartbreak.”

“At least you finally admit you like him enough that he could break your heart. I’m classifying that as progress.” She opens the fridge and stares inside. “Vanilla or pumpkin spice creamer?”

“Vanilla, please. And I’m happy you’ve found an upside to all this. Because I have not.”

“Oh, come on, Lex. Being in love is the fucking best. Of course it’s an upside. Figure things out with the hot prince and all your problems will be solved.”

“Did I not tell you about his family last night? And the staff? There is no part of being involved with him that isn’t a whole bunch of new problems.”

She bounds back from the kitchen and slides onto the couch next to me, handing me the coffee, which looks like it’s approximately fifty percent cream. “Apart from how much you love him. And the amazing sex.”

My phone pings with a text, but it’s muffled.

I pat the blanket, searching for a rectangular lump. “Did I leave my phone in here last night?”

“Maybe, dunno.” Becca grabs the other end of the blanket and gives it a shake, sending a ripple through it.

There’s athudthat resembles phone on rug.

I bend forward to pick it up. “It’s fucking Julian again.”

“At least he can’t have any more bad news.”

When I read his words, my body doesn’t react at all. It’slike I’m numb to everything. Nothing can shock me anymore. If you kick someone enough times, one after the other, they won’t feel the final one.

“What does he want?” Becca’s voice makes me realize I’m staring blankly at the message.

“The book’s canceled.” I toss the phone onto the coffee table. Of course that’s what’s happened. Of course the only news I’ll ever get now is terrible. “I knew the royals would try to stomp on it. But I did think Oliver might have the balls to stop them.”

The fact he hasn’t is shockingly more disappointing than the fact that the book is scrapped and I have no immediate prospect of income.

Apparently, my people-judgment is shot. Or I was deluded by Scottish castles and screaming orgasms. Probably both.

“So now you have no war correspondent’s jobandno high-profile memoir to ghostwrite?”