Page 125 of The Thing About My Prince

Becca’s words send the tiny bit of hope that perhaps I’d misjudged the message up in smoke, which feels like it’s suffocating me from the inside out.

“Not helping,” I say. “No one comes back from ‘I need time to figure out what to do.’”

“Yeah,” Becca says. “Whatever they figure out, it never involves the person they’re telling they need to figure things out. What a pathetically cowardly way to end it.”

She’s right. It is cowardly.

Particularly from a man who took such a brave stance tomove here and distance himself from the world’s most famous family.

If there’s one thing I know about Oliver, it’s that he has a mind of his own. And if he’s decided that what he wants is not me, there’s no way I’m going to demean myself trying to change it.

I never wanted him anyway, right?

I tap out the only words necessary.

My heart crawls up to my throat while my thumb hovers over the send button that’s getting blurrier the more I look at it.

There’s no point drawing out the agony.

I close my eyes, moisture leaking out between my lashes.

Then drop my thumb, and the text is sent.

ME

I understand.

That’s it.

Done.

Line drawn.

I might have a gaping, growing chasm inside me, but I do understand. He doesn’t need me—someone who doesn’t fit with his life and who his parents and their staff clearly don’t approve of. He could easily find himself a perfectly lovely woman with a more appropriate background and career.

I try to take a deep breath, but the air jerks into my lungs and my chest won’t expand.

Tossing my phone back onto the coffee table, I slump onto my side, pulling the blanket up over my shoulder, trying desperately not to give in to the expanding lump in my throat or the prickling behind my eyes.

I will not sob over a boy.

“I hope you told him he’s a weak-assed coward,” Becca says. “And that he needs to stand up to his deluded family and come get the woman he loves.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t need a Prince Charming on a white charger. My priority is to get a job if I’m going to ever pay rent again.”

That’s what I have to do now—try to take my mind off Oliver by channeling all my focus and energy into getting my career back on track.

The buzz of my phone makes my stomach lurch so hard it crashes into the lump in my throat. I yank the blanket tight, like somehow it can hold in all the awful emotions swirling around inside me and prevent them from spewing out.

Becca stares at my phone. “Do you want it?”

“I can’t deal with another Oliver message right now. And if it’s Julian wanting to know when I’m going to clear my desk, he can fuck off too.”

“Well, I’ll very gladly deal with both.” She picks up my phone. “It’s neither. It’s an unknown number.”

“Then definitely ignore it.” I smush the side of my face into the pillow.

But she stares at the text like she’s reading a long, involved article. “Do you know someone named Amanda Lagden?”