Page 15 of The Thing About My Prince

“It’s impossible to separate the two.”

Sasha reappears, and we lean back to give her space to put down our drinks.

“You look perkier already,” she says to me.

“Perkier?”

“Yes,” she says. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile all night. And you have a bit of color in your face now.”

“It’s the sight of a full glass.” I pick up my fresh autumn-spiced beer and raise it to her in acheersgesture before she leaves to attend to the next table.

But I know it’s not that at all. I know full well that it’s Becca’s question about what Oliver is really like that’s brightened my face because I’m even brighter on the inside. I need to learn to hide that better.

I might be trusting her with the secret identity of my ghostwriting client even though I signed the NDA, but there’sno way I’m going to discuss the thing that happened when he opened the door and locked eyes with me. Or how strong his hands looked when he pushed them through his hair—hair that you could really grip on to. Or his backside in those jeans. Or the width of his shoulders.

And definitely not the way my insides fluttered when he made me laugh with thatTrainspottingspeech in his Scottish accent.

“He’s nice enough, I suppose,” I tell Becca, then take a sip of beer in the hope the glass will hide most of my face.

“Why are you blushing?” Becca asks.

“I’m not blushing.”

“Okay, maybe not technically full-on blushing. But Sasha’s right—your cheeks are pinker than they were before I asked the question. And you smiled a bit.”

“There is no pinkening and absolutely, definitely no smiling about this situation.”

“Well, I think he’s hot.” Becca finishes her first glass of wine, slides it to the side, and pulls the fresh, full one closer.

“If I wasn’t breaking my NDA by telling you about him, I could introduce you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

“I meant, be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Of taking down more than his life story.”

I fall back in my chair and laugh a laugh that’s conspicuously and suspiciously loud. “There’s not going to be any taking down of his anythings. No shenanigans will be had here. I can tell you that for absolute, one hundred percent, total certain.”

“I’m just saying, you know…he’s hot, you’re hot, you’re going to be trapped inside a romantic, remote Scottish castle together for a couple of weeks revealing all your innermost secrets, and things can…you know…happen.”

“First, I have no idea if he’s single. Second, the secret-telling is only going in one direction, from him to me. And I doubt very much he’ll tell me anything too secrety, because despite making a grand stand and leaving the country to make his own way in the world, and talking a big game, I don’t think he wants to risk pissing off his family one bit. In fact, if I had to place any bets on anything, I’d bet he’s scared of them.”

“If I was forced to come up with a good side to this,” Becca says. “I’d say at least it’ll be good for you to escape from being trapped in the city for a bit, get some fresh air on your face, and shake up your joyless same-old-same-old daily routine a bit.”

“Thank you for making me feel even shittier about my life than I already did.”

She peers at me over her glass. “It’ll definitely get shittier if you don’t make sure that nothinghappens.”

“For God’s sake, Becca. The man represents everything I despise. I wouldn’t touch him with an extremely regal ten-foot pole.Nothingis going to happen.”

Becca rolls around her bed holding her stomach, laughing so hard there’s no sound coming out of her but tears are rolling down her cheeks.

I have to hold onto the corner of her dresser to prevent myself from toppling over as I cackle at the sight of myself in her full-length mirror wearing her bright yellow strapless tube dress and red knee-high patent leather boots.