Who still wrote a letter like that nowadays?
Apparently, princes.
And I liked it much better than a text message.
“Found you,” I whispered, lifting out the red, silk rose.
What harm can dinner be? I thought, taking out my phone. But then I remembered I didn’t have his number. However, I had a feeling my mother did. The only thing was, I didn’t want to see the look she’d give me. The second I thought that, I glanced back down at his letter. His reason for saying what he had said was his pride, and my reason for not getting his number was my pride.
“Wow, Odette,” I whispered, gently touching the petals of the roses. This was probably one of the similarities my mom was talking about between him and me.
Taking out my phone, I texted her. What’s his number?
She immediately texted back. Who?
Ugh.
You know who. Can you just tell me?
“Sure,” she said as she busted into the room with an enormous, obnoxious grin on her face, clearly rubbing it in.
“I just asked for his number. I’m not saying yes to getting married or anything.”
“Hmm, um.” She nodded. “Sure. What are you going to wear tonight?”
“I don’t know—”
“And you really need to restyle your hair. Your curls are all messed up.”
“Mom, all I need is the number.”
“Here.” She passed me her phone and took one of the roses from the vase, smelling it.
Copying the number quickly, I handed her back the phone. “Thank you. Bye.”
“Fine. Fine. I’m going,” she said, taking the rose with her.
I waited until she was gone before focusing on my phone. After that letter, what was I going to say? I spent way too long just staring at the screen before finally giving up and texting.
Yes, to dinner. —Odette
I moved to put down the phone when he messaged back.
What time is good for you? —Gale
I didn’t have anything to do. 7:30 or 8 is fine.
7:30 it is. I will pick you up.
He would pick me up? You have an American license?
Correction. I do have an international license, but I cannot use it now. So, Iskandar will drive. I will come to the door like a gentleman, and we will go together. Is that all right?
Yes. It felt a little like going to prom or high school, getting picked up from your mom’s house, but he wanted to, so no big deal. I will see you then.
Okay.
Falling onto my side, I rested on the bed and stared up at the roses, a symbol of renowned beauty and grace, he said.
He was clearly exaggerating when it came to my appearance, and yet, I felt like that was how I wanted to look tonight. Outfits, hairstyles, shoes—they all flashed through my mind, and I felt excitement...actually, my nerves were rising. But I didn’t have to try to make him like me, right? He needed me to marry him no matter what. That thought annoyed me, too.
“Ahh, see.” This was why I hated dating—emotional stress.
But there was no avoiding it.
One of these days, I hoped to become one of those blessed women who effortlessly looked beautiful. One who just rolled out of bed, looking like a supermodel, who could throw on a dress, look into the mirror, nod, and be on their way. Today proved I was still a long way from being that type of woman.
“This might be too much,” I muttered, wishing the slit at the side was just a little bit less—bam! This showed my whole leg. “Maybe I should just wear the green one.”
“You look stunning. I swear, if you change one more time, I will lose my mind,” my mom replied, still fiddling with those roses.
“You would say that no matter what dress I wore.”
“Yes, I would,” she said, walking up to stand beside the mirror. “Because it is true. Now for the finishing touch.”
“Mom, not the roses.” I sighed as she pinned them into my hair.
“What? He gave it to you. Why not show you liked them? Besides, there are so many. Hold still.”
I did, too tired from changing two dozen times to even bother.
Ring.
Ring.
My stomach dropped. “Is it seven thirty already?”
“On the dot.” She laughed back at me.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
Rushing back to the end of the bed, I stepped into my heels before grabbing my phone and clutch off the pile of dresses on the bed.
“Perfume!” she called out to me when I made for the door. I stopped in front of her so I could turn around as she sprayed. “Okay, go.”
Putting on my coat, I called out a quick, “Thank you!” I went down the stairs faster than I should have done in heels. Getting to the front door, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, standing a little taller.
You’ve got this, Odette.
“You’re very punctual...” my voice trailed off. It wasn’t Gale at the door but rather the freckle-faced, blond-haired man I saw coming to my place this morning standing in the cold. “Who are you?”
He grinned wide at me. “Wolfgang, ma’am. His Highness directed me to pick you up.”
“Wasn’t he coming himself?”
“He wanted to, but Iskandar wouldn’t let him,” he replied, moving to the side for me to walk forward.
“Wouldn’t let him?” Who was the prince, and who was the bodyguard again?
He nodded as we walked toward the waiting car. “The press back in Ersovia apparently got word that His Highness is no longer in the country. Iskandar didn’t want to risk him getting photographed if he picked you up. His Highness was not happy about it.”
“Thank you,” I said as I got into the back of the car, carefully tucking my dress inside.
“Of course,” he replied before closing the door and going around to the front of the car.
I noticed a difference between Iskandar and him immediately. Wolfgang was a lot more cheerful, and his manner of speaking was more relaxed, while Iskandar seemed more militant.
“You said Gale was upset?” I asked when we got into the car.
He nodded as he pulled out. “Yes, very much so. He said even if the press knew he was gone, they wouldn’t know he was here or coming to pick you up. Iskandar said there was no way to know how much was leaked. They got into an argument about it. However, Iskandar won out in the end when he said it could cause trouble for you.”
“Trouble for me? But I’m used to the press at this point. True or false?”
“Not the Ersovian press.” He chuckled and met my eyes in the rearview mirror before turning the corner. “They are like bloodhounds. One picture and they not only will descend like an army but the stories will be neverending also.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. People love the Ersovian monarchy. Everything is a story. What the royal family is wearing, where they are vacationing, even what they are reading or eating. One time, there was a rumor that Prince Arthur had become vegan, which turned into a full story, which led to the journalist on TV debating on whether or not it was a sign of weakness in the future king. Apparently, not eating meat meant he was too softhearted and didn’t have the fortitude to make hard choices.”
“What? That’s crazy? Just because he didn’t eat meat?”