“I'll try not to hate you for it,” I say with a wink.
“I'm assuming there's some sort of delicious backstory to that comment. Perhaps something that requires eight glasses of champagne to forget.”
“Something like that.” I watch, thoroughly engrossed as she takes a dainty sip. “Not that I'd ever complain, because believe me, I know how lucky I am to be doing the work I do, but there are aspects of it I could do without.”
She nods, a look of understanding crossing her face that makes me want to continue the conversation. I stare at her for a moment and can’t help but feel like she’s somehow familiar. “Have we met before?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’d remember me,” she says with a little smile.
“Ha! Good one,” I say, having a swig of my drink. “Did you enjoy the wedding?”
“It was quite lovely.”
“Whose side are you on? The bride or the groom?”
“The groom,” she says. “He's a friend of my older brother.”
“Your brother must be quite the person. Pierce is very selective with who he allows in his inner circle.”
“Yes, you could say that.” She glances around, then looks back at me. “What about you? Are you a fan of weddings in general?”
“For other people. You?”
“Agreed. Marriage is definitely not for me.”
“So, it's a life of public relations for you, is it?”
“It's what I was born to do.”
“Well, I hope whoever you work for, they’re good to you—not all stuffy like this lot. All the wannabe royals thinking they're so very important when the truth is nobody outside this ballroom knows who they are, and if they did, they wouldn't care.”
“Or worse, the actual royals,” she says with a knowing look.
“God, yes. What a useless existence that would be. I mean, they're not even in charge of anything real anymore. It's just a whole life of pomp and ceremony.”
“Pathetic, right?” she answers, rolling her eyes.
“I actually heard someone earlier saying they feel sorry for them.”
“Absurd.”
“Yeah, honestly. They went on and on about how hard it would be to live in the spotlight your entire life.” I take a sip of my drink. “As someone with a bit of fame, I can tell you, there’s very little to complain about.”
“Well, of course there wouldn’t be anything to whine about. Not with all the perks and privileges.”
“Exactly. If they want to do something hard, they should get dropped off in Siberia in the dead of winter and try to survive for a week without their chefs and maids and heated toilet seats.”
“Ha!” she says. God, I like her. She gets me. I wonder if she’d be up for a shag? “They’d be calling for a helicopter in under an hour, I can guarantee it.”
“Probably even less,” she agrees, giving me a conspiratorial look.
I glance down at her full lips, then lower my voice. “Say, you wouldn't want to get out of here, would you? Somewhere not quite so stuffy.”
She leans in close enough that I can smell her perfume. I have no idea what it is, but it smells like money. She must do really well for herself in the public relations biz. “Somewhere that I could let my hair down and we could get to know each other better.”
This is actually going to happen, isn’t it? I nod. “Exactly.”
She opens her mouth, but before she can answer, an older man in a grey suit taps her on the shoulder. “Princess Arabella, delightful to see you again. My wife and I would love to talk to you about a foundation we’re starting for homeless birds.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shock vibrates through me as my words about her family echo through my brain. Pomp and ceremony. Not in charge of anything real anymore. I am so not getting lucky tonight. I give her a sheepish look, wishing I could think of a clever way to make it all better, but I’ve got nothing. Just embarrassment and regret. “So … you’re … I did not … I am so …”
“I am, I know you didn’t, and I’m sure you are,” Princess Arabella says with an amused smile. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Banks.” She holds up her glass to me. “But I’m afraid it’s time to get back to my useless existence.”
Maybe Being a Princess Isn’t the Worst Thing in the World …
Arabella
“Good night, Gran.” I kiss her on the cheek. It's late in the evening and we’re standing at the door to her apartment. “Have a good rest.”
“I'm not going to bed,” she says, looking slightly disgusted. “I’m going to get into my lucky pantsuit. It's poker night.”
“Right. Of course it is,” I say with a smile. “I hope I have as much fun as you when I’m … slightly older.”
“I highly doubt it. You're not even thirty and you don't have it now.” She pats me on the cheek. “Would you like to come with me? It's a $500 buy-in, and the guys down in the garage are a real hoot. You'd love them.”
“Thank you, but I'm afraid I have the world's worst poker face. You'd clean me out in under an hour.”
Gran grins up at me. “Don't be silly, dear. I’d clean you out much faster than that.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, dear.” She opens the door to her apartment and steps inside. When she turns to shut it, she says, “I'm just teasing, of course. But I want you to think about what I said today. Make your own way in this world.”
“I will, Gran.”
“Promise me you’ll take the next big risk that comes your way. Just do it without thinking. Have a little fun in your young life.”
“I'll try.”
“You can do better than that.”
When I get back to my apartment, the smell of lavender tickles my nostrils. The lights have been dimmed by Delilah, my weekend maid, and I know she has drawn me a bath and prepared some chamomile tea to help me unwind. The moment we left the reception, our driver would have called the head butler who notifies the rest of the staff.
I undress and step into the enormous white tub. As I sink into the hot water, I suddenly feel silly about all my whining. This life comes with some wonderful perks. Like this moment, right now.
I lay my head back against the bath pillow and close my eyes, but instead of feeling relaxed, I find myself feeling slightly tipsy and very restless. I smile and touch my lips with one finger as I think about my conversation with Will Banks. I definitely channeled Gran in my saucy responses to him. And the look of horror on his face when he realized who I was—priceless. I let out a laugh at the memory. I can see why Arthur has a man crush on him—he's positively dreamy. The way all those muscles filled in that tuxedo, that strong jawline, and his gorgeous eyes the color of perfectly brewed coffee. Devastatingly dreamy. Sigh …
I wonder what kind of woman he would want. Probably someone totally kickass like his sister—although not exactly like his sister because that would be eww. But someone adventurous, I'm sure, and brave, like the wife of the late Crocodile Hunter. Now those two were a great match. Will needs to find his Terri.