“Getting stronger every day, thanks. I got my cast off two days ago, so I’m rebuilding my right leg. I should be back to full strength very soon.” I offer her a confident smile, even though inside, I feel like a complete loser.
“Excellent. Good to hear. What exactly were your injuries?”
“A severe break to my ankle that required surgery, and a concussion,” I say. “Also, several contusions to the back of my head that needed about a hundred stitches.”
“Oh, my, that is something,” Veronica says. “Now, this season of “The Wild World” doesn’t air for another few weeks, so we’ve been asked not to reveal any spoilers, but can you tell us how the accident happened?”
“No, unfortunately, I can’t get into details. What I can tell you is that it was entirely my fault. My co-host had nothing to do with it.”
Veronica’s face falls a little. “But people have been speculating that she was most likely the one to get you into trouble.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the thing about speculating. It’s a pretty useless pastime. Everything that happened out there was my responsibility. I was the expert, and I slipped up in a very big way. She’s the one who showed incredible strength and courage to get me out of there alive.” See? The truth is easy.
“Really?” Veronica asks, her face wrinkling up.
“Really.” I give a firm nod. “You know, people underestimate Princess Arabella because of who they think she is. But in all honesty, she’s every bit as tough as any man out there.”
The clip of her pulling me over the hill starts up, and I watch as she yells for an ambulance, then shoves Dylan to the ground.
“There is some speculation that she never would have had the physical stamina to pull that off. People are saying someone else likely helped but stayed back so she could take the credit.”
“That’s absolutely not true. There was no one else out there with us.”
“Was she taking any sort of drug that would give her superhuman strength?” she asks, giving me a serious look.
Shaking my head, I say, “Definitely not. That was one hundred percent her. All of it. She made the stretcher herself, she rescued me, and she brought me to safety.”
“Are you at all concerned that people will no longer trust your abilities to survive in the wild, and that, perhaps, this may end your career?”
“I sure hope not, but I can see why someone might think that. After all, I wouldn’t have survived out there on my own.”
“Will, a lot of people have been commenting on the irony of you needing a princess to save you, when you’re supposed to be the hero.”
I’ve never liked Veronica very much. “Well, to them I say this: when you do the kinds of things I do on the show, you know that at some point, something will go wrong. It’s not an if, it’s a when. In this case, I was incredibly fortunate to be with the right person when things went sour.”
“The right person. That almost makes it sound like something’s going on between you two,” Veronica says with a little grin. “Care to comment on that?”
Might as well go all in, right?
No, do not say it.
“Will? Any comment as to whether you and Princess Arabella are, perhaps, an item these days?”
“Only to say this,” I pause, praying my words come out as intended. “Any man would be beyond lucky to be loved by someone with Arabella’s compassion and lovely spirit. She’s kind and graceful and brave and beautiful. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and if I’m able to spend more time with her in the future, I’ll consider myself to be the luckiest man on the planet.”
“That sounds like a yes to me,” Veronica answers, clearly trying to draw me in.
“She can do a lot better than me.”
Veronica’s head snaps back. “Could she?”
She’s clearly not an Arabella fan. I knew I didn’t like her for a reason. “Yes, definitely. And I hope she does.” Okay, that was a big, fat lie. But the rest was true.
35
The Modern Princess’s Guide to Making Him Love You Back
Arabella
Slip #8, San Felipe Yacht Club
Santa Valentina Island
Oh God, there he is. He’s getting out of a Jeep, looking so, so gorgeous. He’s dressed in a white button-down shirt and khaki slacks, and he’s clean shaved like he’s headed out for a date. Oh, no! What if he was about to go on a date? He may have found a girlfriend by now. It’s been weeks, after all, and a man like him won’t stay on the market long.
He’s walking up the pier in powerful strides, which I can’t believe, considering the condition he was in the last time I saw him. My heart is going to explode with love. And fear. And quite possibly soul-crushing rejection in a few minutes. Now he’s talking to that awful Stew person. Blech. He gave me the side-eye while he chewed on his disgusting cigar and I almost threw up.
They’re still chatting. What could they possibly be saying? I hope Will hasn’t guessed I’m here, and he’s telling Stew to let me down easy so he won’t have to see me again. That would be humiliating, no?
Okay, he’s not sending Stew. He’s walking up the plank to the yacht. Any second now, he’s going to come into the cabin and see me standing here. And as soon as he sees me, I’ll know.
Wait. Should I stand with my back to him and do a dramatic spin when I hear his voice? I turn and face the wall. Nope, that’s stupid. Turning back, I put one hand on my hip and cross one leg in front of the other like I’m posing for the D’Allard’s catalog. Oh, that’s awful.
Hands by my sides?
You know what? Doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m taking a chance. If he doesn’t love me, another bus will be along soon. Shit, my brain is shutting down. That didn’t make sense.
And here he is. Hands interlocked in front of me to accentuate breasts. But play it cool while accentuating breasts.
Will stops in his tracks when he sees me. His head snaps back and his chiseled jaw drops. Then he smiles, then his smile fades. He’s shocked. Is that good shocked or bad shocked? I can’t tell.
“Wow,” he whispers. “You’re here.”
I nod, my entire body going numb.
He swallows hard and shakes his head. “That was … fast.”
Oh, great. Sarcasm. He’s saying I should have come sooner. “Well, it’s not like you couldn’t have come to see me.” Too defensive. Calm down!
“What? I was joking,” he says in that deep voice of his. “I only just finished the interview a few minutes ago.”
“What interview?”
“On ABN? Never mind,” he says, shaking his head again. “Why are you …? I … I can’t believe you’re here.”
Abort mission! Abort! He has not swept you up in his arms yet. He does not love you. Clearing my throat, I say, “I was hoping you could help me out with a little problem. I bought this yacht, then as soon as the sale went through, I realized I have nowhere to park it.”
He tilts his head and stares at me for an uncomfortably long moment. “So you want me to store your yacht for you?”