I sigh and my head falls back to the door. “I love the sound of that.”
“I love you.” He kisses me and as his tongue slides into my mouth, it’s Sierra’s voice I hear on the other side of the door, her fist pounding, demanding entry.
“What, Sierra?” I ask.
Ethan’s still not willing to accept defeat on our private moment.
“You’re not taking your bed, right? Mind leaving it for Adrian? Maybe your dresser too?”
Ethan groans and steps back.
I swing open the door. “What?”
Sierra stands in the hallway with her hair all askew wearing sweat pants and an I heart New York t-shirt which seems… odd to say the least.
“Oh, my God.” She rushes into my apartment and shuts the door. “He wants to live with us!” she whispers.
“I’m sorry. Who does?” I whisper back.
“Adrian!” Her smile is gigantic and although whatever is making her this happy is awesome, I’m still not following.
“HOLY SHIT! CARM, grab your camera. It’s PRINCE ADRIAN MARX!” I hear Bella yell in the hallway.
“I’m not getting shit. He’s not that great, you know. Running a country isn’t any harder than selling an overpriced penthouse in Manhattan.”
I run back down the hall, Sierra and Ethan following and when I reach my old apartment, sure enough, there he is.
Bella’s mouth is hanging open.
Val is searching the pantry, uncaring.
Annie is sitting down, watching everything go down with rapt attention.
All the guys are on the couch watching the football game.
Rian raises her eyebrows at me.
The broad shoulder guy wearing a pair of sweatpants and an I heart New York t-shirt that matches Sierra’s, turns around and yeah, maybe his teeth do gleam a little like in those princess movies. But what’s with the matching outfits?
“Hello, I’m Adrian Marx.” He has a slight accent, though I’m not sure what it is. French, maybe?
Bella leans forward. “Prince. Adrian. Marx.”
He chuckles at her and puts out his hand. “Where do I sleep? In your bed?” he asks, looking at me.
Ethan’s arm quickly hangs over my shoulder. “Not happening.”
“Sierra mentioned I could borrow a bed while I stay here. Temporarily, of course. Would you like compensation?”
“That accent.” Bella sighs.
“I have an accent too. A New York accent,” Carm yells.
“No, that’s okay. So you’re moving in here?” I clarify because I’m so confused right now.
“Yes. Sierra said yes.”
I turn in her direction and she’s giggling. “Can you believe it?”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t.”
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I step into what appears to be the foyer of the suite. Marble floors gleam, the beautiful gold and white stone feeling more modern than the path to get here.
“WHAT THE HELL? DON’T MOVE!”
I freeze where I am.
“Hi.” A man dressed in beige slacks, a button-up shirt and a sweater-vest comes rushing into the foyer and holds out his hand. “I’m Jean.”
I shake his hand and he’s quick to let mine go as though we’re in the middle of a receiving line at a wedding and there’s a line of waiting people behind me.
“Sorry, the prince is playing Xbox.”
“Xbox?” I clarify.
Jean sighs with an expression to say he doesn’t understand it either.
I’m not against grown men playing video games. I mean, most of my boyfriends have, but doesn’t the prince have more important stuff to do? I mean, he’s a prince.
“Afraid so.” He signals for me to follow him. “Sir. Your date is here.”
“AW BUDDY… I gotta go. Duty calls.”
I hear a loud thud and assume it’s the remote. Of course he’d rather play a game than go on a date with me. A bit of my excitement over the evening dies.
Jean finally allows me to enter the room. This is it. The moment I’ll first set my eyes on the prince. I fully anticipate being mesmerized by his blue eyes… but all I see are sweatpants and a T-shirt with a stain streaked down the front.
“Sir, you should excuse yourself,” Jean suggests, but instead the prince wipes his cheesy stained hand down his shirt and holds it between us.
I stare down at it. He quickly figures out that I’m not going to shake his hand. Rude or not, he laughs to himself and puts it in his pocket.
“Sorry, I was online with my brother. With the time difference we rarely get to speak. Wanted to get in a game with him. Do you play?”
His accent throws me at first although I knew he had one. Sandsal is a mix of different languages but his comes off as being more French than anything. It’s not a thick accent at all, but it’s there.
“Not really.”
He nods and then looks to Jean. “What’s the plan?”
How much more unromantic can you get? After waiting forever for him to finish playing his game with his brother, he’s now asking this Jean guy what’s planned for our date. I inwardly roll my eyes.
“Dinner.” Jean smiles at me. “On the terrace.”
I glance around looking for the photographer and his crew since JC warned me that they’d be here.
“The Prince has decided not to have pictures.” Jean answers the question I never asked out loud.
“Too nosy,” he picks up his drink, downs the rest of it. “I’ll be right back.” He saunters out of the room without any urgency in his step.
Jean shoots me his overly polite smile once more. “I’ll check on the dinner.”
“Excuse me,” I say. He turns around with a look of concern. Maybe he thinks I’m going to bail. “Do you mind if I make a phone call while I wait?”
He releases a breath and his smile loses the tension it was laced with. “Oh, certainly.” He gestures behind me. “You’ll find some privacy on the south terrace.”
I follow the direction of his hand and see a large formal dining room I suspect Mr. Sloppy Prince won’t be using unless he has a buffet for his gamer buddies. Once I’m out the double doors and on the terrace overlooking Central Park, I pull my phone out to call Blanca.
“Something’s wrong if you have time to call me,” she says when she answers. The easy lilt that’s always in her voice is ever present. She’s too nice for her own good.
“He’s…”
“Hold on, putting you on speaker.”
“Is he dreamy?” Rian asks. My friends think my crush on the prince is humorous, but they were speechless when I said I’d scored a date with him.
“Definitely not.”
“Uh oh, what’s wrong?” Blanca asks and I wish I had it in me to lie, but I’m so frustrated that I spent all day at a spa, had someone come in to do my makeup, and bought a new dress for this douche to wipe his dirty hands down his shirt before trying to shake mine.