Jean is waiting patiently outside.
“Go ahead and allow them up.”
He smiles and nods, heading to the door to alert Declan of the change of plans.
I head to the terrace and step outside. Sierra is looking up at the night sky. She’s gorgeous, and I wonder if that’s why Felicia picked her. My sister knows I love redheads. But I doubt Felicia would tempt me unless she’s thinking this is my last chance to enjoy myself before my engagement. She’s always been a helluva lot wiser than me.
“I’m sorry. That was my mother. A change of plans. The cameras will be arriving to take some pictures of us for the charity.”
She nods. “Okay.”
“They’ll want posed as well as candid ones. It’s annoying but good for the charity.”
“Yeah, for sure.”
She stares at the sky again, and I take her in. Her pale skin appears more golden in the light from the moon and the candles casting their glow on her. Why is she here on a date with me? Doesn’t she know I’m not much without my title?
“What are we looking at?”
Here in the city, there aren’t a lot of stars to be seen, and I hear the traffic noise of Manhattan below us. It’s nothing like back home, but something about the noise of the city keeps me distracted.
“Nothing really. I was just thinking about how small I feel sometimes.”
“Care to elaborate?”
She glances at me before shifting her gaze back to the dark sky above us. “The world is so big, but sometimes we get so caught up in our own little bubble, you know? I think of all the homeless people in the park right now, probably worried about the impending winter. How will they keep warm? Or the panhandlers who have a family to support. Or the orphaned children who have no idea if Santa’s real and if they’ll get a gift this Christmas.”
I nod, not sure why we have to talk about such a deep subject. We barely know one another.
She swivels around and stares at me for an uncomfortable moment. “It must feel good being able to help all those people. I mean, I get to go on a date with you, and in exchange, the food pantry gets all the sweepstakes money.”
“I guess we’re fortunate to be able to pimp ourselves out.”
She tilts her head, trying to understand what I’m saying.
“I mean I should be happy that people want to pay to go on a date with me.”
She nods, more appeased by that answer. “I have a feeling you’re not a typical prince.”
Give the girl a prize. “Does that intrigue you?”
A true smile creases her lips. “It does. I’d rather not have the fake prince, but actually get to know you as a person.”
“Then you should know something about me.” I glance at Jean at the door, waiting patiently with the cameramen behind him. “I hate getting my picture taken.”
“Good thing I love it.” Her hand slides into mine, and she leads us to the door. “I’ll get you through this.”
And she does exactly that. The photographer directs us, and we pose like two teenagers going to prom. Except I’m not some pimple-faced adolescent boy. My hand is firm on her hip, and I can’t help but notice the way her body fits perfectly into mine. She encourages the photographer to continue out on the patio as we clink champagne flutes.
Once the photographer leaves and we’re seated for dinner, I find that I’m actually looking forward to having dinner with her. As she’s talking with Jean, I sneak a text to my sister.
Me: Thanks Felicia. She’s pretty great.
Felicia: I know. Enjoy your night.
I flip my phone to silent and shove it into my pocket, fully intending on finding out exactly what makes Sierra tick.
Chapter Three
Sierra
Prince Adrian isn’t the asshole I thought he was. In fact, he can be charming when he puts forth an effort.
“Tell me why on earth you wanted a date with me?” He pours more champagne into my glass. “Be truthful.”
I feel my cheeks heat. Might as well tell the truth since I’ll be walking out of here in a few hours, never to cross paths with him again. “Well, you’re hot. And you look like you know how to enjoy life, from the articles I’ve read and your Instagram feed. As embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve always had a fascination with royal families. It all looks so perfect.”
His face distorts and he straightens the napkin in his lap. “You do know that perception isn’t necessarily reality, right?”
I laugh. Try growing up in my family. I was supposed to be the perfect military daughter. Even while mourning my mother’s death, my father told me to hold my head up high, that I should be proud that my mom had died for her country. Ironic coming from him. No one ever knew how depressed he became. How many times I pretended he was working so I could eat at a friend’s house, or the times I borrowed Blanca’s clothes because my dad had to work so much he couldn’t get to my laundry. The excuses for rides home from volleyball practice. And I think people felt they were doing good by helping me so much. They helped the poor girl who had lost her mother. It made people feel good about themselves.
“I do. So tell me some inside secrets.” I lean forward.
Again his face distorts, and he adjusts the napkin in his lap, but he recovers quickly as though it never happened. “I’m allergic to peanuts.”
“Oh, they published that last year when you had that reaction while at the movie premiere in London.”
His eyebrows raise.
Maybe I should keep my mouth shut about how much I’ve read about him. “I only know that because I was dying to see that movie and it was research. Did I tell you I’m a reporter?”
He chuckles. Luckily, a server comes out with two silver dome-covered plates. Saved by dinner.
“Filet and chicken with shrimp,” the server says with a flourish as if he’s revealing the Hope Diamond.
The plate is filled with a small piece of filet with a béarnaise sauce, chicken with what appear to be piccata, and grilled shrimp that looks like it has a glaze on it. The server disappears and reappears again with several trays of side dishes.
“This is your potato. Mashed, baked, and scalloped.” He disappears again and returns seconds later. “Vegetables. Green beans, asparagus, and glazed carrots.”
Each side dish has its own tray. How much did they think two people could eat?
“Thank you.” Prince Adrian bows his head.
“Please let us know if you’re missing anything.”
“Will do,” Prince Adrian responds.
The server leaves as I stare at the array of dishes laid out in front of us. “This is a lot of food.”
He lifts his glass. “Welcome to a royal’s secret life. Where you don’t have to make choices because you get one of everything.”
I lift my glass. “A girl could get used to this.”
He smiles and our glasses clink.
“So, since you clearly know everything about me, tell me about yourself.” He uses his utensils perfectly—the fork hold, the cutting off one piece and eating it before cutting any more. He doesn’t touch the potato plate, which I seem to gravitate toward.