Page 12 of Prince of the Palisades

The runway never looked so good as Grace Miller, daughter of Senator Andrew Miller and the late ’80s glam queen Jess Murray, modeled vintage fashion alongside some of LA’s up-and-coming style icons for great causes. Though Grace has quickly risen to Californian royalty status, has the arrival of a certain Official Prince finally given her stiff competition?

“Are we sure apartyis a good idea?” is the first thing Annika says when I stroll into our Palisades living room.

I pause at the gilded framed mirror on the wall, inspecting my appearance. Curls tight, cheeks still glowing from a hot shower. Thanks to my rigorous skincare routine, the stress zit is gone. I straighten my Boss Henley. The turquoise brings out the gold undertones in my complexion, and it matches my mystic green Air Jordan 1 Mids.

I’m going forI’m a friendly, approachable prince,but alsoplease don’t talk to me.

“Jade.”

I spin around, almost forgetting Annika’s question. She’s sipping boba on the beige love seat. My face wrinkles. “Is this what you did all week? While I worked my ass off trying to fit in at a new school?”

She grins shamelessly. “It’s rose milk tea! We really need a bubble tea shop back home.”

“That’s not helping.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she chastises lightly. “Is this the best idea? Considering what happened at the last party you attended.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

Well, for one, my best friend won’t be there to sell me out, I almost say. It’s crossed my mind. That attending another unsupervised gathering isn’t the right move. But Grace said it’d be small. I can handle that, right?

Samuel answers for me: “C’est fantastique!” He glides into the room, clapping. “The prince needs to be seen making friends with his peers. Having fun!Notdrinking.”

When his back is turned, I roll my eyes.

He scrolls through his phone. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s ahitwith Miss Miller’s followers.”

I fiddle with the buttons of my Henley. It was one TikTok. A brief hello, then Grace forcing me to do a silly dance. Nothing exciting. But, somehow, it’s ended up all over the news.

“This party’s the prime occasion to push our New Jadon narrative to new heights,” Samuel is saying.

“New. Heights,” I parrot.

“I don’t want his new ‘friends’ ”—Annika air quotes aggressively—“to turn out like the last one.”

I fight off a grimace. Annika’s the one who found me sulking in a Beverly Hills hotel suite when they first arrived in LA. Days after Kofi abandoned me. After he shoved shots in my hand, goading me into talking about Barnard, letting some random girl film it. Kofi, who I’d known since I started at Académie des Jeunes Dirigeants.

I spin around, grinning. “Aww. You care?”

“Shut up.” Her lips flinch into a smile.

We’re back. Memory forgotten.

“If you mess this up,” she warns, “I’ll never get to take that trip to New York.”

Luc, who’s also inexcusably slurping boba, says, “You’re never winning that bet.”

She ignores his cool smile. “They’ll kick us out of America. Permanently.”

“That’s a bad thing?” When she starts chewing her lip, I add, “Anni, it’s a party. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m always worried with you.”

I flash a sarcastic grin. “Which is why you’re getting premature gray hairs.”

Annika gasps, her free hand patting her curls as Ajani steps into the room.

---