Page 83 of Prince of the Palisades

“She reached out to one of your mom’s old professors to request a visit,” Luc explains. “They talked for hours.”

The next photo is a side-by-side: College Mom and Annika now, both wearing cardinal-and-gold sweatshirts, posing in front of the fountain outside Doheny Memorial Library.

“The princess might’ve mentioned that she hoped you’d spend more time visiting places your mom loved.”

“Might’ve?” I tease.

Another quiet chuckle. “I haven’t been around Her Majesty much, but I can see it. How much you’re alike. She’s a fighter. She takes advantage of every moment. That didn’t come from being the queen, you know. She was someone before that.”

Cautiously, I trace a finger over Mom’s curls, her expressive eyebrows. This version of my mom didn’t quit. She never let anyone stop her.

“Sometimes,” I whisper, “I wish I was normal. Like, if my papa had abdicated and we grew up here instead. Had real friends. Went to a boring school, lived a boring teen life, fell in—”

I stop. If Luc notices me blushing, he doesn’t comment.

“Am I wrong for that?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “But would you be who you are now?”

“Have youmet me?”

He grins. “What’s stopping you from being that boyandthis one?”

“Um, the crown. Obligation. Tradition and rules—”

“Again, no disrespect, but the prince I know doesn’t give a shit about any of that.”

I fling my arms around, exasperated. “And look where we are! Stuck in America.”

“You keep saying that like it’s bad.”

I chew my lip. It’s not. Ilikeit here. The house and the swaying palm trees and the sun stretching high above the Pacific. Willow Wood and no uniform policies and the fresh, salty air while sitting in the courtyard.

A cozy café and funnel cakes and sunset-pink hair.

“One LA boy has you this gone?” Luc says.

He did. He does. But now he’s just another casualty of the life I was born to live.

Absently, I swipe to the next photo on Luc’s phone. It’s him and Anni in front of the famous Trojan Shrine. Luc’s flexing his bicep. Annika’s laughing, arms hooked around his neck.

“That’scute,” I coo.

Luc locks his phone, repeatedly clearing his throat. “It’s—uh. So. Well.”

His stammering is interrupted by a clear, confused voice from the doorway.

“Why is Ajani cleaning scorch marks out of the oven?” Annika asks. “And what are you two talking about?”

Luc abruptly stands. “Nothing, Your Highness.” Annika’s eyebrow arches high when he bows. “Should I order dinner?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Strides right past her, mumbling to himself.

Annika stares at me expectantly. I shrug. All this talking and story-sharing andfeelingshave left me starved.

I shout after Luc, “No tacos!”

15

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