Page 79 of Party Favors

He dated around a lot and I’d already lived with one womanizer and was in no hurry to repeat that particularly painful experience.

He’d let me know repeatedly that he wasn’t interested in a commitment, and I didn’t want to be one of many.

He hadn’t indicated any interest in me beyondfriendship and had, in fact, eagerly agreed when I’d told him I wanted us to be friends.

The last one was the one currently weighing most heavily on my mind. He was flirtatious and fun, but as far as I knew, he was that way with about half of New York City’s population.

It was then that my brain reminded me that I had been quiet for an unnatural length of time while I composed my list to keep myself in line.

I cleared my throat and said, “Then maybe you should pay your tour guide more if she’s so good at her job.”

He lifted up one of the cornettos and, with a wink, said, “That’s what the pastries are for.”

See? No deeper meaning. Just harmless flirtation. Nothing more.

I couldn’t let myself get caught up in him, even though I really, really wanted to. He was so sexy and kind and loved his dog and was smart and funny, and it was taking all of my self-control to not leap across this couch and make out with his face.

“The princess is arriving,” he said, pointing to the screen.

I’d been so caught up in my lustful impulses that I’d missed the rest of the royal family arriving for the wedding. Good thing I was recording this and could pore over everything later.

Princess Chiara arrived in a golden carriage pulled by white horses, like something out of a fairy tale. The door was opened outside the cathedral, and a footman assisted her in getting out of the carriage. She had on a big, princess-worthy wedding dress and a long white cape lined with faux fur. She was the fashion-loving member of her family, so it made sense that she’d arrive in so much style. Like all the other Monterran princesses before her—Kat, Lemon, Genesis, and Violetta—Chiara had a green sash around her waist.

“The green is for good luck,” I told Max. The wedding was probably the only thing that could distract me from wanting to kiss him. Princess Chiara looked so happy, and Nico was there to escort her up the stairs.Her father, the former king of Monterra, waited at the top for them in his wheelchair. He would be the one to bring her down the aisle.

I knew that her fiancé would wait for her by the altar, not turning around until she was standing next to him. The camera kept panning to his face, waiting for the moment when he would see his new bride. He looked excited and happy and very in love.

“How old is the princess?” Max asked.

“Twenty-two, the same age as me.”

“Isn’t that a little young to be getting married?”

What was it with this man and not wanting to settle down? Was he trying to send me signals, letting me know that he wasn’t interested and my brain should not be heading down the path it already was? “I guess when you find the right person, that sort of thing doesn’t really matter.”

“If I do get married, I think I’d be like, in my thirties.”

“That seems kind of arbitrary,” I told him. “If you met your soulmate, you’d be like, ‘Oh, sorry, it would be great to celebrate our love and make a lifetime commitment to you in front of all our friends and family but I can’t because I haven’t reached some imaginary cutoff that I’ve picked for myself.’”

“I guess you have a point.” I nearly missed the mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Of course I do.” I paused for a beat and then asked, “Have you been to a Monterran wedding? I’m really curious about what happens at the reception. They usually show the actual ceremony, but I have no idea what the next part is like.”

“There’s a lot of traditions. Pranks played by the wedding party on the newlyweds, specific dances, favorite dishes. In some places they cut up the groom’s tie and the guests buy a piece for luck, and all the money goes to the couple. Usually the bride and groom will break a glass vase, and every piece on the ground represents how many years they’ll be happily married. In the northern region some couples plant a pine tree that symbolizes their love. But the final toast is always the same—they’ll say per cent’anni. It’s a hope that their love will last for a hundred years.”

“Per cent’anni,” I repeated, liking the way it sounded.

We ate our food and watched the ceremony quietly. Chiara’s voice caught several times, like she was so in love with her soon-to-be husband that she couldn’t get the words out. I ate up every single second of it.

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