Page 9 of Royal Charmer
I take some mental notes, focusing anywhere but the lonely place setting. There’s an enormous arrangement of cheerful yellow and white flowers in the center of the table. That’s nice. The candlelight from silver candelabras on either side of the floral arrangement is very dim, flattering to all (if there were anyone else here to observe), and extremely romantic. I instantly imagine a seduction scene, beginning with my couple feeding each other and ending with the heroine bent over the table, her gown bunched in the center of her back as the hero thrusts into her, bringing them both to the heights of ecstasy. I flush with heat. My imagination is just that good.
Well, that’s reassuring. I’ve still got the romance-author touch, though it’s not quite a story. I search along the wall for the light switch in the room. Turns out I can only take so much romance solo. There, that’s better. Light from the overhead chandelier brightens up the space. Okay, research. The room is quite beautiful. There’s wood paneling and, on closer look, this table is definitely an antique. My place setting is elaborate with the royal china, shiny polished silverware, and a crystal goblet. I snap a picture with my phone and swallow over the tightness in my throat. It’s hard to be a badass.
Maybe I’ll eat and read on my phone. I did download a travel guide to London. That’s my next stop for a book signing. My publisher covered the airfare out here for the book signing, which is how I was able to afford the honeymoon. Yes, I paid for the honeymoon myself, using my advance for the book I’ve yet to write. Mason was still paying off his grad school loans and didn’t have the funds. Or so he said. I’m not inclined to believe anything he told me at this point. I take my seat, pull out my phone, and freeze. There’s a voicemail from Mason. I turn the phone off vibrate so I’ll hear it next time and can decline the call right away. A text pops up.
Mason:Where are you? I want to talk.
Riley thinks you took the honeymoon trip by yourself. Did you?
My chest constricts like it always does when I think of them together. I swipe a shaky finger over the texts and delete them. Then I delete the voicemail too, not even bothering to listen to it. It takes a lot for me to open up enough to trust someone, and he betrayed that trust. So did Riley. The day after Mason called off the wedding, Riley showed up at my apartment, begging for forgiveness and hoping we could keep our friendship. Yeah, right! I told her I never wanted to speak to her again. Her betrayal cut even deeper than Mason’s after twelve years of friendship. She texted me three times after she begged for forgiveness, urging me to call her. Some sick part of me likes that she feels remorse. She should, and I hope it lingers like a festering wound. Who me, bitter?
I swear from this point on, I will only associate with one hundred percent honest people. I’ll make new people in my life sign something, like a prenup (that covers friendship and lovers), before the relationship is official.
I drop my head in my hand. That’s just sad. See what you two drove me to? I need an honesty contract to have any kind of relationship!
Another text pops up, and my heart beats a little faster. Lucas!
I’ve got you in my contacts now, so you don’t need to say It’s Alice every time. Burning stuff sounds good to me. Where are you?
Maybe I should just skip dinner and go straight to burning stuff. I’m not feeling the solo-dining experience anyway. I could always grab something to eat later. Just then a servant enters, an older man with thinning white hair. He’s carrying a pitcher of water with lemon slices in it. I smile at him and text rapidly.
I’m in the formal dining room.
Lucas:Who else is there?
Me:An elderly gentleman. He’s pouring me some water.
Lucas:You’re dining alone with the servants?
That sounds about as lonely as I’m feeling. My thumbs fly over the keypad.
I’m thinking of leaving. This was the honeymoon dinner. It’s fine. I only got to my glass of water.
Lucas:Stay put. I’ll join you.
Oh! My stomach does a topsy-turvy flip. Oh my God, what if there was a picture of me and Lucas in the gossip rags and Mason and Riley saw it? #Badass #YouDidn’tBreakMeLosers
I am, perhaps, slightly vengeful.
Ah, well, my imagination is getting away from me again. It’s not like a gorgeous prince is after me. I invited him to join me for dinner earlier. I’m not into him beyond an appreciation for his kindness and his forearms. I’m off men, off relationships, all that jazz. Surely I can appreciate his romance-cover good looks without, um, any expectations. Certainly no forward moves on my part.
A PRINCE IS JOINING ME FOR DINNER IN THE FORMAL DINING ROOM!
Which is what I would text in all shouty caps to my former best friend, but instead it remains shouty in my head. Doesn’t lessen the excitement of the event. In fact, it makes it worse having it all bottled up in my head with nowhere to go.
I pace the room, too jittery to stay in my seat.
“Ma’am, would you like your first course now?” the elderly gentleman asks.
“Actually, Prince Lucas will be joining me. Could you bring another place setting?”
He straightens abruptly. “Very good.” He turns and leaves.
A few minutes later, there’s another servant setting a place across from mine. Then another servant files in, standing at attention nearby, along with an intimidating man dressed in black with a wireless earpiece. Security?
Oh-kay. I smile at the servant standing at attention, and he gives me a small nod. I smile at security too, but he remains stone-faced.
“I’m harmless,” I tell the security guy. “The only thing I kill is bugs, and I only do that if they enter my apartment. I just firmly believe they should stay in their natural habitat and out of mine.” I’m babbling because it’s really awkward to have security here as though I’m a risk to the prince’s safety. Me, a danger? I cry at dog-food commercials. Anyone would after watching the puppy grow up, eating different lifestyle levels of dog food, and you just know he’s going to die soon and his owner will be so sad. My empathy runs deep, which is what made me a good writer back in the day.
