Page 16 of The Thing About My Prince
“It’s—” She pauses to wipe her eyes. “Oh God. Hold on a minute.” She snatches a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blows her nose. “Yeah.” She’s as breathless as if she’d run a marathon. “That’s the one. Perfect for a royal wedding.”
Then she drops onto her back, hands on her stomach, and starts to laugh all over again.
After anotherfinaldrink at the Dead Skunk, I spiraled into a panic about what the hell I could possibly wear as Prince Oliver’s date to his sister’s wedding. And when we got home, Becca decided it was the greatest idea in the world to try on some of her clothes since she has way more dresses than I do. Not hard since I have two—a black-and-white-polka-dotted one for formal work events and a blue-and-white-striped shapeless T-shirt dress for running errands in the city in July and August when it’s too humid to bear anything with a waistband.
First, I tried to pull off her gorgeous pink floral floaty number that makes her look like she should be twirling in slow motion in a field of wildflowers during a golden sunset while dreaming up ideas for her latest poetry collection. But it made me look shapeless and ninety-four.
Then there was her super-classy houndstooth fitted number that looks like it’s a double-breasted coat but is actually a dress. Yeah, that thing was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.
So when it became clear that the mission was a failure, Becca resorted to giving me increasingly ridiculous and inappropriate outfits to try on.
And this is definitely the winner.
I collapse onto the bed on my back next to her as we both heave those long breaths you get when your body’s too exhausted from laughing that you can’t laugh any more even though you want to.
“Oh damn.” I drop an arm over my eyes. “I’ll have to tell my parents where I’m going in case the press gets a photo of Prince Oliver and his mysterious new girlfriend.”
“You’re going to blow the NDA with them too?”
“God, no. But it’s only the book I can’t mention, so I’ll tellthem I’m going to Scotland to do an in-depth interview with him for work. That’ll cover it.”
“They’ll be excited about that.”
“Maybe. But they’ll also be too busy working, or too tired from working, to be excited for long.”
“What time is it?” Becca asks. “I have to break down the new ten-page article on an increase in teenage anxiety into a dozen ten-second videos first thing tomorrow.”
I roll onto my side and fumble for my bag on the floor. When I pull out my phone, there’s a text on it.
“Shit.” I bolt upright.
“What is it?” She props herself up on her elbows.
“Oliver.”
“Dude, you’re already so familiar you’ve dropped theprince, and he’s texting you?”
“He told me to drop theprince. And of course we exchanged numbers. We have a lot to coordinate and neither of us has an assistant.”
The second I’ve read his message my eyes close and my head drops forward, a smile instantly on my lips.
“What is it?”
Without lifting my head, I turn my phone to face her.
She reads the message out loud. “Hey, Superhero Lexi. My sister needs your dress and shoe size for the wedding stylist. If that’s classified info you don’t want me to know, here’s her number.”
“Now I feel ridiculous for thinking I could wear my, or your, clothes to the wedding. Of course they have a stylist.”
“And this is a cute-as-hell text,” Becca says.
“Yeah. And you know what, you’re right.” I fall onto my back again.“He is hot.”
CHAPTER SIX
OLIVER
Christ, I’ve been staring into this quarter-packed suitcase that’s lying on my bed for…God knows how long.
