Page 40 of The Thing About My Prince
“I went to interview him.” She picks up her glass of red wine. “Have you been there?” she asks my parents.
They both huff, almost simultaneously, like why on earth would they ever consider traveling across the Atlantic unless it was absolutely necessary for royal duties?
“Oh, you should,” Lexi gushes. “It’s beautiful. And has the most mind-blowing view of the Empire State Building I’ve ever seen.”
“We loved it,” Sofia says before resting her hand on Jeremy’s arm. “We must go again soon.”
Jeremy nods. “As long as I can get cover at the stables, we’ll go whenever you like.”
They’re such the perfect picture of togetherness that I sometimes wonder if they’re taking the piss.
“What, exactly, were you going to interview my son about?” my mother asks. “We don’t much care for interviews.”
“Oh, the usual stuff.” Lexi waves her hand around. “British royal moving to America. The whys and wherefores and how he’s adjusting to life in the US. That kind of thing.”
“And when did thisarticlecome out?” My father spits out the word as if Lexi couldn’t possibly write anything worthy of the term, even though he’s never read a single word she’s published.
“Oh, it didn’t go ahead in the end.” Lexi picks up her knife and fork and slices a chunk of cauliflower in half. “After we’d spoken for a while, Oliver decided it probably wouldn’t be the best thing for the family if he did it. And he didn’t want to let anyone down.”
Of course it’s all a lie, but my heart swells with pride and admiration. There she goes again. Her mind is so fucking smart. And so fucking quick. She managed to come up with a story that not only gave them a verbal poke in the eye, but also made me look good.
And she didn’t have to do any of that.
Wow, that desire to have my mouth on hers has flooded right back again.
With all eyes on her, Lexi rests her knife on her plate like it’s performance art, switches the fork to her right hand, stabs the cauliflower, then slowly lifts it to her mouth.
“Hm,” my mother says, pushing her plate away as if also shunning the very idea that I might take any part of my inherited duty seriously.
“Lexi.” My sister uses her bright, must-create-family-harmony voice. “The stylist has sent me some greatsuggestions for a dress for you for the wedding. I must show them to you. And the hat and shoe choices are so cute.”
“Oh, thank y?—”
“She’s coming to the wedding?” My mother’s tone more befits a sentence likeYou just shat on my plate.
“Of course.” Sofia’s clearly distressed that her efforts to maintain harmony have had the opposite effect.
My mother closes her eyes and purses her lips. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”
Dad sinks his head into his hands.
Lexi shoots me a look out of the corner of her eye and, obviously sensing the cocktail of anger and frustration rising inside me, rests the tips of her fingers on my bicep. “It’s okay,” she says quietly.
And while I’m certain she couldn’t give a flying fuck about coming to the wedding, I’m not allowing anyone to exclude the person everyone believes is my serious girlfriend from an important family occasion. Because that means one day they’d do it to a real one, and I cannot allow that precedent to be set.
“I think there’s every need for it,” I say.
“Think of the press, Oliver,” my mother snips. “Think of your sister. This is her day, not yours. The only thing the media will care about is who themystery womanon your arm is, rather than how beautiful Sofia looks.”
Jeremy strokes the back of Sofia’s head with a proud smile, as if to emphasize that his bride will indeed be the most beautiful creature imaginable.
“I will be getting plenty of attention,” Sofia says. “To be honest, I could do with spreading it around a bit.” I’m certain her giggle is an effort to defuse the tension.
“If Sofia is happy to have my girlfriend at her wedding, then she’s coming.” Again I wrap my arm around Lexi and pull her toward me, more firmly this time, and I drop a full-blown kiss onto the top of her head. It smells of honey and a little bit of the plane’s leather headrests.
“Oh my God,” Mum says. “Craig, aren’t you going to say something about this?”
Having just shoved his mouth full of the remaining steak and potatoes on his plate, Dad isn’t really in a position to say anything about anything right now.
