Page 53 of The Thing About My Prince
“Yes, we’ll see you at dinner,” I tell my mother.
Then I turn to follow my pretend girlfriend, who’s now almost as much of a disgrace in my parents’ eyes as I am, toour room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
LEXI
What the fuck is it with Princess and Earl Whatstheirfaces that they have to be so damned obnoxious the whole time?
I thought British people were supposed to be the epitome of manners and that the royal family was raised with ludicrously high standards of anachronistic etiquette. Giles wanted me to sleep in a separate wing of the house to maintain decorum, for fuck’s sake. And yet these people can’t even be pleasant. Talk about double standards.
As I re-enter the bedroom, my phone beeps on the desk.
Oliver catches up with me while I’m reading the message.
JULIAN
For God’s sake Alexandra, you’re not supposed to BECOME the story. You’re also not supposed to become the subject’s girlfriend. You’re supposed to be a ghost, remember? I don’t want to have to pull you off the job because you’ve blown your cover.
Guess the social media mud posts have gotten back tohim. Shit, I hadn’t even thought about our publishers seeing a video of a silly local tradition in a tiny Scottish village. Never mind the fact that it could jeopardize me working on the book, thereby rendering me jobless completely.
ME
I had to pretend to be his girlfriend to come on this trip with him. And I had to come on this trip with him to have any hope of meeting the book’s ridiculous deadline.
I toss my phone back down, emotion rising in my chest.
At least I can make use of my upset, frustration, and worry about the future of my career by turning it into tears for my bug audience—because if I were really Oliver’s girlfriend, I’d definitely be upset by how his folks just treated me.
“Your parents hate me, don’t they?” I move closer to the nightstand vase as I exaggerate the sobs. “They think I’ve let them down.”
God, if I keep this up, I’ll struggle to figure out where the line is between the real me and the pretend me.
“Hey, hey.” Oliver’s hand is on my arm, pulling me against him. “They have attitudes from the Dark Ages.”
His sweater is soft against my cheek. Maybe cashmere. And smells of fresh laundry with a hint of sexy man thrown in.
It’s cozy and warm. Solid and reassuring. If I were truly his girlfriend and he was doing this, I would be a lucky girlfriend indeed.
He strokes his hand over my hair. “I’m here for you. Totally here for you. I’m the reason you got dragged into all this. It’s all my fault. You asked for none of it.”
His words sound like they come from the very depths of the heart that is beating against my ear. Like he really means it.
Damn, he’s good at this. I tip my head back to look at him and give him a thumbs-up.
“What?” His brows pinch for a second before relaxing with realization. “Oh.” His grip on me loosens as a twinge of disappointment settles on his handsome face. “Yes. Of course.”
Did he think I was honestly upset about his parents? Was he actually concerned and genuinely trying to comfort me?
He steps back, pushing his fingers through his hair, and as he turns away, I detect the merest hint of pink in his cheeks.
He was, wasn’t he? I do believe I just experienced what it’s like to be comforted by Prince Oliver when you’re crying because his asshole parents and staff have upset you.
And if he’d been my real boyfriend, it would indeed have been very soothing. It would be easy to tolerate that level of snuggling for several hours at a time.
And if I’d been his real girlfriend, as soon as he’d stroked my hair, I don’t doubt I would have pushed him back on the bed and straddled those firm thighs.
But I’m not.
