Page 60 of The Thing About My Prince
“My what?” she says, eyes firmly skyward.
“Don’t act dumb. What’s your biggest fear?”
“The book is about you, not about me.”
“Sure, but maybe I’m interested to know. For my own reasons.” My own reasons including that she might be the most fascinating and captivating person I’ve ever met, and I can’t stop wanting to find out every single little thing about her.
With a loud, dramatic yawn she rolls over, away from me, curling up with the shape of her backside under the covers facing in my direction.
“Suddenly very, very tired. Can barely keep my eyes open,” she says softly. “But feel free to stay there to sleep if you’d be warmer and more comfortable.”
My heart jolts. And I can’t figure out if that’s because the invitation is a surefire sign that she trusts me too. Or if it’s because I’m afraid that if I stay here I won’t be able to trust myself. Or if it’s because lying here next to Lexi, doing nothing other than sleeping, might be one of the greatest experiences of my life. Because, if that’s the case, where do you go after that?
But my life has been about nothing if it’s not been about taking chances.
So I turn onto my side, my rear end facing hers, and pull the heavy covers over me, along with what is possibly the biggest sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LEXI
The small gathering of people, maybe forty, tops, in the entrance of the new respite wing of the children’s hospice issues a polite smattering of applause when Oliver congratulates the staff on the great work they do.
He’s standing at a lectern in front of a plain white wall that has a set of miniature curtains covering the commemorative plaque he’s here to unveil.
Off to the side are the CEO and the director of medical services, who’ve already made their speeches.
Oliver started strong, with a joke about being happy to be home from the US because at least he can get a good cup of tea, which got a genuine laugh, before moving on to the serious and emotional mission of the center.
We were given a tour when we arrived. I hung well back—it’s one thing to pretend to be someone’s girlfriend in situations where it doesn’t really matter, but dishonesty seems wrong in an environment like this.
It also gave me a chance to watch him doing the thing he was raised to do and see how much of a natural and genuinepeople person he is, how everyone instantly warms to him, and how he makes the kids laugh.
I’d always imagined this stuff was the royal equivalent of politicians kissing babies just for photo ops. But no, Oliver’s sincere interest and care for these people is written all over his face, and I doubt he’s that good an actor.
How did this man ever become a pariah to a large part of this country?
Why can’t people see he’s the most big-hearted, warm human they could ever wish to meet? Because that’s not what sells tabloids, I guess.
The reporters who beat this man up with their words might as well have been kicking a golden retriever puppy—a bouncy, happy, extra cute one—that makes the bed all warm and cozy purely by being on the other side of it.
Was it weird that we slept next to each other last night? Was it weird that I suggested it?
I just felt bad for him squishing himself onto that chaise, which must be uncomfortable.
And it wouldn’t have been right to kick him out of his own bed after he’d relaxed and loosened up enough to talk about how his mother was treated as badly by the press as he is now.
I will never understand how a woman who’s been through that can’t want to protect and defend her son from the same thing. How can she throw him to the wolves and tell him that he has to suck it up, like she did?
He was only a teenager when that all started, for God’s sake.
Anyway, for some reason I had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. I guess the jet lag must be dragging on longer than I expected.
“This new respite wing is a vital necessity for a lot of families,” Oliver tells the gathering. “Children who are usually looked after at home can stay for up to two weeks to givetheir carers a much-needed break to recharge, spend time with other loved ones, and maybe even get away for a little while.”
It’s funny seeing him in a suit and tie. Not funny as in unattractive. Absolutely not. Is there anything hotter on a man than a tailored suit?
Well, yes. The blanket he wrapped around himself when he climbed off the chaise and onto the bed last night probably has the edge. Even in the dark I could make out the small patch of bare chest peeking out, and the muscular shape of his bare legs.
