Page 85 of The Thing About My Prince
Maybe there is a slight glimmer of hope there after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LEXI
BECCA
Fuck, sorry, just saw this.
Finally, thank God. It’s been over an hour since I texted her to tell her I’d slept with Oliver.
My shoulders, which have been up around my ears, drop with relief.
ME
Emergency. Time to talk?
My phone immediately vibrates with a video call.
“Where the hell are you?” Becca asks. “It looks like a greenhouse.”
“That’s because I’m in a greenhouse.”
“I realize this isn’t the point, or even close to it, but why?”
“Because I needed to get out of that house. Well, that castle. I had no idea a place that enormous could be so fucking suffocating. Plus it’s bugged. So I came out to walk around the gardens. But then it got cloudyand the sun went away. And I didn’t have a jacket with me. Then I got cold. And I decided that while I waited to hear from you I’d duck in here. And I’ve been pacing up and down between the herbs and the…whatever the stalks are in those pots of dirt over there ever since.”
“Dude, have you had seventeen espressos?”
“Nope. Just wired on the fact I slept with a subject. And while I haven’t checked the company handbook, I’d imagine it’s on the list of fireable offenses.”
“When did the sex happen?”
“Why? Is there a time of day that would make it less fireable?”
She tilts her head and gives me a schoolteacher look. “When, Lexi?”
“Last night.”
“And why did it happen?”
“Because I was interviewing him. And he told me a story about his nanny taking him to a waterfall.”
“Um, okay. That must have been one hell of a story.”
“And we were sitting on the bed, and it was dark. And it felt all intimate. And earlier he’d told a really sick little girl he was going to send her and her dad on a trip to see polar bears. And he’s truly nice. And not an asshole. He’s kind and thoughtful and generous. And smart and funny. And hot. God, Becca, he’s really fucking hot.”
“Okay. Take a breath.” As soon as her slow, calm voice enters my ears, I realize how fast I’m talking. Which is roughly in time with how fast I’m pacing.
“I can get on board with the kind, smart, funny, and hot reasons,” she says. “The waterfall, nanny, sick girl, and polar bears are a bit confusing, but we can come back to them later. Right now, my main question is, why the fuck were you interviewing a hot prince with a hot British accent on a bed in the dark? Did it not cross your mind that that might be asking for trouble?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even remember. It’s just how it happened. It felt like a totally natural, comfortable thing to do.”
“And I’m guessing this was the four-poster bed.”
“Does it matter? Does that make it better? Or worse?”
“Just figuring out the vibes,” she says.
