Page 12 of Royally Rivalled

“Some bird,” I answered. “Some girl I ran into in the village. Entitled pain in the ass. I wanted to get a chance with Bianca, but she held me up. By the time I doubled back, that prat moved in, and I was a goner. So, I decided to drown my sorrows since I’d lost the battle anyway.”

Niall snickered and set my tea down to steep.

“Thanks, mate.”

“She’s not worth it,” Niall said. “Really. She’s not even that fit.”

He was lying. Shewasthat fit.

“I find her clever. I appreciate clever.”

“She’s not even that clever, Parker. No more or less clever than half the girls you ignore. You want her because she always leaves you hanging. She’s not interested and never will be, but that’s not a knock on you, mate. That’s just how the chips fall.”

My buddy was right, but it was hard to swallow that pill. I wanted her to want me. I’d pined over her for more than a year. Nothing! She ignored me. I had to listen to reason. Anything else was insanity.

“I’m too old for this shit,” I grumbled.

“You are. You’re a man with a solicitor. What man with a solicitor has time for this ridiculousness?”

I snickered. “Thanks, mate.”

I drank my tea and set forth to be better. I took a short, annoyingtrain ride to London. In transit, I prepared for a seminar I’d lead on a sheet of scrap paper. I should have brought my laptop with me. Instead, I stared out the window, kicking myself for what an asshole I looked like. I knew better in university. Now, I was a man who almost had a credential and was pining over some girl who used his affections as a chip to play to get the man she wanted. I needed a better perspective. I needed to stop thinking I could date.

nine

ASTRID

London shopping was divine—likenothing I’d ever seen before!

The gorgeous, expensive clothing racks filled me with their colours, textures, and glamorous fits. I remembered attending a polo match with Alexandra before she married Rick, where we’d fawned over the British royals and their Norwegian cousins. They were glamorous, elegant, and impossibly well-heeled. I wanted people to say the same about me. At the time, I rarely got to choose anything I wore. Hell, I rarely got to leave the house! With newfound freedom, I longed to reinvent myself.

“Travers,” Amara said. “Hot new brand.”

“What?” I asked.

She nodded at the dress in my hands. “That’s the designer.”

Amara picked up the tag, displaying the 800-quid price tag. I baulked.

“So spendy.” I set it down and backed away.

She picked it back up.

“What? You have about 100k in Hermes luggage sitting in yourroom waiting to be unpacked. You own a Birkin bag. Darling, you are aprincess. Live a little!”

I grimaced. I understood more about political economy than I did about my pocketbook or the cost of things. I have an allowance now, but I have never spent it. It came as a grant from the estate. My sister doled it out to all over the age of 18. That meant me for now. Beyond that, Rick and Alexandra spoiled us mercilessly as if we were their own. The bag was a going-away present.

My friend urged, “Try it on! You know you want to!”

I relented. “Fine, sure.”

The dress was beautiful. It was a nice red hue. The soft fabric felt lovely against my skin. It lookedmadefor me. My curves had never been hugged so well. Yes, I had to buy it.

“What would I wear it for, though?” I asked.

“A date. You’ll have one eventually!”

“As if!” I giggled. “A date? Meh.”

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