Page 3 of The King's Secret Baby

Taking a deep breath, I go to the front desk and introduce myself. Heart hammering against my chest, I catch my reflection in a mirror and quickly adjust a stray flyaway.

It took me forever to get ready this morning, since everything I tried on just seemed wrong. I want to look good for the prince, but not like I’m trying too hard.

Which I understand is a little crazy. I’m a professional, and so is he. I shouldn’t be undone to this degree. I mean, he is extremely famous, and… extremely attractive.

Attractive enough to make anyone lose their head.

But not me. I know where my priorities are, know what side my bread is buttered on. Thanks to a few strokes of luck and a whole lot of dedication, I’m in my third year at one of the most prestigious news outlets in the world. A job like mine doesn’t leave time for getting caught in fantasies about European royalty.

“Right this way, Ms. Warren,” the concierge says, as he shows me to a private meeting room.

Inside, sunlight streams through the windows overlooking a garden courtyard. A table with two chairs sits in the center, an elegant tea service laid out. I’m fifteen minutes early, which to me is right on time.

“Thank you.” I set my purse on a chair.

The door opens behind the concierge, and I stiffen. Is Luca here already?

But it’s not him. It’s a woman in a suit.

“The royal security team will need to check you as a safety precaution,” the concierge says.

“Oh. Right,” I say. “Of course.”

I’ve been through security scans before, but never anything this involved. The woman pats me down, making sure that I don’t have anything hidden beneath my clothes. Once she’s satisfied that I’m good to go, she and the concierge both leave the room.

I check my recording app and notes, heart pounding. This is my chance to show what I can really do as a journalist. Luca’s been kept very sheltered by his father King Girard, rarely giving interviews. Landing this exclusive will prove I deserve more high-profile stories. And not just atThe Morning Star. With an article like this under my belt, all the outlets will be chomping at the bit to hire me. They’ll?—

My phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look down, smiling when I see it’s my best friend Millie. I answer, already prepared for the familiar background of her kids shrieking as they play and bicker.

“Hey! I’m just waiting on Prince Luca now,” I tell her excitedly.

“I still can’t believe you’re interviewing royalty!” She laughs. “You have to tell me what he smells like, okay? Make sure you take notes on that.”

“Millie.” I sit down at the table and pick up one of the tiny sandwiches. There’s some sort of green paste in it — I’m not even sure what. “This article is about his role as prince. Not about what cologne he uses.”

“Yeah, but it’s for the readers, Hailey. They want to knoweverything.” Millie’s mischievous tone rings clear through the line. “Make it a whole sensory experience.”

I laugh, even as my heart races with nerves. “Okay, okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” She sounds satisfied, and I can imagine her smug grin. Millie loves vicarious thrills, and there’s nothing more thrilling than a romance with a prince, even if it’s all in her head.

“I should go,” I say, checking the time. “He’ll be in soon.”

“You’re gonna do great.”

I laugh. “Thanks. Wish me luck!”

We hang up, and I take a deep breath and check my makeup in my powder compact’s mirror. Time to focus. This interview could change everything. I just have to stay cool and get him to open up.

There’s the sound of footsteps outside of the door, and my breath hitches in my throat.Here we go.

I stand up, ready to greet Prince Luca with my most professional smile. But as I do, my heel catches on the leg of the table. I stumble, knocking into the tea service and sending it crashing to the floor. Silverware clatters, tea splashing across the carpet.

“Oh, my God!” I gasp, immediately dropping to my knees.

My face burns with embarrassment as I frantically gather spilled teacups and scattered spoons. This is not the polished impression I imagined.

Behind me, an amused voice speaks. “Please, allow me to help.”

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