Page 109 of How to Date a Prince

She gets up, leans into me, and we do a selfie together. “Better. Now, on your own. And look happy. And like you’re having fun. Hold your phone like this.”

“Happy? Fun?”

‘Unless you want to be the moody, sulking prince?’

“Kind of appealing, actually. I’m into gothic vibes. Let me find a suitable moor to haunt and pout on. Or a turret in a pinch.” There’s a strong appeal in windswept, open places. Nature doesn’t give a shit about royalty.

“No. Selfie. Go.” She stands with her hands on her hips, looming.

I start laughing because this is so ridiculous. I take a photo, tentative. I frown and try again. “You’re as bad as Lady Laura on this point.”

“Another,” she instructs, waving me off. “Take several. We’ll review.”

I don’t argue, doing as she tells me. I even blow a kiss, which makes her squeal with delight. She snatches my phone and scrolls through.

“Some good ones, surprisingly.”

“Hey, a minute ago, you said I was hot.”

“That was before the eaglet moment. My comment’s been redacted.”

I’m smiling. It’s been ages since I’ve had fun like this. Fun and I have an uneasy relationship. Usually, it leads to drinks, and drinks lead to mess. I make a pact to keep away from booze tonight.

“Definitely the kiss-blowing one. It’s adorbs. Also, you look very healthy and with color in your face. And happy. No one will think you’re on your deathbed if this goes public.”

“Is that what people think?”

“You’d be amazed. Some conspiracy theorists say you died in the accident and a couple of stunt doubles have taken your place.”

“Intriguing. I should have faked my death sooner.”

She shakes her head with sage experience behind her. “Now you need a caption.”

I groan. “Sounds dreadful.”

“I know, the worst part. Let’s see: Happy Friday night from London. Xoxo-signed-Auggie-who’s-definitely-not-a-creeper.”

“You’re not typing that!” I dive for my phone, laughing deep from the core of my stomach as she pulls it away. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve had such a lighthearted night. Not since before the accident.

Not since Thomas.

“Victory!” I cry when I get my phone back. “I’ll leave the first part, but the second definitely wouldn’t get past our press secretary.”

“Throw in a couple of hashtags. You know what those are, right?”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I may not be on social media, but I haven’t entirely been living under a rock.”

“Hard to say with you. How about #hotprince #hottotrot #blowme?—”

“You’re so fired.” I laugh, shaking my head, keeping my phone away from her as she reaches again. “Lady Laura, by the way, thought I should have my own publicist. Imagine.” I enter #RenaissanceMan #realitytv #London #princelife. “Now what?”

“You post. Done. And follow a couple of people so you don’t look like a loser.”

I post, laughing again, then hold my breath. “If this is a disaster, it’s your fault.” I search for her, but she’s already found me, and I follow her back. I find Anne and Gav and a couple of others, including my cousins James and John. Feeling cheeky, I follow Thomas because then I can admire openly.

“Way to take personal responsibility.” Katie tsks at me.

“Are you sure this photo is appropriate?”

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