Page 53 of How to Date a Prince

He flicks an eyebrow up. “It’s only clay, right? What’ve you got to lose? I mean, sorry to say, you’re in last place.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” But a hint of a smile curls my lips.

“It’s clay, not brain surgery, right?” Thomas reasons. “If you could make anything, what would you do?”

“I’d sculpt. But I don’t know if there’s the right sort of clay for that… I mean, I do have water-based clay, at least, but still.”

“You said you’re not firing anything this week, right? Does it matter?”

“Well…” I hold his gaze, unwavering. “I’ll sculpt, then.”

Thomas grins, then quickly smothers it behind his hand before anyone sees.

Deliberately clattering his plate on the metal tray, he says loudly, “You don’t even have a chance, man. I don’t see why you’re bothering. It’d be easier to quit.” He gets up with an obnoxious scrape of his chair over the tile floor.

“Fuck you, Thomas.” My voice rings out in the suddenly quiet room.

Heads turn, murmurs rise. And only I can see the sparkle in Thomas’ eye before he turns to walk away.

Fuck caution: my new mantra.

Thomas is right—I have nothing to lose. Plus, it’ll make the producers happy, going high stakes and full-bore high drama.

I’m all in.

ChapterTwenty

After lunch, I head back to the studio, purposeful. And naturally, with a camera crew in tow. The heat is more Mediterranean today than English summer. Everyone sweats.

“I promise we won’t get in your way,” Rose says, who leads this crew. But at least Colin and Gisele are nowhere in sight. They’re doubtless off creating drama elsewhere this afternoon.

“I don’t know how exciting this will be,” I tell her. “For your filming.”

“Pretend we’re not here.”

I have to laugh at the subtlety of a film crew in the equivalent of a bothy hut, but there we are. I rummage around looking for wire that I can use as armatures, sculpting tools, anything that will do. I return to the house long enough to ransack the kitchen for supplies with my own personal camera escort. I will say they are getting some unique footage.

“So,” says Rose, frowning as we’re back at the workbench in the shed, “I’m not an expert, but this doesn’t look like what you did for the tableware you were making.”

“That’s because I’m no longer making tableware.”

“Oh?” She looks startled. “What are you doing now?”

“Sculpture, I’m afraid.”

“Sculpture!” Rose pushes purple hair away from her eyes. “Right. Why the change?”

“Time,” I say grimly. “And I thought it might be interesting.”

“What will you sculpt?”

From the corner of my eye, I can see a crew member furiously texting. Likely reporting to Gisele that I’ve gone rogue. Good. Let them deal with it.

“A figure. A portrait bust, actually. The rest will be a surprise.”

“Won’t that take a while?”

“Yes. But who needs sleep? The piece isn’t huge, anyway.”

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