Page 57 of How to Date a Prince

Nothing good will come of this.

Naturally, my next step is to program his number into my phone.

And I text:

Fraternizing with the enemy is strictly forbidden according the rules of Renaissance Man.

My phone lights up a moment later.

So what’re you doing messaging me then?

Someone sitting by the phone by any chance? I thought you’d be busy trying to bring me down… x

I can’t resist throwing that in.

Hey, it buzzed. Can’t blame me for looking. You started it. And I only try to bring you down during the work week between 9 to 5.

Fair. Also, why did you give me your number?

Of course, I have some very good ideas about why he has given me his number. I’m eager to explore these ideas—with my mouth. There’s a long pause. I can see him typing for a while. A smile stretches across my lips as my phone lights up, and I flop back into the cushions on my bed.

Why did you message me? For an interrogation?

To see what you’re doing, obvs. x

I’m texting you. Obvs.

I laugh with delight.

Tonight, I mean. x

O rly? Why do U care?

Looking for plans, actually. You may be in them. x

Bold, YRH.

You can say no, of course. A reasonable man would. xxxx

What if I say yes?

Then we’re going out. x

There’s another long pause. Then he’s typing and typing. I groan, flopping back into the cushions as I wait for him to finish his essay. Finally, I’m rewarded with an address, a code, the name Jesse, and 9 p.m.

See you then. Axxx

* * *

I dress for the night appropriately in a loose silver sequin top, equally flowing pink trousers, Gav’s hat, and my tortoiseshell sunglasses, along with a stack of bracelets and boots. I toss on a zip-in hoodie and leather jacket over the whole ensemble and pack a pair of statement glasses. Thankfully, there’s air-conditioning in the car.

As planned, I have a driver take me to the address, which of course turns out to be a Golden Hotel and, more specifically, the entry for the private residences. I step out of the car, hands in my pockets as I approach the concierge and ask for Jesse. The concierge allows access to the private elevator.

When the doors open on the forty-fourth floor, there’s Thomas, looking amused, and then his face lights up in a grin. I step out of the lift, give him a broad smile, and spin in return. For his part, he’s wearing a silk patterned T-shirt that shows off his muscles to full effect and black trousers and shoes.

“Mm,” he says in frank admiration.

We stand face-to-face in a white marble entry. He reaches up to remove my sunglasses, and then I slide my arms around his neck to kiss him till I’m sure blood is pounding in both of our ears and quite possibly somewhere lower.

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