Page 95 of How to Date a Prince

“I’m meant to have one? I know we have someone who handles our media requests… I mean, I do live a sheltered life, but I’m fairly certain most people don’t have a personal publicist.”

“It’s not the same,” Laura informs me with authority. “You need one to shape public perception of you. You’re a celebrity whether you like it or not. People are thirsty, Auggie. You’re hot. Also, you’re quite fashionable for a royal. I’m trying to tell it as it is. No offense, I mean.”

“Um, none taken?” Mortified, I look down at my salad. I chase a caper around and around my dish. In the end, I catch it and a few arugula leaves. I shrug, trying to digest both the meal and the publicity machine and how to respond without offending her. “As they say, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll send you the names of a couple of the publicists I use. They’ll help you design a public profile, tell you how to target the press, control your social media. Everything.” She gives a decisive nod. “And then we can go out again to discuss once you’ve had a chance to review?”

“That’s very kind, but?—”

“Nonsense,” she waves me off. “It’s my pleasure.”

My heart sinks as she texts me with an authoritative chime from across the table announcing our next meet-up.

“Second date, can’t wait to see you again.” Laura gazes at me fondly from across the table. The candlelight dances between us, a slight draught in the room. “Maybe we can have a viewing party together of your first episode ofRenaissance Man.”

I nod. Then, I lower my head and finish eating. I may as well go along with it. Katie’s dating someone officially, so there goes our marriage backup plan. And Thomas now has Adam the Influencer in his life, like what we had never happened. It didn’t, officially. We were each other’s secret. So, I may as well go out with Laura again for episode one because at least that’s safe. That’ll buy me time to think of how to get out of any more dates—and before I spill my heart out on national television.

ChapterThirty-Four

On the day of theRenaissance Manviewing with Lady Laura, I realize I would rather eat my own shoes than watch myself on screen again. Even my old paddock boots. Going to the studio was strange enough, but imagining the final cut with all of the out-of-context statements is more than I want to wrap my mind around. My brain is tired enough as it is. Who knows what Gisele and the production team have done with my confessionals. They can probably splice things a million different ways. After all, they’re not interested in the truth but in getting viewers.

At least Anne is away at uni again with Gav, who’s starting his Master of Law degree, which only leaves my father roaming around the palace. He bubbled with excitement at breakfast about the premiere, and when I turned him down on his invitation to watch the first episode ofRenaissance Mantogether because of my date with Lady Laura, he could have shrieked with excitement at the prospect of me spending time with a woman fitting his specifications.

Tonight, I wear a hand-knit mohair jumper in muted color blocking over dark jeans and boots and a long, lightweight black wool coat against the blustery early fall night. I drive my SUV over to Laura’s in Mayfair, followed by my security team in another Land Rover, who park nearby.

I go up to the entry and am soon buzzed in, and I go up to the fourth floor, where Laura’s flat is located. She answers her door, beaming at me. “Come in!”

Her long hair is down, loose around her shoulders, and she’s in a green zip-front dress with a babydoll cut and high waistline with a full skirt. We exchange a hug and air kisses that are only somewhat awkward, as opposed to full-blown awkward. Which for me, frankly, is victory.

“Your cologne is wonderful.”

“Thank you. And these are for you.” The best way to deal with compliments is to create a diversion. I present her with a stunning bouquet of flowers, which she coos over.

“Let me put these in water.”

I follow her to the kitchen once I hang my coat on a hook in the entry. Her flat is compact but elegant, with art and photos lining the wall. The room is decorated with a bit of an edgy style, which makes sense since she’s my age, after all.

The kitchen is small but perfectly functional. Laura finds a vase. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been looking forward to this night since our first date.”

Our first date. It sounds like a death knell.Cheer up, I tell myself,you need to play the part. “As have I.”

“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” She reaches up to me, sliding her hand along my jaw and kissing my cheek.

“Well, I wouldn’t necessarily go that far…”

She laughs with delight, then arranges the flowers in a vase. She struggles, frowning. “I can never get this right.”

“Allow me?”

She stands back, and I arrange the bouquet for her, something I’m honestly happy to do. “There.”

“That’s so much better than what I did.” She laughs. “Right. I have wine and popcorn and a list of places we can order takeaway from if you’re hungry. Like a curry.”

“Whatever you like.”

We end up putting together a charcuterie board from the shopping she had done earlier in the day. Which is about the extent of my culinary skills, let’s be honest. But I bite my tongue on any mention of foreshadowing for tonight’s show, and instead, I snip grapes into small, manageable bits, and she fans out cheese slices and cured meats and crackers. Food preparation—assembly—is safer than conversation, and the activity is a great distraction.

Everything is set out on a couple of trays, and we go into the sitting room and place them down on the coffee table. Before long, we’re settled into the plush sofa, and the room is lit with several lamps on low for ambient lighting. She settles in beside me.

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