Page 47 of How to Date a Prince

“I know you don’t want to see me, but?—”

“What’s going on?” I fold my arms tight across my chest, suddenly aware I’m in a fuchsia T-shirt and gold-and-white tiger PJ bottoms.

But Thomas just stares without comment on my wardrobe. “You have to come right now. It’s important?—”

“You’re starting to really scare me—” I glance over at Alyse again. She’s frowning.

“It’s your pottery,” Thomas blurts. “Someone’s ruined it.”

“What?”

Thomas isn’t making any sense. He stares at me, wide-eyed.

“I tried to see if I could catch whoever did this, but they’re long gone.” Thomas’ words fall over each other in a rush. He’s breathless, presumably from running, flushed. “I know you don’t want to see me, and you’re upset about being caught together. But you have to come.”

“Stop talking. Wait.” God knows if anyone’s awake at this hour to hear this conversation, though I’m supposed to have my own wing. At last, I turn to find my Adidas shoes and a light jacket against the night’s chill. “What time is it?”

“After 1:00 a.m.”

“And what exactly are you doing up? How do I knowyoudidn’t do this?” I gesture at him.

Thomas instantly frowns. “I would never! And I resent being accused.” His tone is cool. “Let’s go, and you’ll see for yourself.”

“Fine.” We leave with Alyse in tow as we hurry out onto the estate’s grounds by flashlight, heading down the winding path that eventually leads to the pottery bothy. We run most of the way.

This could be a total setup.

Alyse makes us stop up the trail, going first to check for risks. She wouldn’t be setting me up, though, I reason. Finally, she gives the all clear as Thomas and I stand awkwardly near each other, not speaking. He leads the way to the entry. I’m right on his heels.

I push the door open, and my eyes widen as I try to make sense of what I’m seeing in the low light. I go to flip the switch, which clicks uselessly. The dead silence tells me the generator that ordinarily powers the light has been cut.

“Careful.” Thomas’ hand rests on my shoulder, warm and comforting. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the light, casting a small glow over the unexpected chaos of overturned furniture. But more than anything else—the tableware I set aside to dry has been knocked to the ground, shattered.

“Oh my God.” I stare.

The damage is done, irreversible.

“Turn your light over here so I can find the plug to the generator?” I demand. He obliges, which gives me a chance to fumble through the cords and connections. We’re soon rewarded by both the hum of the generator and the warm glow of the rigged-up overhead lighting.

The unfortunate part is… well, there’re a few unfortunate parts, but the light cast over the ruins of my impromptu studio show in unflinching light what’s been done: the wooden trays with pots thrown to the floor with clay pieces everywhere, the potter’s wheel knocked over, tools tossed as well.

I reach to flip a chair back up with shaking hands, but Thomas catches my arm. He shakes his head. “Leave it,” he says, frown lines tight around his mouth. “Those fuckers should have given you a lock on the door. And they need to see what’s happened in the morning.”

“Do you think this is part of the show?”

Thomas scowls. “This isn’t meant to be a sabotage challenge, Auggie.”

“I can’t say. I don’t know much about reality TV. Except people seem to like drama. Drives ratings, I hear.” I’m numb at first, and then my shoulders slump. “What’s the point of this all, anyway?”

“Aren’t you angry?” Thomas considers me. He practically vibrates with fury, a crease between his eyebrows. “I’m fucking livid. Who would dare ruin beautiful things? Or come into your space?”

“I—I should go home, Thomas,” I say unsteadily. My eyes well up with tears. Roughly, I brush them away before he can see. Thank God for the low light. “Clearly, I don’t belong here.”

“This is such a violation of your space.” Thomas is indignant. “Who would have the balls to do this? You can’t quit. They have to get fired.”

“Does it matter? The damage is done. Someone has to go home this week anyway, may as well be me. It makes it easier for everyone else. Probably it’s someone upset over me staying last week instead of Mark.”

“Fuck, Auggie—no way.” Thomas shakes his head, standing in the midst of everything. “That’s bullshit, sorry.”

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