Page 55 of How to Date a Prince

Rubbing my eyes, I put my apron back on and pour a cup of tea. And I get back to work.

When the crew returns, they marvel at the sculpture. I run a hand through my hair, scratch at the hint of stubble along my jaw. There’s no time to preen for the cameras. They’re going to have to deal with the realities of an all-nighter, like I was back in uni all over again.

Except this time, there’s far more riding on this.

* * *

I work steadily through the morning. At 10:00 a.m., someone gives me a muffin. I’m not hungry. It’s pure adrenaline that’s got me going now and hyperfocus.

The sculpture really does look like my mum. I’m trying to polish this off as nicely as I can, given the tools that I have. But it’s amazing what someone can do with their fingers, cutlery, and a lot of determination. Plus, they did leave me a set of clay tools, though it’s not quite like the kit I’ve made up back at home.

When Gisele breezes in at noon, she stares from the sculpture to me and back again. “How the fuck did you pull this off?”

“No sleep,” I reply easily, like I sculpt figures out of thin air, like breathing. “That’s how. Also: language.”

She shakes her head in disbelief. I hide a smile because I can tell even she’s impressed.

“You have until 1:45 p.m.,” she says gruffly. “The call is for 2:00 p.m. in the ballroom.”

“I’ll be there on time,” I promise, chewing my lip as I work out fine details. Rose and the original crew are back. Even they don’t want to interrupt my working, clock watching as anxiously as I am. Every minute counts.

At last, I straighten with a sigh. My feet and my back ache, and my eyes burn from the lack of sleep. With care and help from the crew, we transport the bust to the house on its plywood base, carefully wrapped and boxed up.

“Go change,” Rose whispers to me when we reach the house. “Not only are you covered in clay, but we want to give the impression it took you all week to do this and not done in a single frantic bender.”

“I like your characterization of me. Much more authentic.” I grin. Without sleep, I’ve reached the giddy phase.

“Sorry, Your Royal Highness. Just—go.”

I go. And I find something to wear, perfectly benign cinnamon slacks and a white shirt. I wash my face and brush my teeth, at least, and hurry back downstairs. Light-headed, I realize I’ve only eaten a muffin today. And I’ve had caffeine by the gallon.

Arriving in time, the remaining nine men assemble in a half arc in the room. There are various items that are set up and covered in cloth as our backdrop. A couple of instruments wait off to the side.

Colin appears in a blue tux like we’re at some gala. As for the men, we’re in some manner of our usual smart casual. I’m at one end of the arc. Thomas is at the other. In the middle stand Wilson and Travis. The others—Sandeep, Connor, Jax, Martin, and David—all look impassive and, frankly, enviably well rested.

The all-nighter seemed like a good idea at the time. All I want to do now is go off and sleep for as long as humanly possible.

“Perfect,” says Colin, delighted as ever to see us as a collective. “What a busy bunch of eager beavers you’ve been all week. And dare say, as I’ve visited all of you this week, you’ve been not only a highly productive group but also very talented. Though we had a clue about the latter when we brought you on the show. It’s something to see you all in action, however. It’s our sheer delight to present tonight the array of talents under the umbrella of the Arts.”

Jax shows us a rainbow of hand-sewn bow ties in the color of the pride flag, beautifully made with contrast stitching. He models one for the crowd, and we’re all dead impressed.

“I brought along my fabric stash,” Jax admits. “I thought it might come in useful on the show. I love to sew and make things for my friends. And I’m planning on launching my own accessories shop after the show.”

“Sign us up,” Colin says, pleased, after we’ve all had a chance to look at Jax’s creations and have returned to our marks.

Connor demonstrates his skills at Irish dancing, which earns him cheers and hollers from the men, along with some whistles. They do a second take with more camera angles, and the good cheer continues.

The focus turns to Martin, who pulls his lengthy dreads back and produces a beautifully knit hat. “Knitting takes a lot of maths,” he explains, pulling out a matching set of gloves. “It’s all about precision. And this design is all maths too.” He explains how he used a certain theorem, which is admittedly over my head, but we all agree that his work is really beautiful, using locally sourced wool that he wove and dyed this week as well. “I’ve done sheep to shawl competitions,” he says. “It’s a lot of fun. Good training too.”

Next up is David, whose talents as a woodworker are shown in a beautiful chair he’s made. “It’s truly exquisite,” Colin marvels. “It’s one thing to read your proposal, it’s quite another to see it come to life from your drawings.”

Sandeep shows us a large watercolor painting of the landscape setting we’re in, which is perfectly fine, but it’s missing that spark of something special to move it to the exceptional.

Wilson sings a strong cover song by Justin Bieber. I shouldn’t be so surprised that he’s a talented singer since he’s on the show. And yet, it bothers me. It’s a great performance, but he didn’t push himself to do something original like the others.

And finally, it’s down to Thomas and me, under Gisele’s watchful eyes. She nods at Thomas, who takes the stage after Wilson. My stomach knots. But he doesn’t appear rattled, checking the tune of his semi-acoustic guitar. He gives his fab grin, leans into the mic as if he does this all the time. “I wrote this song about a friend of mine. It’s called ‘Masquerade.’”

He doesn’t look at me or, as far as I can tell, at anyone in particular. Thomas plays a haunting intro and sings with such feeling I’ve got goose bumps after the first two lines.

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