Page 31 of Prince Charmless
“I can’t think of anything else that will make the press more hysterical. They’ll forget all about you if I bring someone to the fundraiser.”
“But you hate when everyone circlejerks about your love life...or lack thereof.”
“Then it’s a pretty good apology, right?”
Tom’s smile is blinding. He understands the personal hell I’ll be putting myself through for him. “That is an abnormal amount of nice for you. Is there a full moon tonight or something?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mumble. “Hell froze over, I get it.”
“Why can’t you take your Melina? Is she still texting you about cake?”
My Melina.Melina is anything but mine. Nothing I do persuades her. She is the most stubborn woman on earth.
Though it did sound nice for a second.
“No, I’m not doing that. The press would eat her alive. That photo has already caused enough trouble.”
I care about Melina enough to not want to ruin the woman’s life. Although bickering with her would’ve been ten times better than the mind-numbing conversations I will be having at the fundraiser. I like talking to Melina. She’s one of those people you’d spill all your secrets to if all they did was ask. I’d much rather spend my night making her dinner.
“Ah, so she’s the purple dress woman?” Tom taps a finger on his sly smirk. “The plot thicks.”
“Thick-ens. And we’re not together. She hates me, in fact.”
“Have you tried putting in effort?” he asks as slowly as one would speak to a child.
I could tell him that I’ve cooked for her twice, but that would just confuse him. It honestly confuses me.
“No, I haven’t. She’s not important.”
Tom snaps his fingers. “Giana Amato!”
“Who?”
“She was Miss Italy a while back and lives here now. Nice to look at, but doesn’t speak a lot of English. You shouldn’t be able to scare her with your—” Tom splays his hand and gestures in a vague circle. “Taylorness.” He pulls out his phone and shows me an Instagram post of a blonde woman wearing a sash and silver tiara. “Look, she’s royalty. You already have something in common.”
“How do you communicate with this woman if she only speaks Italian?”
“Parlado italiano,” he says like it’s obvious.
How many languages does Tom know? I’ve heard him speak both Spanish and Korean with foreign leaders.
“Don’t worry, we haven’t done anything,” he says, then quickly looks up from his phone. “Wait, there might have been that time in Malta.” Tom pauses in intense thought. “Never mind, that was a different Italian. You’re good.”
“Whatever, just give me her number. And I need you to do something else for me.”
Tom groans and flops back down on the coach. “You treat me like a slave.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll like this one. Dad and I are going to be away next week during National Small Business Day. Alex wants you to find someplace brick-and-mortar and be your usual attention-craving, smarmy self around the owners and customers. Let some journalists know you’re there.”
“Does a restaurant work?”
The questions he asks me.
“Yes, Thomas. A restaurant is a business.”
He switches back on the TV. “Sounds easy enough.”
Good. Tom’s personality is more suited for that task than mine, anyway. I don’t think this is something he can mess up.
