Page 53 of Prince Charmless
“Alex, do you have the—”
“Yeah,” he says from behind me.
The skinny rectangular box Alex presents is made of dark blue velvet and gold hinges. My jaw drops as he opens it. Laid out on the satin liner is a small diamond necklace. Nothing ostentatious, it’s simple and understated, yet absolutely gorgeous.
“Holy moly,” is all I can make out.
“It was my grandmother’s,” Taylor says.
“Your grandmother’s? Jesus, I can’t have this!”
“Myothergrandmother,” he says slowly. “The dead one.”
“Why are you giving it to me?”
He shrugs. “She croaked and left me all her stuff I have no use for.”
I raise a brow.
“And—” he adds, like he realizes that the last statement didn’t sound very polite. “You’re my friend.” He sounds out the word friend like he doesn’t say it that often.
“Taylor, this wasn’t part of my deal.”
“Just go with it,” he says. “Consider it a tip.”
I nudge the diamonds. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. No more gifts, though, okay? It’s unfair.”
He nods as I take off my black velvet choker. I thought it made me look like Cinderella, but currently, the thin strip of fabric seems pathetic in comparison to the diamonds. I place it in my clutch, then gaze up at Taylor, who’s now holding the box.
He points to my neck. “I can, uh—”
I turn around and hold my hair up for him. The diamond settings are cool on my skin, his fingers gentle on my nape. A tingle runs up my spine. For a fraction of a second, he moves his hands to the back of my bare shoulders to tell me he’s done.
I run my hand across the gems. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
Taylor tsks. “You poor thing.”
Yep. Taylor in a tux is still just Taylor. The costume only provides a shiny coating.
“We best get going,” Alex suggests.
My date agrees and we follow him towards the Benz out front.
“I have some ground rules,” Taylor says the second we get in the car.
“Okay,” I say gruffly, mocking his serious tone.
“People might ask you questions about the nature of our relationship, but don’t lie, you’re very bad at it. If it’s a sticky orinappropriate question, get my attention. Or Alex’s. He can tell someone to fuck-off more politely.
Alex raises a triumphant fist from the passenger seat.
“Inappropriate questions?” I ask. “Aren’t these people supposed to be all well-mannered and poised?”
“Well-mannered, poised, and very entitled. You’d be surprised what information they think they deserve from public figures they barely know.”
“I’m not a public figure.”
“Not right now,” he says, picking a small piece of fuzz off the shoulder of my dress.
