Page 58 of Prince Charmless
“Well, she seems to be really excited about it.”
“She should be. This is the beginning of her journey to becoming a critical thinker.”
I roll my eyes because I know he thinks he’s too cool to admit he wanted to make Kayla’s day out of the pure goodness of his little Grinch heart.
Taylor brings his shoulders to his ears. “What? The whole prince thing has me do well with the three-to-ten age demo. I can’t let that go to waste.”
Again, adorable.
Kayla stares at me from across the room. When we make eye contact, she looks away.
“You didn’t say anything about me, did you? Kayla keeps stealing glances.”
“She’s a child, Melina.” He gestures at my dress. “She probably just likes looking at things that are sparkly.”
That didn’t answer my question. I’ll give up now because he’s never going to tell me.
I nudge his elbow. “So this maiden you’re going to wed.”
“What about her?” He doesn’t sound thrilled with the idea.
“Why would she become a duchess? I thought your mom became a princess when she married your dad.”
“I didn’t think you had the intention of carrying my spawn.”
I “ha” awkwardly, then scratch my head. “Uh, take me out to dinner first.”
Then I realize he has given me dinner. Three fucking times.
“In St. Claire, you have to be related to the crown by bloodline. She became a princess when she gave birth to the future sovereign.” He throws out his hands to dramatize his importance. “Me. Or Tom, if I get shot in a parade or something.”
“So the only way to become a princess is to be born one or to birth your child.”
He takes a sip of champagne. “Weird, eh?”
Extremely. I don’t think he explained the concept of royal blood to Kayla either.
“Do you even want kids?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, I know it’s kind of expected either way, but if you had the choi—”
“I’m not bringing a child into this world I don’t want,” he says sternly.
“Sorry,” I mumble. I didn’t mean to suggest Taylor would have a child for the wrong reasons, but that’s exactly what I just did.
“It’s just—” Taylor starts, staring off at Kayla.
“It’s just what?”
“They could hate it, you know?”
‘It’ meaning attention? The monarchy? Life?
I look up at him. “Do you hate it?”
Instead of answering me, Taylor furrows his brow at someone in the crowd. A man with perfect black hair and blinding white teeth smiles to acknowledge him. Why are rich people all so beautiful? They must all have the same secret skin cream they don’t let the bourgeois access. Everyone at this party has the face of a goddamn supermodel. Taylor is expressionless as the man walks over.
