Page 41 of The Thing About My Prince
“More wine?” Jeremy reaches for the bottle of white to top up Mom’s glass. “Lexi, has anyone ever told you your name sounds like a superhero? I keep imagining posters that say ‘Lexi Lane by day, News Buster by night’ or something.”
My sister giggles and gives him anoh, youpat on the arm.
“Marjorie,” my mother screeches.
And almost before she’s finished those three syllables, our cook appears through the door from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am?” Marjorie says with a startled smile, clearly sensing the tension.
“Dessert, please. Then I’m going straight to bed.”
Ah, yes.
Bed.
How the hell are Lexi and I going to figure out that one?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
LEXI
What a fucking family. No wonder Oliver wanted to escape it.
I’m not surprised he’s much happier in New York if he was under fire from the press here all the time and these assholes never stood up for him.
I drop onto the four-poster bed and text Becca the photo I just took of it.
ME
The bed I’m sharing with the prince.
Dinner was a cringe-inducing nightmare. My heart went out to the guy.
Dessert was fantastic though. The delicious sweetness of the pineapple upside-down cake with homemade ice cream was a stark contrast to the relentlessly sour look on Oliver’s mother’s face.
She took off swiftly after dinner, feigning an oncoming migraine. She was so limp and pathetic that I wanted to give her a gentle tap to see if she’d fall over.
Sofia and her boring but handsome husband seem nice. At least that’s something.
As soon as Oliver’s mother had left the room, I did some dramatic yawning and complaining of jet lag, and Oliver suggested I go to bed while he caught up with his sister and found out what his wedding duties are.
I took that to be his way out of an awkward situation with us getting ready for bed in the same room at the same time.
Earlier I’d considered arguing with him about who should sleep on the chaise, but I’m so damned tired and I need to be on my toes tomorrow to start interviewing Oliver before I get any further behind with this book than I already am. So, yeah, I’m taking the bed.
BECCA
You’re doing WHAT?
ME
I might have exaggerated. He’s sleeping on a chaise at the foot of the bed. Which also looks about two hundred years old.
BECCA
That’s only a marginally better idea.
Is that seriously your bed? Where you’re actually sleeping? Not a picture you found on Pinterest under “museum of royal furniture”?
