Page 54 of The Thing About My Prince
This is all pretend.
And now a weird cloud of awkwardness hangs between us—both of us knowing that he accidentally meant it.
So he really is a nice guy then?
I turn away too, at least putting the cloud behind me, where I don’t have to look at it.
Instead, I pick up the vase from the nightstand.
“You know what?” I open the bathroom door. “I was thinking this might look even nicer in here.” I place it on the windowsill over the bathtub at the far end of the room.
“Oh, that’s a much better place for it.” Oliver’s voice comes from the doorway. “We should have thought of that before.”
“Absolutely we should.” I roll my eyes at myself and we both have a little laugh, a little laugh of companionship, of in-it-together-ness, that disperses some of the cloud of awkwardness.
“Have you been out today?” I ask. “You could probably do with some fresh air, right?” I raise my brows and exaggerate a nod.
“Been cooped up all day.” He gets it. “Would love to get out.”
“Great. How about we take a stroll off the property and you can show me the local”—Jesus, what exactly is around here within walking distance?—“fields…and stuff?”
“Excellent idea. I noticed earlier that there are no reporters staking out the gates for a change, so there’s no one to shout annoying questions or follow us. We can get some fresh air, and you can tell me all about the fun you had this morning.” He raises his eyes to the ceiling and shakes his head with that attractive sardonic smile.
It takes a good ten minutes of walking until we reach the end of the driveway and the giant gates in the tall, stone wall around the castle.
Oliver presses a button that opens a wooden door to the left of the gates.
He blows out a whistle as we turn onto the street and are finally off the damn property.
Well, it’s not really a street, more a road with one narrow lane in either direction and scrappy grass edges bleeding onto it from either side.
“Let’s go this way.” Oliver turns to the left.
“For any particular reason?” It seems equally rural both ways.
“Even fewer people live in this direction,” he says.
I look behind us to see Dane and Cole emerge from thegates and follow at a discreet enough distance to help in a crisis, but not close enough to overhear every private word.
“I just wanted to get you out of the compound and away from prying ears,” I say, “because whatever the hell is going on with your parents has to have a story behind it. People don’t get to be like that without a reason.”
“Well, my mum’s like that because her parents happen to be a king and queen. And my dad’s like that because he was sent to boarding school, Oxford, and then into the navy for however many years. Then my grandparents gave them this castle and they sit here taking part in whatever charity events they’re obliged to take part in, appearing on the Buck House balcony on state occasions, and are generally so insulated from any type of regular feelings or existence that they think they are normal.”
“Okay. That was quite the summary. But first,Buck House?”
“What my sister and I have always called Buckingham Palace since we were little.”
“I need to record the rest of this.” I pull out my phone.
“You can’t record me.” The level of horror in his voice is more akin to me having demanded his firstborn.
“I have to record you. Did you think you could tell me stuff and I’d remember all of it with one hundred percent accuracy, then regurgitate it precisely and perfectly organized into a beautifully structured book?”
He looks straight ahead and says nothing.
Wow, his profile is good. Straight nose, strong jaw covered in a couple of days of stubble, a fine curve to his chin, and a little shadow under the cheekbone that has the perfect amount of prominence.
“Time is ticking away here,” I say. “We’ve done no work yet, and tomorrow there’s your charity event, which will take up a big chunk of the day. We really need to dedicate some time to getting on top of the book stuff.”
