Page 86 of The Thing About My Prince
“The vibes are good. All the vibes around him are annoyingly fucking good.”
“So the sex was…?”
“Great for me. Not so great for him.”
“Are you telling me you’re a shitty lay?”
“No.” I look around to be extra sure there isn’t a gardener lurking somewhere. There isn’t, but I lower my voice to a whisper anyway. “I’m saying that after he’d…taken careof me, almost as soon as I touched him, he came in my hands before I got his pants off.”
Becca leans into the phone, lips curving into an impressed smirk, head tilting. “Wow. You meantaking careof you got him so fucking hot for you that he couldn’t control himself?” She looks impressed.
“In fairness to him, it’s also been several years since he’s…you know.”
“Not according to the media.”
“I believe him over them.”
“Whoa. Trusting a man, shocking. Trusting a man you barely know—that’s up there with the likelihood of Julian bringing in cake for everyone.”
Fair point, but I ignore it.
“I honestly think Oliver’s given up on women because he doesn’t want to subject them to the way the press would inevitably treat them. It’s why he was against us pretending to be together—he was worried the reports might break me. It happened to the last person he dated, who he seems to have liked. I meant it when I said he’s kind and thoughtful.”
“No thirty-something dude is so altruistic that they’d gowithout sex to save womankind from the ravages of the media.”
“The tabloids here are brutal. You should see some of the things they wrote about his mom when she was younger.” I shake my head.
“So why did you want to talk to me?” Becca asks. “Are you hoping I’ll tell you it’s totally fine to keep on sleeping with him if you want to?”
“No,” I snap. “But is it?”
She closes her eyes and slumps her head.
“I was panicking.” Even I can hear the evidence of that in my voice. “And who the hell else would I tell but you? You’re always calm and matter-of-fact and a good head in a crisis.”
“Was his head good in a crisis?” She lifts her gaze and waggles her eyebrows at me.
“Stop it. But since you asked, absolutely out of this fucking world. Seriously.” I snuffle out a long breath.
“And you like him, right?”
“Whether I like him or not is irrelevant. He’s the person I’m interviewing. The person I have to work with to write this damned book. And that makes him the most out-of-bounds, untouchable, unkissable, unsleepwithable person I know. So this is one giant unethical mistake, and I needed to talk to you to get it off my chest.”
“Do you feel cleansed now?”
“Not really. But it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna get through this, write the book, then travel thousands of miles away to my new dream job and never see him again.”
“Is that what you want?”
“Of course it’s what I want. You know I’ve wanted to be a war correspondent for forever. It’s the whole reason I went into journalism.”
“I meant the part where you never see Prince Oliver again.”
“Of course.” My guts clench as the words leave my lips. “That’s the way a job like this works.”
“But what if he wants to continue seeing you? And if you want to continue seeing him?”
“It would be impossible.” I snort and roll my eyes. “And it’s not the case anyway. On either of our parts. I can promise you that.” My guts don’t like those words either.
