Page 72 of Bossy Wicked Prince
“Thanks.” My voice comes out thick with emotion. “I needed that.”
“I’m still stabbing him in the eyes with a spork if he hurts you.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Pippa and I chat a little more about how her job at the magazine is going, and when I hang up, I know what I have to do.
There’s no guarantee things with Nate will work out. But I’m going to regret it if I stop myself from trying. I shoot him a text.
Cat
Are you sure this is a good idea?
He answers immediately.
Nate
No.
I laugh. When you get to know him, Nate reveals this dry sense of humor I can’t get enough of.
Cat
That’s reassuring.
Nate
Say you’ll come.
I can picture his gray eyes, fixed on his own phone, hoping I’ll say yes. Suddenly, I can’t bear the idea of letting him down.
Cat
Okay. I will.
I stare at the screen, watching while dots appear and disappear on Nate’s end. Finally, they stop altogether. Whatever Nate was about to say, he obviously thought better of it.
23
NATE
Striking the match, I lower it to light the pink taper candles I placed carefully along the center of the table. Once they’re all lit, I stand back and admire my handiwork.
My dining room table is covered with flickering candles in pale pink-tinted glass jars. I’ve woven an ivy vine between the jars, with small bouquets of a bunch of other pink flowers I don’t know the names of.
When I stopped by the florist to order Cat’s flowers, I realized it might be nice to have some arrangements out on the table. Alice and Ruthie, the married couple who owned the shop, were thrilled when I asked for advice on arrangements for a romantic date night in my apartment. Next thing I knew, they were pulling out candle-holders and showing me inspiration photos of roses, tulips, and peonies.
I walked out of the shop several hundred dollars poorer, with a hand-drawn diagram of how to arrange everything and a new respect for florists.
Stepping back to admire my handiwork, I’m pleased with how it looks. It’s not quite as nice as the tables from the pictures,but it’s definitely romantic. I can imagine Cat’s face lighting up when she sees it.
I’ve never tried this hard to please a woman before—I never wanted to, beforeher. But after my Mom ambushed her, she deserves some extra effort. My fancy table might not be perfect, but it’s obvious I made an effort.
With that done, I head to the kitchen to check on the food. I ordered full Thanksgiving meals from a nearby restaurant, with careful instructions on how to heat them in the oven. Another surprise for Cat—I might not have cooked, but I used my oven, and the House of Cards is still standing.
The elevator doors ding while I’m rummaging in the cabinets looking for glasses. Fuck—Cat’s early.
“Hey!” I call. “Make yourself at home, I’m just trying to find the wine glasses.”
