Page 13 of A Royal Disaster
Assuming she survived this date, she was so going to kill her friend later. Or at least put her on bathroom cleaning duty.
Liam paused at the door and turned. “Nia, dear, I suspect there’s nothing you wouldn’t do.” Then he winked—actually freaking winked—at her.
“Damn straight,” Nia said, planting a hand on her hip. “Life’s too short to not enjoy the ride.”
Lena would’ve sworn the last bit was directed at Ethan, but if the guard picked up on it, he didn’t let on, his face remaining stoic as he ushered them out the door.
Jack was already at the curb, opening the door to a sleek black Range Rover with deeply tinted windows. Liam offered his hand and she accepted, using her other hand to hold down her skirt as she climbed in. The last thing she needed was a picture of her ass printed on Page Six.
Lena slid across the seat, running her fingers over the buttery leather. Talk about an upgrade from the subway. “So where are we going?” she asked as Liam slipped in next to her.
“Somewhere we’re sure to be seen,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching again, “but the food is also quite good.”
They crawled across town in surprisingly comfortable silence, the only sound classical music drifting softly from the speakers like a lullaby. She couldn’t speak for Liam, but she was planning to keep her lips sealed as long as possible. The less she talked, the less chance she’d word vomit all over him again.
When the SUV glided to a stop in front of a historic steakhouse on Beaver Street with a beautiful stone portico and Pompeian pillars, Lena’s stomach lurched. It was hard to tell if the sudden flash of nerves was due to the fact that this date was really happening, the crowd of paparazzi swarming the entrance, or the fact that her little black dress was in no way chic enough for this place. She turned, taking in Liam’s dark suit, crisp shirt, and cornflower-blue tie. “Why didn’t you tell me I was underdressed?”
“Because it would’ve been terrible manners,” he said. Smart man. It was never a good idea to annoy your disaster-prone fake girlfriend before parading her in front of the paps. “And more importantly, you look lovely. However, since you are concerned about appearances, I’m going to let you in on a little-known secret. The label on your clothes is secondary to the way you present yourself. It will tell people how to treat you, which is why royals—even those covered in paint—stand tall and proud.”
Was he freaking serious?
“So you’re saying my best defense against bad publicity is good body language?”
“I’m saying the fine art of body language is a weapon of choice at court and can be wielded with the same precision and cunning as one’s secrets. Now, chin up,” Liam said, brushing his fingers gently across her skin, “shoulders back.”
“No one’s going to buy this.” Lena’s heart pounded in her chest—because she was nervous, not because the prince’s touch sent a thrill down her spine. “Have you read what people are saying online? I’m the most hated woman in America. With my luck, the kitchen staff will poison my food.”
“Soon you’ll be America’s sweetheart,” Liam said with an air of confidence Lena couldn’t match on her best day. Not even with a pushup bra and a pair of Spanx. “It’s time to show the world a different Elena Murphy.”
…
Liam sipped his wine as the sommelier retreated from the table, savoring the Château Margaux 2000 that had been an impulsive indulgence. Elena was right about one thing, if he wanted people to believe they were the real deal, he needed to pull out all the stops, so why not splurge a bit on their first date? Royal protocol dictated modesty, but he knew better than anyone that even in a blue-blood establishment such as this one, there would be people watching, whispering, and scheming.
Perhaps Elena could sense it, too, because she remained ill at ease, despite the fact that their meals had been ordered and the wine had been poured. Or maybe her discomfort stemmed from the fact that the server had loosened a button on her blouse sometime between greeting them and taking their orders, clearly not giving a damn about subtlety.
Not that he was interested. She wasn’t his type, and shagging a woman like that was a surefire way to land in the tabloids.
Just ask my brother.
Bollocks. He needed to put Elena at ease, but it had been ages since he’d been on a real date, and he didn’t have the first clue how to go about doing it. The World’s Most Eligible Bachelor and he didn’t even know what to say to his date. “Do you know the longest word in the English language, Elena?”
Her brow wrinkled and she tilted her head thoughtfully as she considered. “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”
“No, it’s smiles,” he said, grinning shamelessly. “Because there’s a mile between the first and last letter.”
Elena laughed out loud at the terrible punchline, revealing an adorable set of matching dimples he hadn’t noticed before. “Is this how you woo all your dates?” she asked. “If so, it’s no wonder you’re single.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to hear another joke?” he asked, feigning indignation.
“Oh, no. I definitely want to hear another one.” She grinned. “To see if you can redeem yourself.”
It was doubtful, but he didn’t mind making a fool of himself if he got to see that beautiful smile again. “Why do cows wear bells?”
She rolled her eyes. “I was raised in the city. I don’t know the first thing about farm animals.”
“Because their horns are broken.” He winked at her. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” she agreed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Has anyone ever told you that your jokes are terrible?”
