“Oh, God, it’s worse than a scandal,” a third girl says. “You could tell, that reporter just felt sorry for her. It was like…in high school when a teacher said to partner up for a project and there was always that one kid who couldn’t find a partner, and you just had to watch them look around desperately, remember that?”
“She’s always been a bit…different,” Lizzie says. “I mean, you don’t come here from Ohio and immediately just start blending in, do you?”
“Yeah, but she’s been here for years.”
“I actually had to beg her to come out tonight,” Lizzie continues. “She was too embarrassed to show herself. So just be nice to her if you see her, okay? Pretend you haven’t read the article.”
I back away. I can’t let them know I’ve heard this. I can’t let them see me, but I can’t stay here, at this party where people are talking about me. I can’t look around me at every conversation in this room and wonder how many of them are about how weird I am and how humiliated I must be. If Lizzie’s doing it, anybody could be.
I back through the ballroom door into the hall, turn, and walk as quickly as I can back to the lobby, trying to blink away tears. Halfway there I realize I’ve left my purse behind, and that I don’t have my phone. I won’t be able to call my driver to come and pick me up. But I can’t stand to go back. I’ll go to the front desk. Maybe they’ll have a phone I can use. I think I remember the right number to call.
I’m so distracted by everything running through my head that I walk right into someone as I turn the corner from the hall into the lobby. I trip backward in my heels and nearly stumble, but he catches my arm and rights me, and as he does so I look up into his eyes and lose my breath entirely.
He’s gorgeous.
Olive skin. Tousled dark hair and neatly trimmed dark facial hair. Dark eyes, like pools of hot chocolate. It takes me several long moments to realize I’m staring into them, mesmerized by his looks. He’s taller than me by about a foot, and broader, built out with muscle. The hand on my forearm is large, the fingers thick and sturdy, and yet his grip is surprisingly gentle.
His face breaks into a smile. “Princess Aeryn Redfall, it’s lovely to meet you. Prince Alessandro, at your service.” And he steps back, releasing my arm, and sinks into an overly formal stylized bow.
Oh, God. This has happened to me before. Strangers—usually men—have come up to me wanting to start some kind of role-play. It’s usually princes, but sometimes I get knights looking to defend my honor, and once or twice even a rogue looking to kidnap me.
I never know what to say when this happens. I don’t want to spoil their fun, but at the same time, Princess Aeryn is a job for me. It’s a job I like, but I’m not going to go around playing princesses with everyone I meet on the street.
Then the man laughs. “I’m kidding,” he says easily, and I register that he speaks with an accent. It sounds European, Italian, maybe, but I’m not certain. “Though I did recognize you from the show, of course. I’m a fan. Can you forgive me my little joke?”
I’m so relieved that he’s not expecting me to respond in kind that my whole body relaxes instantly. “Of course,” I say. “I don’t mind at all. To tell you the truth, it happens all the time.”
“I’m sure it does,” he says. “After all, you have one of the most recognizable faces in the world.”
“I don’t know about that,” I counter. “My show is big, but it’s an ensemble piece. It’s not like I’m the star. And not everyone watches Royal Blue.”
“I’ll bet,” he says, “that most people could name more members of the Redfall family than of any real-life royal families.”
“Well, in America, that’s probably true,” I say. “We don’t have a royal family to worry about. I don’t know how it is where you’re from, but you seem like you might not be from around here.”
“You’re right,” he agrees. “I’m here on holiday.”
“And the country you call home, does it have a royal family?”
“It does,” he says. “And I admit, I’m more familiar with the royals in my home country than I am with the Redfall family. But I also think I’m probably an outlier.”
“What’s your name?” I ask him, feeling bold. “Unless you were serious about me calling you ‘Prince Alessandro?’”
He laughs. “No, I wasn’t. You can call me Alex.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Alex. And you can call me Erica.”
We exchange a handshake. I try hard not to stare at Alex, at his soft eyes and his warm smile, but it’s not easy. He is so handsome. A part of me wants to draw closer to him, to feel the smooth skin of his arms and squeeze the muscles that lie underneath, to explore him like a work of art. I restrain myself, barely.
“What are you doing here tonight?” Alex asks.
“I—” I hesitate. I don’t want to talk about the party—he might suggest that we go back to it together, and that’s the last thing in the world I feel like doing. “I was having some drinks with some friends,” I say.
“Are they waiting for you?” he asks.
“I’m finished,” I say.
He nods. “I was just heading to the bar for a nightcap. Would you like to join me? It’s not often a man gets a chance to meet a princess.” He quirks the side of his mouth, making sure I understand that he’s kidding.
“Sure,” I say, “I’d love that.”
Honestly, at this point, anything to avoid going back to that party. Even if Alex seemed boring or unpleasant, there’s a chance I’d choose an evening with him over the people who can’t stop talking about how sorry for me they feel. It’s infuriating. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m happy in the life I’ve made here in LA, even if things are hard sometimes. But everyone around me can’t seem to stop comparing me to the sad wallflower with no friends in school.
Well, never mind. It’s given me an opportunity, a chance I wouldn’t otherwise have had to sit down for drinks with a handsome man with a deliciously indecipherable accent.
He leads me up the steps into the bar, which is raised slightly above the rest of the lobby, and directs me to a table near the window. From here, we can look out on the city at night. It’s beautiful, serene and quiet.
I know Lizzie is going to wonder what happened to me, and I wonder how long it will take her to realize I’m gone. I do love Lizzie. She’s my best friend here, and I understand her very well. I understand how easy it is for her to get caught up in an interesting piece of gossip, how much she wants to talk to people about what’s on her mind. When she learns, tomorrow, what upset me and made me leave, she’ll be effusive in her apologies. I have no doubt of that.
But as I take in the handsome man sitting across from me, I’m feeling like an apology might not be necessary.
Chapter 3
“So,” Alex says when our drinks have arrived and the server has left us to our conversation, “what’s it like being a princess?”
I laugh. “That’s not what people usually ask me.”
“What do people ask you?” he says, swirling his cocktail in his hand.
“Oh, they want to know what’s going to happen next on the show, usually,” I say. “Or else they want to know about their favorite member of the cast, what he or she is really like.”
“They tell you that you’re not their favorite?” Alex asks, raising his eyebrows. “That seems rude.”
“It’s not a big deal. I can’t be everyone’s favorite,” I say. “Besides, it’s not like any of these people know us personally. And you get trends. Young women tend to like Chris a lot. Older women prefer Gary, or sometimes Lizzie.”
“Who likes you?” Alex asks.
“Guys,” I say. “Young ones, mostly. Some older, kind of sleazy ones. But like I said, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like they know me, or anything about me.”
He nods and sips his drink. “I bet you’re probably not even allowed to tell them what’s coming up on the show, right?”
“R
ight,” I confirm. “Not that I know that much about it either, at least not right now. Season three hasn’t even been written yet.”
“Wow,” he says. “But you could tell me how season two’s going to end, I’ll bet?”
With a shock, I remember that the airing dates of the episodes are a few weeks behind the shooting dates—of course they are, but it’s something I never really think about. The huge cliffhanger we shot today isn’t public knowledge yet. I could definitely tell Alex something that no one else knows about the direction of the show.
I lean in conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t normally do this,” I say quietly, “but we did shoot the season finale earlier today, and if you want, I can tell you how it ends.”
I’m not sure why I’m doing it. Ordinarily, I would never betray the show I love so much. Maybe it’s just the shock of having heard my colleagues talking about me. Lizzie and the girls betrayed the trust I had in them for a moment of fun gossiping together. It doesn’t seem like such a big deal, right now, to betray the show for a moment of fun with a handsome stranger.
But Alex is shaking his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to tell me anything,” he says. “I’ll wait and see it when it airs like everyone else.”
I’m surprised. “Really? I never offer people information about the show, but most fans I’ve met are dying to find out anything they can.”
“Well, I didn’t ask you to join me as a fan of your show,” Alex says. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I am a fan of your show. But to be honest, I think you’re pretty, and since you were finished at your party, I saw an opportunity to get to know you. That’s all.”
I’m taken aback. “That hasn’t happened to me since I was cast on the show. Everyone just wants to get to know Princess Aeryn.”
He waves that idea away. “I already know Princess Aeryn,” he says. “Everything about her is what’s on the show. It’s not like she keeps existing after the director says cut, right?”
He’s not entirely right about that. I’ve always felt like kernels of Aeryn exist in my heart, empowering me to approach intimidating situations with her trademark bravado. But I do understand what he’s saying, and he’s right.
“Yeah,” I say. “But so many people seem to think I have some kind of inside information about her. You wouldn’t believe the questions I get.”
“Like what?” he asks.
“Oh…” I think back. “‘In season one, episode fourteen, Aeryn and Boniface exchanged a meaningful look over dinner. Are the two of them concealing something from the rest of the family, and if so, when is it going to be revealed?’”
“Seriously?” Alex raises his eyebrows. “People think you were teasing out something for that long? Just by looking at the man who plays your brother?”
“After getting asked that question, I went back and reviewed the tapes,” I say. “And you know what? I wasn’t even looking at him. There was a cut in between the two shots. Chris wasn’t even sitting at the table when we shot my side of that scene.”
Alex laughs. “Amazing.”
“So what do you do?” I ask him. “You’re not from Hollywood. You’re not an actor, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” he agrees. “Would you like another drink?”
I look down at the cup in my hand. It’s empty.
“I would,” I say, even though this will be my third drink of the evening.
The swimming that’s starting to take place in my head is pleasant, light rather than heavy, giving the night a frothy feeling. Everything I’ve been worrying about feels very far away, suddenly.
Who cares if Jay decided to sell my story to the lowest bidder? Jay’s a terrible person anyway, and he must be very unhappy if he needs to do things like that. And Lizzie and the others gossiping about me? What difference does it make, really? I don’t need to impress those girls. It’s more important that I am happy than it is to look happy.
And right now, I’m very happy. Alex is so easy to talk to, so pleasant to be around. How could anybody not feel like opening up to him? What’s more, he’s so clearly interested in me, in Erica. He looks at me and sees a girl he met at a bar who just happens to have an interesting job. Despite the way he initially introduced himself, he’s not writing me off as Princess Aeryn and nothing more. It’s such a refreshing change from what I’m used to that I feel as if I could happily spend the rest of my evening in his company.
“Alex,” I say, inspiration striking me in a rush. “Would you like to come to a party with me?”
“A party?” he asks, squinting.
“The friends I was with earlier,” I clarify. “They’re in the main ballroom. Actually, the assistant director of the show owns this hotel.”
I flush as these words come out. It’s the kind of thing I sometimes catch myself saying without realizing how it sounds—braggy, name-droppy. I’m not trying to show off. I’m just stating a fact. This is Peter’s hotel, and that’s why the party is here. But it sounds so self-important: oh, I know the guy who owns this hotel.
If Alex picks up on that, though, he doesn’t say anything about it.
“I thought you’d had enough of that scene for tonight,” he says. “You want to go back?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sensing his hesitance. It’s unexpected. He’s been so enthusiastic about getting to know me so far, I thought he’d be into this. “I mean, if you don’t want to go—”
“Please don’t take it personally,” he says earnestly. “I’m just not the sort of person who gravitates to parties. I always feel a little out of place. That’s all.”
“But so do I!” I tell him, feeling more of a connection than ever. “That’s it exactly, see? It’s a party of work people, and I really should be there, put in an appearance, let them see me being social. But the whole thing is so draining for me, and I could use a little moral support. It would be so much better if I could do it with someone.”
Alex smiles, and it seems to light up his whole face.
“In that case, how can I refuse?” he asks. “Lead the way, princess.”
“Okay, but you’ve seriously got to stop calling me princess,” I say. “Once or twice before someone in the cast has brought along a date to something who insisted on calling them by their Royal Blue name or title, and we always tease them mercilessly. You can’t walk in there and call me princess in front of them.”
“Promise,” Alex says, shooting me a grin. “Erica it is.”
I pause outside the entrance to the ballroom and thread my arm through his. I can feel the strength in him, the muscle of his solid arm making me feel small and delicate by comparison. It’s not a feeling I’m used to. Aeryn is short in stature, but she’s a fighter. She would never take a man’s arm like this and float into a ballroom as if wafted inward by the force of her attraction to him.
Does he know, can he sense, how attracted to him I am?
It’s ridiculous to think that anything real could come of tonight, this chance encounter, but even the feeling of being paired up with him is magical. I feel like some of his attractiveness is rubbing off on me, like glitter, leaving me luminescent as the two of us make our way through the crowd.
I can sense the eyes on us. Peripherally, I catch a glimpse of Lizzie. Her jaw is hanging open, and I feel a rush of pleasure at how much I’m going to enjoy telling her this story later.
All around the room, eyes are finding their way to me and Alex, and I know people are wondering what happened. I was here long enough before that they know I didn’t arrive with a date. Everyone is aware that I simply wandered out of the party for a few minutes and returned with this handsome man on my arm.
I have to admit, it feels great.
I ignore the faces around me and let Alex tow me through the crowd and toward the dance floor. I can see what he has in mind, and I’m hesitant. I don’t have a lot of confidence in my skills as a dancer.
Aeryn doesn’t do a lot of dancing on Royal Blue—she’s a fighter—so when Lizzie and Chris ar
e in dance training for royal ball scenes, I’m usually practicing my kickboxing moves. And there’s nothing in my life before acting that I can draw on. At school dances, I was always the girl who jumped around in a big group of girls, more interested in exerting energy and yelling than in dancing with any grace or style.
What’s more, I know that people expect me to be a good dancer. It’s come up with a few guys I’ve dated, who have assumed I’d want to do old-fashioned things on a date. Or so they claim.
“I thought you’d like to go on a ballroom dancing date night!” one man whined, shortly after I’d started my role on Royal Blue. I didn’t believe him for a minute. He wanted to go on a ballroom dancing date night with Princess Aeryn. He even had the nerve to ask me for a picture as he was dropping me off at home, despite the fact that the date had been a clear catastrophe. It was never about what I wanted.
So as Alex pulls me toward the dance floor, I’m tempted to pull away. Surely his interest in me will diminish once he sees how pathetic I am on my feet? I’m about to tug his sleeve and suggest we go sit down instead, but then he slides his arm out of mine, catches my hand, and pulls me tightly into a spin.
I land against his chest, gasping for air, stunned.
And then we’re moving.
I couldn’t say where my feet are going, where they’re going to land at any given moment. It feels like flying. He’s so strong and so confident that it doesn’t seem to matter that I don’t know what I’m doing—my feet always land where they should anyway, as if I’m his puppet. He spins me out, reels me back in, dips and twists me, and all the while my brain struggles to catch up with what’s happening, until finally I relinquish control completely and decide to just enjoy the ride.
The song comes to an end, and right on the beat, Alex pulls me into his chest. I rest there for a moment, catching my breath, looking up into his warm chocolate eyes. The moment seems to spool out forever. I am vaguely aware that we’re still in a ballroom full of people, that many of them are probably looking our way, but I don’t care anymore. I’ve never had an experience like this in my life.
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