He grinned, laughter dancing in those startling blue eyes, and I felt an ache deep in my chest, so painful it took my breath away for a moment.
“And if one day,” he said seriously, “you e-mail me to say you’ve a date with a Jayden or a Jackson or a Taylor or some other ghastly American boy, that’s all right, too.” I punched his arm. It seemed like the only logical response. “I’ll probably hide in the bathroom and cry like the big girl’s blouse I am, but I’d be happy for you. I’d be insanely jealous in a way that would make Heathcliff look relaxed, but I’d be happy—because I want you to be happy. And this—we—are not, er, viable for the moment. So don’t, erm, wait for me. If you were thinking on it. And maybe you weren’t. I lost the thread of this speech a bit, didn’t I? Damn. I’d written out note cards and everything.”
“It was a good speech, Jamie.” I squeezed his hand.
“Well. Thank you. And perhaps—perhaps I could come visit?”
“Are you kidding? That would be amazing. You would really come visit?”
“Absolutely. And perhaps you could come visit me as well?”
“According to your mom, I’ll be there in April anyway. Or in Majorca.”
“Ah, yes, Majorca. No matter where we are, I won’t let her torture you, I promise,” he said firmly.
“Your mom doesn’t torture me. It’s kind of nice, actually.”
“Nice? Her insanity is nice?” Jamie asked in disbelief.
“I like her. And I’d love to come visit, but it’s probably really expensive, right? I’m not sure…”
“You wouldn’t have to worry about that, I would—”
“Oh God.” I cut him off. “Don’t tell me you have a private plane.”
“Er, well…there are some perks to being a prince,” he said sheepishly. “Might as well take advantage, hey?”
“I liked you better when you were a peasant,” I said.
“I liked you always.” He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ears, his hand coming to rest on my cheek.
“I’m not ready to go,” I whispered.
“I’ll never be ready for you to leave.”
Sighing, I maneuvered my way under his arm, snuggling in close to him with my head resting on his shoulder. He stroked my hair gently, like he was afraid I might break. I closed my eyes.
“I could love you, you know,” he said softly.
“I know,” I replied. “I could love you, too.”
The first few rays of sunlight broke over the leafless gray branches of the woods. Orange pierced the gloom, illuminating the sky.
“Happy Christmas, Dylan,” Jamie said.
“Happy Christmas, Jamie.”
Together, we watched the sun rise.
This book would not exist without the wedding invitation that started it all. Thank you, Becky and Callum, for inviting me to your fairy-tale Scottish wedding. Thank you also to the groomsman who never picked me up at the train station. Those forty-five minutes I spent at the Dunkeld & Birnam station clearly gave me a lot to think about. This book combines so many of my greatest loves—the UK, royalty, pageant queens, and romantic reality television—and I am so grateful to everyone who helped me bring it into the world.
Molly Ker Hawn, thank you for being the greatest agent any author could ask for, and thank you for still representing me even after you saw me for the royals-obsessed American I truly am. I feel so lucky to be part of the Bent Agency family. Your UK authentication help truly went above and beyond the call of duty. Someday I hope we can wear fancy hats at a royal wedding together. And that meat thermometer really did change my life.
Big thanks to everyone at Hyperion and especially to Kieran Viola—it is an honor to be your mini-me. Working with you has been a dream come true—better than anything even Disney could come up with. Your edits are so wonderful somebody should publish them. Thank you for making this book so much better than it was, for always seeing the true selves of my characters, and for bringing out the best in them on the page. You are a fairy godmother and an editor in one, which is, in my opinion, the best kind of fairy godmother.
Thank you to Max, my Prince Charming, who always makes me feel like the smartest princess in all the land. I’m so glad our wedding wasn’t televised! Dad, sorry I wrote another terrible father—I promise you it isn’t personal. Mom, thank you for being just as awesome as Dylan’s mom, but for never criticizing my outfits. Finally, thank you to my sister, Ali. A sister is a special friend, and I am so #completelyblessed that you are mine. Let’s get matching bracelets.
STEPHANIE KATE STROHM is also the author of Pilgrims Don’t Wear Pink, Confederates Don’t Wear Couture, The Taming of the Drew, It’s Not Me, It’s You, and The Date to Save. She works as an actress and teacher in Chicago. You can find her online at http://www.stephaniekatestrohm.com/ and on Twitter @stephkatestrohm.
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