More importantly—whywas she standing back?A woman like that didn’t go unnoticed.So why was she letting the other one dominate the moment?
Zayn barely registered the host's over-rehearsed monologue.Her words were polished but meaningless, offered in the tone of someone used to hearing themselves speak.
He reminded himself to remain courteous.Charm in public spaces was not an indulgence—it was a political tool.
“Let’s just get you into the makeup chair,” the blonde woman chirped.
Makeup.Of course.
He loathed the process, but knew the cost of ignoring it.Studio lighting, though designed for clarity, had a cruel way of erasing color and emphasizing imperfections.The first time he'd gone on air without makeup, an entire forum thread had accused him of sweating through withdrawal.The optics of shine—sweat, illness, instability—could do real damage.
He’d learned.Quickly.
As Crown Prince of Lativa, he was expected to embody strength, clarity, and control.He knew the truth didn’t matter—not in public discourse.Only perception.And perception, once formed, was maddeningly difficult to shift.
Zayn nodded once, letting her guide him toward the chair, but his mind stayed with the woman by the wall.
Composed.Observant.Intentionally removed from the chaos.
Whoever she was, she understood the value of watching before engaging.
He did, too.
He turned from the blonde without apology, ignoring that her lips were still moving.Whatever she was saying had ceased to matter the moment his attention shifted.
He murmured a brief instruction to Hasim.His assistant nodded and stepped away, tapping efficiently on the tablet—already working three moves ahead.
Zayn turned back to the now-silent host, lifting one brow with a quiet, amused precision that demanded she get to the point.
“As I was saying, Your Highness,” the woman—Olivia something—recovered with a laugh just a breath too bright.“It’s such a huge honor to have you on my show.Dan will help you with makeup.When you’re ready, we’ll start the interview.”She paused, fluttering her lashes.“If that’s okay with you?”
“Of course,” he said, voice smooth but distant.
His gaze drifted past the woman’s lacquered hair toward the far corner of the studio—toward her.
The brunette.
She hadn’t moved, though her arms were now crossed tightly, her posture slightly drawn inward, as if bracing for an impact no one else could see.She was trying to make herself smaller.Invisible.
But her eyes betrayed her.They tracked him, caught in the pull neither of them had invited.
She wanted to disappear.He could read that desire in every quiet line of her body.But she hadn’t left.Hadn’t looked away.
Good!Zayn had never struggled to meet women.But, this was the first time he’d looked at a woman and knew, with absolute certainty, that she was attracted to him as a man and not the title or the power.It was a heady sensation.
“Your Highness, if you’d follow me?”
Reluctantly, Zayn turned away and found a man with a makeup brush tucked behind his ear waiting for him.“Of course,” Zayn replied, glancing one more time at the woman, hoping she was still watching.
She was.And she was absolutely beautiful!
As he walked across the black floor towards a small, brightly lit room, he could feel the woman’s eyes following him.The weight of her gaze felt almost physical.His body reacted, but he tamped down his lust, gritting his teeth with the effort.He’d get through this interview, then he’d discover who she was and ask her to have dinner with him tonight.
Dinner was innocent enough.Maybe a pizza place?He had the impression that she wasn’t the type to insist on fancy restaurants.He knew of a place in Chicago that added flavored smoke to their foods.How pretentious.Sure, it probably did add a touch of smoky flavor.However, Zayn’s palate wasn’t sensitive enough to appreciate such additions.He preferred real seasonings to his food.Just give him a steak and potato and he was happy.
Zayn fought back a smile when he thought about how horrified the palace chef would be if Zayn admitted how little he enjoyed his culinary creations.The poor man would probably drop dead on the spot.The chef prided himself on delicate flavors and intricate presentations that truly were works of art.And his assistant could bake the fluffiest scones, and create chocolate or spun sugar designs that could barely be believed.
Still, there was something so satisfying about a simple meal, especially with such a lovely companion to share it with.
