Now I guess I used this to cut. Social media.
“Finished!”
My girl, Olivia—or rather, she wasn’tmygirl anymore. That was another thing Grayson had ended. We used to have personal maids and valets, but now no one person was responsible for a Crowne. Still, Olivia had been by my side the longest.
She stepped back, turning her attention to a dress hanging against my window. It was white, with black trimon the bodice and delicate black bows on the skirt. She held it out for me to step into.
The dress was fitted and flowed outward from my waist. It landed just above my ankles, the chiffon skirt giving an airy, effortless beauty.
Olivia held out black gloves, and I slid my arms into them, just above my elbow. The outfit was Parisian, with a little New York, like something out ofBreakfast at Tiffany’s.
Today’s event was to celebrate the Sunroom Revival. In reality, it was an excuse to write off renovations my mother wanted.
The sunroom was second only to the hedge maze in my mother’s eyes. It overlooked three miles of gardens, wintry skies, and the iron Atlantic Ocean. My mother spent the majority of her days here drinking tea and eating biscuits. Now she spoke with an older woman, gesturing out the window toward the garden.
Men old enough to be my grandfather flirted with me. Women who would dance on my grave came up with overly saccharine smiles. I think I talked. Laughed.
My eyes wandered across the orchestrated glamour. The harmoniousplinkof silver spoons on porcelain teacups, faces frozen with Botox and polite laughter that didn’t reach the eyes.
“Oh my God, Gemma? It’s beenages.”
I recognized the voice before I turned to meet her overly spray-tanned face—Trinity. We had gone to boarding school together. She had an uncanny ability to be present at any event that was leaked to the press.
“Oh my God,Trin. I had no idea you’d be here.”
We butterfly hugged.
“It was a last-minute thing,” shesaid.
“Isn’t it always?”
Silence settled. I stared out to the circular room, wishing this bitch would take a hint.
“Have you had a chance to speak with the prince yet?” Trinity asked.
“The prince?” I asked, and then a second later remembered what my mom had said. “Uh, no, I don’t even know what he looks like.”
My gaze drifted back to the room, bouncing from man to man, all in well-tailored suits and all with the same bloviated, arrogant, and self-important countenance.
“He’s over there.” She pointed toward the periphery of the sunroom, near a window overlooking the beach. “The only one not wearing a suit. Tall.”
I followed her finger to a man with salt-and-pepper hair, black jeans and sneakers, and a T-shirt.
I sucked in a breath.
I don’t give a shit what you put in your cunt. This is business.
Thatwas the prince? The hot, scary older man from the club was also the same man my mother was doing cartwheels over to get me to marry?
He raised his glass to me with a smirk when he caught me staring.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Do you know him too?”
“Not quite.” I tilted my head to the side, arms folded, my champagne flute cold against my bicep. “What do you know about him?”
I was expecting inbreeding—Charles II of Spain. Instead I got forbidden, mysterious, and dangerous.
“Um…not much, actually. He’s from some small European province.”
