I melt into his warmth, heart thumping like a war drum. I can’t tell if I want to laugh or cry.
“Fuck you,” Sebastian laughs, shaking his head. “I could bet my future wife won’t be half as charming as her or share your chemistry before the wedding. When’s the wedding by the way?”
“On Tuesday.” Nate smirks.
“This Tuesday? As in 3 days?”
“Yeah…”
I blink, trying to process all of it—the truth, the lie, the almost kiss of tears in my eyes, and the fact that somehow, in this twisted fairy tale, I might’ve ended up being his girl after all.
And I never saw it coming.
A beat passes, then Sebastian checks his watch and signals a man seated nearby.
“I’m actually here in D.C. to meet a friend,” he says. “Fashion designer. Derek Wilson. He’s making custom suits for me.”
I perk up. “Derek Wilson? He’s incredible.”
“He is. And his bridal collection is… unique, but I’m sure you have all you need already.”
My eyes widen a little, and I glance at Nate. “I’m not sure what his mother chose for me, and I was going to ask if I could go dress shopping while we’re here. Just to look…”
“Why don’t you come with me?” Sebastian offers. “If anyone can make you feel like a queen on your wedding day—it’s Derek.”
I blink. “Are you sure?”
Nate just grins. “Come on. When royalty offers you fashion advice, you don’t say no.”
Sebastian lifts a brow at the word royalty, but says nothing. The only thing he gives away is a faint smirk, like he’s used to hiding behind veils of titles and diplomacy.
“All right,” I say, smiling. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”
Sebastian laughs, and for the first time, it’s a full one. Honest. Unfiltered. “Now that’s going to get you into trouble.”
But he’s already standing, holding the door open as Nate and I fall into step behind him, my hand in his.
Wilson Creations Boutique is nothing like I expected. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It’s refined—glass panels, soft ambient lights, and mannequins draped in perfection. You can feel the genius humming in the walls. And when Sebastian walks through the door, the energy shifts.
“Your Royal Highness,” comes a voice with a smirk.
A man in a black turtleneck and perfectly tousled hair walks out from behind a curtain, fabric pinned over one arm. “Should I curtsy?”
Sebastian laughs and pulls him into a brief hug. “Only if you want to be stabbed by a pin.”
“Nate,” Sebastian turns to us. “Isabel. This is Derek Wilson. Genius, fashion icon that would find your wedding dress, and a royal pain.”
Derek grins. “Only on days ending in Y.”
Nate chuckles, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.”
“I hope it’s all true and twice as scandalous,” Derek winks. “Isabel, welcome. You are stunning!”
“Thank you,” I smile. This is one of the designers I adore but impossible to hire or have a consultation. He mostly creates but of course for a prince you do find time to meet in person.
“And when’s the wedding?”
“In three days.” I admit seeing his eyes widen, “The wedding dress I have is not giving me any emotional vibes and would love to try some.”
