“I look forward to working with you as well,” I said brightly, though inside I was wincing hard enough to sprain something.
He gave a curt nod and moved on.Thank God.
A few more handshakes, a few more polite exchanges, and the line finally ended.I blew out a silent breath, praying no one noticed the tension in my shoulders.
That’s when Paula appeared at my elbow, like some benevolent fairy godmother.She dipped her head slightly and murmured, “His Royal Highness Prince Arthur Phillip has just arrived.”
My stomach dropped.“Oh, hell.”
“Remember,” Paula whispered, voice calm and maddeningly cheerful.“You must approach him.Not the other way around.”
I leaned toward her, whispering back through clenched teeth.“Do I really have to?”
“Yes,” Paula said, a wicked little snicker escaping her.“You absolutely do.”
I gritted my teeth, scanning the room.“Where is he?”
Paula tilted her head toward the opposite side of the ballroom.
And then I saw him.
Sweet Jesus.
Prince Arthur Phillip stood beneath a sweep of crystal light, and he was… well, he was something else entirely.Elegant didn’t begin to cover it.He was effortless refinement given human form—dark chestnut hair slightly tousled in a way that looked deliberate but probably wasn’t, wearing a midnight-blue dinner jacket that fit like it had been poured onto his shoulders.Tall, lean, with the kind of quiet magnetism that made the rest of the room feel slightly out of focus.His posture was relaxed where everyone else’s was rigid—one hand in his pocket, the other holding a champagne flute with the careless grace of a man who’d grown up in palaces and somehow managed not to let it ruin him.
My mouth went dry.
He was speaking to Nigel Thorne—of course he was—and though his expression was perfectly pleasant, I noticed the tiniest shift in his jaw, a tension that betrayed something beneath the polish.Did he find Thorne as insufferable as I did?The thought made my chest tighten with a strange flicker of kinship.
Paula’s hand pressed gently against the small of my back, nudging me forward.“You’ve got this,” she murmured.
No, I did not have this.But I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and let myself be steered into the lion’s den.
The crowd shifted as I crossed the room, every step suddenly heavier than it should’ve been.A string quartet in the corner sawed its way through Mozart, the polished parquet floor gleamed beneath my shoes, and all around me, men in tuxedos and women in gowns glittered with borrowed diamonds.But the only thing I could focus on was him.
Prince Arthur Phillip.
He was even more devastating up close.Those hazel eyes—warm, perceptive, holding a spark of quiet amusement—settled on me with a directness that knocked the wind out of my chest.A faint smile played at the corner of his mouth, as though he’d already decided something about me and was simply waiting for me to catch up.He smelled of something subtle—sandalwood, maybe—and his jawline could have been carved by someone who took their work very seriously.
I slowed when another figure appeared at his side.A man—handsome, all dark curls and easy charm.He leaned toward Arthur and murmured something that sent him laughing, low and warm, the sound threading right through me.Nigel Thorne’s frown deepened, his disapproval practically vibrating in the air.With a stiff nod, he excused himself, retreating just as I reached them.
Protocol,I reminded myself fiercely.Don’t screw this up, Lewis.
I inclined my head in a small, respectful bow and said, “Your Royal Highness.I’m Bryce Lewis, the new U.S.Ambassador.”
Arthur turned his head, those extraordinary eyes settling on me, and for one horrifying moment my mind went blank.Jesus, he was striking.
His smile was easy, practised, but something in it softened when he spoke.“Ambassador.A pleasure.”He gestured to the man beside him.“May I introduce Mr.Chris Tennant?”
“Call me Chris,” he said warmly, extending his hand.
“It’s lovely to meet you both,” I managed, though my pulse was hammering loud enough to drown out the string quartet.
“Ambassador,” Arthur said, “Chris and I are partners at Clarence Atelier, a sustainable fashion house.”
“Business partners,” Chris added quickly, winking.“Though he does all the regal PR, and I make the clothes.Speaking of…” His gaze swept over me with an appraising but not unkind air.“That tuxedo looks sharp on you.But one day, I’d love to see you in one of my designs.”
I laughed, a little awkward, running a hand along the back of my neck.“Well, I’m not exactly a fashion plate.”
