“Work with the wood orwork with the wood?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I knew exactly what she meant but didn’t want to admit to spending the rest of that night trying to tell myself that I in fact didnotlike the way his hands felt on mine. I had questioned why carving a piece of wood was so erotic before realizing it was because any time Knox put his hands on me, my body came alive and buzzed with anticipation of how he would touch me next. The moment I felt myself get hot and wet below, I had to remind myself that I was here for the prince, not his best friend.
Sam plastered an innocent look on her face. “Girl, youknow exactly what I mean. I remember your shit-eating grin when you came out of that closet.”
I shook my head. “As fun as that was, Knox knows I’m here to date Prince Oliver. And besides, the man is so standoffish. He didn’t even seem like he wanted to talk to me at the woodshop; he was giving the most perfunctory answers to my questions.” I thought about the way he had tensed when he touched me and had held his body as far from mine as possible. The exact opposite of the man who gripped my ass and made me give him an “enthusiastic yes” before he sucked my soul out of my body. “There’s definitely nothing going on there.” I felt a knot at the pit of my stomach. “I am fully in this moment, here for Prince Oliver, and giving this my all.” Maybe if I told myself that enough, it would be true.
With a soft knock, Sonya peeked into the room. “Good morning, Ms. Hamilton.”
“Good morning, Sonya,” I greeted. I looked back at my phone, trying to ignore the irritatingly bemused look on Sam’s face. “I’ve gotta go. Talk later this week?”
“Absolutely. Have fun, make good choices, love you,” she said, blowing a kiss.
I blew a kiss in return. “Make good choices, love you.”
I climbed out of bed, stretching as I turned to Sonya, who was setting a much-welcomed tray of coffee on the desk. “How are you this morning?”
Sonya turned. She wore a hesitant look on her face. “I’m well, miss. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I was just chatting with my best friend.” I took in Sonya’s unusually tight posture. “Sonya, is everything all right?”
She paused, wringing her hands. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a look at the news, have you?”
Several articles had come out the day before detailing thecontest, the welcome gala, and the prince’s suitors. While the details varied, all the articles were fairly benign, more focused on what we were wearing than anything else.
“I saw yesterday’s articles, but I haven’t looked online yet this morning. Did something else come out?”
Sonya nodded. “Yes, miss.”
I held my phone out to her. “Show me.”
She took the phone, opening the web browser and typing for a moment before handing the phone back to me. “I’ll let you have a few moments while I draw you a bath.” She headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her to give me some privacy. I heard the tub faucet start to run as I sat on the end of the bed and looked at the article Sonya had pulled up onPine Times:
Prince Oliver’s Suitors: Are they even suitable?
By: Alistair Davies
As our Crown Prince seeks a wife to fulfill his royal duties, it is up to the people of Wexstone to ask: Are the women vying to be queen prepared for the challenge of leading our great country?
Of the eight contenders for the prince’s heart, it seems clear to this reporter that very few may truly be suited to royal life.
Let’s begin with Cora Maximo. While it cannot be denied that her cranberry scones are the best in the capital, how much can a baker possibly understand about the demands of running a country? And we must take into account Ms. Maximo’s frumpy attire and appearance. Can a woman who cannot even dress herself appropriately be trusted with presenting Wexstone flatteringly to our allies?
Next: Sabine Thorne. While she may be the princess of her father’s floral empire, her work in environmental sustainability brings into question whether she would have the time to be our queen. What’s more, Ms. Thorne is sure to pull the royal purse-strings in her family’sfavor, leaving the rest of the country’s industries floundering for funds.
I’ll admit that Adelaide Levy had me fooled at first. Surely one of the city’s most beloved primary teachers, who is often found volunteering her time with the less fortunate, would make a reasonable ruler, or at least serve as a good mother to our king’s children? Yet Ms. Levy seems as uninterested in being a part of the palace’s contest as my cat, undoubtedly revealing her true nature.
Mellie Schneider is the suitor I have personally known the longest, given her career as a fellow journalist. I can say with confidence that Ms. Schneider has her full focus on her career and that she has never exhibited a single maternal instinct in all the time I have known her. Is that who we want raising the next generation of princes and princesses?
And finally, we come to the American: Bernadette Hamilton. Ms. Hamilton makes the previous four women seem like ideal candidates for the prince’s hand. To use an American phrase, to say that Ms. Hamilton is “rough around the edges” is a vast understatement. She is unfamiliar with our customs, exhibits an appalling lack of refinement, and—as I learned from an unnamed source—was seen waving a monstrous sex toy around the airport, screaming that they “couldn’t take her favorite pastime from her,” upon her arrival in Wexstone. The fact that she was allowed to be a part of this contest for Prince Oliver’s heart is concerning at best.
Yes, it would seem that Renata Raines, Gemma Rousseau-Wu, and Ginny Wu-Murphy are, in fact, the only participants who have spent time in the royal court and thus are the only women here with a true understanding of what it takes to be royal. Let us hope, for the sake of our country, that our beloved prince sets his sights on one of these fine women.
I dropped my phone into my lap, my jaw slack with shock.Is this asshole for fucking real right now?And where had he gottenthe idea that I had waved the vibrator around or screamed about it being my favorite pastime?
As quickly as the shock set in, panic followed. What would the prince say? Surely this would mean the end of my time here in Wexstone. And what about Vince? I had clearly failed him; Bronson would be furious, and it would be all Vince’s fault for bringing me here in the first place.
