“That you’re charming and funny and social. Only good things.”
My shoulders relax a little.
“Alright?” he asks.
“Yes, alright.”
James nods, looking pleased. If only I could be so carefree. “Excellent. Also, Elsie will be by later to join us after dinner. I was thinking we could all watch a film to relax ahead of tomorrow night.”
“What about Frankie?” I ask at last. “When does he arrive?”
There’s a fleeting shadow over his face. “Tomorrow. I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Have you talked? What’s happened?”
“Only in a very ineffective way,” James assures me, shrugging. “A lot of how are you, fine—fine, me too.”
I laugh. “Well, as long as it’s ineffective.” Then I give him a level look. “C’mon, dish. It’s Frankie. You love Frankie.”
His expression falls. “I do love Frankie. Loving Frankie is not the problem.”
“And Frankie loves you?” I prompt.
“He does.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“He’s… quite possibly not having the in-love kind of love anymore. He doesn’t think. He’s not entirely sure.”
“Shit. I’m sorry…” My lips press together.
James glances away, clearing his throat. “To be determined. Now. Meanwhile, I have plans. Let’s go meet Charlene and go over the setup for the party.”
The next afternoon, I stand in my guest room, looking critically at myself in the mirror. I’m dressed to kill in my designer tux, perfectly tailored, and I adjust my bow tie. My hair is styled, earrings in, clean-shaven. They want a tidied-up prince—I’m going to deliver.
I take a few selfies, practicing my most disarming grins. Less the restrained prince smile, but more my irreverent natural state of being. I choose the best photo and text it to Stef without a message. Then I put my phone on silent, run my fingers through my hair.
Hesitating before I go downstairs for James’ birthday celebrations to kick off in earnest, I post on my Instagram another one of my tux selfies, captioned #princelife after Auggie. Who, looking at his Instagram, has a post one hour old with him and Thomas looking fierce in their black-tie apparel, photo clearly taken by someone else. I can’t help feeling pride at how Auggie’s come out of his shell. I can only hope Stef can do the same one day.
Shit. Stop obsessing about Stef. It’s not helping you or him.
I head down to the pre-dinner drinks in the reception room, following the trail of balloons leading the way along the corridor. Mind over matter, as they say. Also—need to have a word with them, whoever they are.
There’s already a respectable crowd gathering for champagne and canapés in a lavish drawing room with detailed coffered ceilings, rich red wallpaper, and gilt architectural details. The music is already thumping, and people are having a good time, laughing over drinks. James, who looks entirely in his element, is surrounded by a knot of people. There’s no sign of Frankie, as far as I can tell.
While I’m taking stock for a long moment at the side of the room, helping myself to the offered champagne from a server, someone clears their throat beside me.
“Prince Theodor?”
I turn, putting on my most charming expression. “Yes? Oh, Your Grace—it’s such a thrill to meet you at last.”
Duke Edward is taller than I expected, eye level with me. He’s fair and has a warm smile. And he’s got to be at least forty, maybe even forty-five, if I had to guess. Older than James’ marketing efforts. Let’s see if he’s as dull as James made him out to be.
He looks relieved. “Oh, good. I didn’t want to mix you up with any other Prince Theodors here tonight.”
“Unless I have a doppelgänger, which would be an amazing turn of events, I think I’m the only Prince Theodor here tonight,” I tell him conspiratorially.
“Please, call me Edward. Or Eddie, if you’d rather. And let’s dispense with the most formal of formalities this evening.”
