Page 96 of On The Edge

The fairy godmother wand—the crew of makeup artists, manicurists, hairstylists, and stylists—that came in and got me ready today.

The dress. It’s champagne in color and has delicate beading that’s both sufficiently formal for the event but not so formal I feel stuffy and out of place.

The jewels. The ones Cruz got on loan from his jeweler, which arrived with armed guards, and that have a value worth more than my rent . . . for a decade.

My date. Cruz knows how to wear a tuxedo. He’s devastating in every sense of the word with his dark features and broad shoulders. He looks like he was born to attend events like this.

To our chariot. Who knows how expensive the car we arrive in is, but its doors swing up and the engine purrs instead of rumbles.

To the venue. A freaking palace. One that a real prince and princess live in. One that has been there for centuries and through different reigns. One with gardens we’re standing amongst in the moonlit night on the coast of the Mediterranean.

To the people milling all around us. It’s affluence on steroids. I’ve never seen more diamonds and designer clothes and people I think I know but can’t place before.

I won’t allow myself to believe this is just for show for Cruz. Me being here. Me being on his arm. I know it probably is, but I don’t want to think about that tonight. Tonight, I want to get lost in the fairy-tale world we’ve stepped into and not think about tomorrows or fouples or the fact that when I look at Cruz or feel his touch, I feel my heart slipping.

I study his profile as he looks around, smiling at those he needs to smile at and nodding at others. We’ve done the mingle rounds and are finally having a moment to ourselves.

“Did I really just meet a real prince?” I ask Cruz who chuckles.

“You did.” He nods, his eyes finding mine.

“He seemed so normal. I mean . . . And he knew you by name, Cruz. What person is known by the Prince of Monaco?”

Tessa is going to die. Simply die.

“The family he was born into isn’t his fault. He’s a normal guy with a fancy last name and ridiculous expectations put on his shoulders,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about the prince or himself.

Cruz’s hand is steady on my lower back as he lifts a flute of champagne off a tray and hands it to me.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he murmurs in my ear, causing goosebumps. “It was definitely worth the fight to get the extra ticket for you to be here.”

“What?” I ask, fingers going back up to toy with the necklace and make sure it’s still in place.

“Tickets to this are limited. Extremely selective.” His smile is shy and his eyes glance across the room momentarily. “I had to petition for an extra one because this night wouldn’t be the same without you—my gorgeous, stunning date—here at my side.” He kisses the curve of my shoulder. “You being here made the night perfect.”

His words have my smile widening and my chest tightening. He seems so genuinely happy right now. This is the Cross that Sofia was talking about. The one I could easily fall for.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” If it sounds clichéd, it is. But it’s also so very true.

“I can think of a few others,” he whispers as his eyes scrape up and down the length of me. He leans forward. “And all I can think about is getting you out of this dress and fucking you with just the jewels and heels on.”

My body warms with that slow, sweet burn that it seems only he can create within me.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be able to wait that long.” I turn and slide my hand on the inside of his jacket and skim my nails up and down his ribcage. I love his quick hiss of a breath and the tensing of his hand on my back.

“Well, we’ve met the prince. We’ve done the mingling. Now we just have to wait for them to announce the silent auction is about to end and we can slip out.”

“Did you know they brought undergarments for this dress? Lace bustier. Satin garters to go with the thigh-highs. Too bad I forgot to wear the matching panties that goes with it.”

His nostrils flare and the muscle in his jaw pulses. “You’re a cocktease.”

“Never want to leave an opportunity wasted and”—I lean in toward his ear and whisper—“you never know when those opportunities might arise.”

“I’ve got something rising all right,” he mutters, his eyes heavy with desire, boring into mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee says directing everyone’s attention toward him. “We’ll get tonight’s festivities started shortly. Please make sure you have your drink in hand, your wallets ready, and get your last bids in at the auction tables. Silent bidding will end in twenty minutes, and we all know how you like to outbid each other in the waning moments.”

I can only imagine what those final moments would be like. I walked through the items up for bid and choked at the starting bids. I don’t think anything was less than one hundred thousand euros.