Chapter 3
1974 Words
Chapter Three
Sierra
Prince Adrian isn’t the asshole I thought he was. In fact, he can be charming when he puts forth an effort.
“Tell me why on earth you wanted a date with me?” He pours more champagne into my glass. “Be truthful.”
I feel my cheeks heat. Might as well tell the truth since I’ll be walking out of here in a few hours, never to cross paths with him again. “Well, you’re hot. And you look like you know how to enjoy life, from the articles I’ve read and your i********: feed. As embarrassing as it sounds, I’ve always had a fascination with royal families. It all looks so perfect.”
His face distorts and he straightens the napkin in his lap. “You do know that perception isn’t necessarily reality, right?”
I laugh. Try growing up in my family. I was supposed to be the perfect military daughter. Even while mourning my mother’s death, my father told me to hold my head up high, that I should be proud that my mom had died for her country. Ironic coming from him. No one ever knew how depressed he became. How many times I pretended he was working so I could eat at a friend’s house, or the times I borrowed Blanca’s clothes because my dad had to work so much he couldn’t get to my laundry. The excuses for rides home from volleyball practice. And I think people felt they were doing good by helping me so much. They helped the poor girl who had lost her mother. It made people feel good about themselves.
“I do. So tell me some inside secrets.” I lean forward.
Again his face distorts, and he adjusts the napkin in his lap, but he recovers quickly as though it never happened. “I’m allergic to peanuts.”
“Oh, they published that last year when you had that reaction while at the movie premiere in London.”
His eyebrows raise.
Maybe I should keep my mouth shut about how much I’ve read about him. “I only know that because I was dying to see that movie and it was research. Did I tell you I’m a reporter?”
He chuckles. Luckily, a server comes out with two silver dome-covered plates. Saved by dinner.
“Filet and chicken with shrimp,” the server says with a flourish as if he’s revealing the Hope Diamond.
The plate is filled with a small piece of filet with a béarnaise sauce, chicken with what appear to be piccata, and grilled shrimp that looks like it has a glaze on it. The server disappears and reappears again with several trays of side dishes.
“This is your potato. Mashed, baked, and scalloped.” He disappears again and returns seconds later. “Vegetables. Green beans, asparagus, and glazed carrots.”
Each side dish has its own tray. How much did they think two people could eat?
“Thank you.” Prince Adrian bows his head.
“Please let us know if you’re missing anything.”
“Will do,” Prince Adrian responds.
The server leaves as I stare at the array of dishes laid out in front of us. “This is a lot of food.”
He lifts his glass. “Welcome to a royal’s secret life. Where you don’t have to make choices because you get one of everything.”
I lift my glass. “A girl could get used to this.”
He smiles and our glasses clink.
“So, since you clearly know everything about me, tell me about yourself.” He uses his utensils perfectly—the fork hold, the cutting off one piece and eating it before cutting any more. He doesn’t touch the potato plate, which I seem to gravitate toward.
“Not much. I grew up in Carroll Gardens, which is a borough of New York City. Went to college for journalism. Worked my way up to finally becoming a street reporter for a small channel in Cliffton Heights, which is about an hour-and-a-half train ride from here.” I shrug and cut off a piece of chicken.
“You live alone?”
“I live with two… actually tomorrow, I’ll only live with one girlfriend.”
“Oh.” He places his silverware down and wipes his mouth. “So you’re a lesbian?”
I laugh. “No. I live with a girl who is a friend. Do you think a lesbian would want to win a date with you?”
He shrugs. “I have a charismatic personality. Am I not a good date?”
“Yeah, that cheesy handshake request almost made my knees weak.”
His laugh is contagious. The way his face lights up… I’d love to see him in a casual environment. “Sorry about that. I tend to act like a toddler who isn’t getting his way when it comes to things like this.” He motions with his fork, which I’m guessing means the elaborate set up wasn’t done by him.
Not that I thought it would be. Why would he plan a date for a stranger who won it through a contest?
“It’s okay. You threw me and I almost left, but you’re lucky I don’t love being in my apartment lately.”
His focus shifts from his steak to his chicken. It’s intriguing that he starts and finishes one food item before moving on to the next. “Why is that?”
I shrug.
“Come on. It’s just us and the night sky. I told you the royals’ secret.” I quirk my eyebrow and he chuckles, knowing that wasn’t a secret. “Okay. Let’s see… how about… my mom locked me in the car when I was two.”
“Really? Aren’t you guys with security all the time?”
He shakes his head. “A lot, but my mom said it was going to be just me and her that day. It’s this thing she has where she takes one day every month and spends it with one of us. Either me, my sister Felicia, or my brother Rowan.”
A pang of jealousy jolts me like the prongs from a Taser. Memories of visits to the zoo, park, and shopping with my mom flood my mind.
“You okay?” he asks, and I snap back to the present.
I smack on my fake smile. “Yeah. So what happened? Was it kept out of the press?”
He stares at his plate. “My dad came to our rescue without security. I have no idea how he did it, but my mom used to say he really was the prince she married because there he was on Felicia’s white horse, Twinkle, with a coat hanger in hand. Unlocked the door and no one ever knew it happened. The press would’ve ridiculed her.” His small smile says it’s a fond memory. Like one of those stories the Biancos recite over and over every Christmas. But still, there’s some kind of pain in his eyes.
“That’s very heroic.”
He sips his champagne. “See? There’s a secret only the insiders of the Marx family know. So tell me now why you don’t want to be at your apartment.”
“Really?”
“Why don’t you want to be at your apartment?”
I place my silverware down. I want to exchange my plate full of meat for the potato one. “My best friend recently started dating my ex.”
He cringes as I assumed he would. That sentence gains the same reaction from most people. “That sucks.”
I nod, picking my silverware back up. Screw it, I’m having mashed potatoes. I take the large spoon that’s shoved in the middle of the mashed potatoes and heap some on my plate.
“You’re still hung up on him?”
My head shoots up. “No.”
“Sorry. I assumed.”
“Ethan and I were all wrong for each other. He’s a bit of a control freak and so am I. We were like two rams headbutting one another with every decision that had to be made.”
“And your friend. Do you not like her?”
“No, I like her.”
“Then why can’t you be around them if you don’t have feelings for him and you like her?”
I allow myself a minute to think it through. “They’re in that touchy stage. That one where they can’t keep their hands off one another. They keep kissing and saying nice things to one another. It’s only been months and they’re already moving in together. Down the hall from me, no less.”
He concentrates on me, not offering any advice, which I love. I hate when people try to fix my problems. Sometimes you just need someone to listen, that’s all. Ethan’s constant need to bandage up my problems always got us into fights, whether my problem had to do with him or not.
“You’re just lonely then?”
My fork slips out of my grasp and hits the china plate before cascading to the ground. “No, I’m not lonely. I’m fine. I have a dream job, great friends. I might not be royalty or have a bank account with a lot of zeros, but I’m comfortable and happy.”
“Okay.” He raises his brows and looks back at his plate to concentrate on his meal.
“What?”
He glances up for a moment but moves back to perfectly cutting his chicken. “I said okay.”
“No. You said okay.” I mimic his tone. The one that suggests I’m full of s**t. That I’m not happy. Who does he think he is? I could point out that he’s not happy. There’s a reason he tried to dress like a slob to put me off and then sent the cameras away. But I’ll be polite.
“Yes, and I meant okay. If you think you’re happy, then who am I to say different? We just met.”
“Exactly.”
The server comes out and hands me a fork, which reminds me there are eyes on us. Of course there are.
“Do you ever grow sick of living in a fishbowl?” I ask.
He looks at me and tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
“The fact someone is watching us right now. That they were able to see I dropped my fork and brought one to me without me having to ask. You want to question my happiness? Maybe you should examine your own.”
There’s that spiteful side of me roaring like a damn tiger again. s**t, I promised I’d keep her quiet tonight. Then again, I didn’t think the prince would be pointing fingers at me.
“Truth?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course I get sick of it. I hate it.” He looks at the stars, and it’s clear his mind is working.
I study him for a moment. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more beautiful man. He has a raw edge mixed with sophisticated elegance. His manners are polished and flawless, but there’s a more rugged man clawing to get out. That’s about all I’ve been able to decipher about him so far.
He turns to me. “Want to get out of here?”
My eyes widen. “What?” Our plates are still half full and I’m sure there’s a great dessert coming.
He pushes away his plate, slides out his chair. “They’ve got their pictures. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
The most wicked smile crosses his face. My assumption is right. There’s a wicked man who’s dying to get out of the straitjacket of his royal blood. “Wherever we want.”
“What if someone recognizes you?”
He takes my hand and warmth spreads up my arm. “What did that contest promise?”
“A date with Prince Adrian Marx,” I say, still confused as to what’s going on. Surely he already had plans with his buddies to go to some hot new club after we finish dinner.
He eyes the table covered with a bunch of dishes and glasses of champagne. “This isn’t a date with Prince Adrian Marx. Would you like to really experience a date with him?”
Our eyes meet and a pull I didn’t feel until now tugs at me. I’m usually the first person to try something out of my comfort zone, but for some reason, I don’t think I’m prepared for whatever he has in mind. Still, a night out with a prince whose eyes are pleading with me to experience one night with him… I’d be crazy to say no.
I nod, and the smile that lights up his face makes my stomach flip-flop like there’s a little gymnast in there.
“Let’s go then.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“That’s the best part—I want to go wherever the night takes us. No plans.”
He couldn’t have said anything more perfect.
- Writer
