Amara Meadows has always placed her job first, but with her journalism career slowly failing, she seems lost.
Although when she ends up spending a month in the palace covering the coronation of White Bridge's prince, she finds more than herself.
F...
ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
Twenty minutes.
What kind of person is twenty minutes late for his own shindig?
I've always thought royalty had some sense of etiquette to prevent tardiness.
I'm sure there is some fitting reason as to why his royal highness is late though. Like maybe his car broke down and he had been attacked by wolves. Which would be awful... for my career of course. Or maybe he stopped and out of the kindness of his heart he offered some assistance to a poor orphan boy, which I assume is almost more unlikely than the wolves. Maybe he had an early hair appointment and the stylist lost one of his pens while trying to cut the prince's main.
Pen.
Please tell me that in my bag filled with more than four different types of red lipstick, I remembered a pen? Rummaging through the leather satchel my hands get caught up in the useless search.
Okay, so this is not a crisis. Pen or no pen I intend to make an impression. I might not even need it, after all, today is only a simple introduction. In fact, I probably won't need to make any notes.
For the first time, it actually occurs to me what will be happening in a few seconds. My first formal introduction as a journalist. My first introduction to someone important, very important. In fact, I'm not only going to be in the same room as literal royalty, but I'll be talking to royalty. Also not just for today, but for the next days to come. Thirty days of utter professionalism in the presence of a man who is known for promoting the complete opposite.
I honestly should have planned everything a bit better. What I'll say now and later and definitely in my interviews. I definitely don't have the luxury of letting Wyatt down. I just have to ignore the idea of Prince Xavier being anything more than my new assignment. He's the new Burger King opening I need to cover for the back page. Or the town obituary. Except maybe a little less morbid than that. I bet it'll be interesting hearing all his stories and all his tales. I bet his life as a prince has been beyond exciting. How could it not be? Unlike the life of a senior editor that's only covering the hand-me-down articles that would end up scraped if it weren't for me.
But this is it. The big make-or-break moment that will prove whether I'm a good writer or just another washout with a talent for writing fan fiction. This is what I've been waiting for and spending my time around such a devilishly beautiful creation, that's simply an added bonus.
I had however expected there to be a bigger fuss. Especially if you take into consideration that this is the first appearance of any member of the Luca family since the announcement of the coronation and instead of a luxury room filled with people, I've been taken to an empty four wall space with two assistants, a bunch of guards and an empty, dark-colored wooden table.
Hmm. How did my pen even end up under the table if I didn't take it out? Is it my pen or another pen? Busy in my head rant, I don't even notice the pair of feet thumping towards me, not until they distort my view of the mystery pen that is.
Following the polished shoes, my eyes wander over the maroon material of what can only be some sort of designer suit, tiny black dots trace along with the dress shirt and stop underneath the black bow tie.
Who wears a bow tie in the middle of the day to a place like this? A mad man I suppose, a mad man with a very nice title.
Abruptly standing upright I find my eyes crashing with something of pure model-worthy beauty. Hair of chocolate and ancient wood forming curls that flow to his fitted shoulders. Eyes that could only be carved from gold and ivory. Lips full and plump like a freshly picked plum.
Strike me down in my spot if you must, but I feel complete and utter envy towards his personal stylist, for touching that body is an art form of its own. He clears his throat and for a brief second, I feel a little irritated by the way everyone looks at me once he does like they expect me to say something first.
"I must say your highness I find it very rude of you not to announce your entrance." Surprising myself, I watch as his lips twitch into what appears to be a smile, but not quite. Well good job, Amara, way to show your top-notch professionalism.
"My apologies miss-" He pauses and stares motionless at my lips.
"Meadows, Amara Meadows." I offer him my hand to shake, but seeing the confusion in his face I drop it to my side and simply contemplate the foreign silence. Maybe he doesn't usually speak for himself and that's why this is so awkward. Maybe he's waiting for his assistant to take away the peasant from his presence.
"Honour to meet you. It's not common for the press to make such an outspoken first impression." The thickness of his proper English accent seems stronger with every word he speaks and it's so smooth and rehearsed that I want to retract my assumptions of snobbery. Although he just referred to the press as if they were the black plague, so that definitely counts against him.
"Yes, well imagine the fine impression you've made Your Highness, making me wait more than twenty minutes to grace me with your presence. I believe certain expectations have been formed." Mentally kicking myself I take a soft breath and make a note to not act like an ass next time I talk to him.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets in the most modest way. "And have they been met?" The more he speaks the smoother his words roll into his sweet accent. I lift my head high and stare at him with total control.
"Not really, no. Although disappointment was expected, the press, as you call them are quite fond of selling lies."
The assistant on my left stirs, her awful gaze warning me to form my next words carefully. Could this be considered as me knowingly insulting the prince and if so, is it punishable? I wonder if there's a dungeon. There probably isn't and even if there was I'd gladly spend the night. The prince needs to understand that his royal attitude could lead to a worse confrontation in the future. That and I don't have a filter, so I totally deserve a time out. Maybe I need to understand that I'm not talking to just anyone here.
"Miss Meadows, you don't intend to be anything like the other journalists do you? In fact, I don't suppose your interest in my family has anything to do with you being here, does it ?" He gently moves but an inch closer and I know now that it is possible for someone to smell rich.
"Prince Xavier, I can assure you that I don't care for your family's endless fairy tales. I'd like to expose every one of your little secrets."
He laughs. Not to mock me, but rather to humor me. For our little banter truly had to surprise him and me for that matter. "Well Amara, I look forward to spilling each one of them with a well-deserved smile."
With his last words hanging in the air, the prince, his guards, and the two assistants exit the little room, allowing me to finally retrieve the pen which in hindsight wasn't even needed and definitely wasn't even mine.
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Thoughts on the first meet and greet? Will Amara's rude little introduction cost her? Why exactly was Xavier late?
