Page 20 of Princessa
“Oh, I know. Kind of cute though, especially since Camille has been single most of her life. It’s not like she’s been avoiding love and marriage—just hasn’t been afforded the opportunity to come across Mr. Right.”
“Who’s your ideal Mr. Right?” The question launched out of my mouth like a rocket taking flight. Still, it wasn’t taboo forfriendsto have discussions about this sort of stuff. Right?
Arabella fidgeted with a thin, silver necklace looped around her neck, and I quickly realized that quirk was likely something she did to quell nerves.Could the shift in conversation be too abrupt? Too invasive?
Her demure clearing of the throat preceded a sigh. “I don’t really know anymore. Before Parker Jones, I dreamed of being swept off my feet by the tall, dark, and sexy Domingo Santiago, the hero of a popular telenovela me and my mama used to watch.”
“Wait. You mean,Síntomas De Amor? The one about the poor girl who fell for the rich ranchero dude?”
She squirted out a giggle. “You’ve watched it?”
“Oh, hell no!” I snapped, defending the man card I toted around like a chip on my shoulder. “My mom, on the other hand, was glued to the TV every Wednesday night. That show was like crack to her—addicted from the start. When it ended, withdrawal was awfully real.”
No longer playing with her necklace, Arabella’s perfect-for-me lips broke into a smile. “Pretty hard for me to imagine a regal queen watching a zesty telenovela. It’s like trying to picture Queen Elizabeth twerking.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised how unpretentious my mother is—the magnificent Queen Isadora. She even folds her own laundry.” Thoughts of mom brought a somber pang to my chest. As down-to-earth as the woman who watched sappy Spanish soap operas was, why wouldn’t she bend the rules for her only son?
“Everything okay? You seem troubled.”
At the sound of Arabella’s sensuous voice, I trashed thoughts of my personal telenovela-worthy drama and drove the conversation back to less pathetic things. “Yep. Now, back to what we were talking about. Tell me, who’s your ideal Mr. Right?”
She bit down on her lower lip, engrossed in contemplation, gaze fixed on the beach below. Quiet blanketed the seconds that beat by, save for the way the shoreline sand seemed tosizzleeach time it was met with a crashing wave. It may have been a tad cheesy, but I felt like my body also sizzled every moment Arabella was near. Blame that damn perfume, or her nonchalant elegance, or the fact my heart was growing lonely, longing to feel love, to be loved.
Turning to face me, she spoke softly. “I’m a bona-fide hopeless romantic, stuck on the premise that everyone deserves a happily-ever-after.” Her eyes sparkled, lips turned up in the most taking smile. “So, to answer your question: my ideal Mr. Right will give me thatOnce Upon A Timelove, the kind every swoon-worthy fairy tale begins with.”
