Page 31 of Tabloid Princess

I wished I could defend myself, but I couldn’t find it in me. “Fair point.” I picked up a hanger and held it out. “What about this?”

She looked up and down at the navy dress with small pink flowers. A stretchy material, it had a wrap-style front. While it looked like it may cling to areas I didn’t like to accentuate, it seemed to be relatively well made—hopefully it would have some support.

“Navy and pink?” She waggled an eyebrow.

“Yes and…?”

“Are you dressing to co-ordinate with Prince Oliver?”

“What?”

“He’s wearing navy trousers and a pink tie. Please tell me you have noticed?”

I think if ever there was a moment she’d finally give up on me—this would be it.

“No. I was trying very hard not to stare at him.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s rude.”

“Oh, shut up. He expects it. It’s his job to be nice, shake hands, smile politely and be stared at.”

My cheeks warmed again. “I didn’t say I’d succeeded.”

“Aha! You are human after all.”

“Of course, I am. Now am I getting this one or not?”

She stared at the dress for one moment longer, using some superior shopping skill I’d been born defective of. “Yes. And this one for tomorrow.” She handed me a black one with a small silver fern print.

“Tomorrow?”

“Babe, you are going to be on show all week. Better embrace it.”

I cringed, a deep dread settling in my stomach. I actually couldn’t imagine anything worse.

What was worse was getting back to the office, one large white wine oiled and wearing my new dress, only to find the broad-shouldered frame of the prince in my chair.

“Oh.”

He was writing something on a small laptop and turned briefly in my direction with my exclamation. “One moment.”

He held his finger up and I bit hard on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from retorting. I dropped a curtsey and mumbled. “Yes, Your Highness.”

I couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like his cheeks lifted.

Then he turned and flashed the full wattage of his burning, intense gaze at me. Running a hand through his inky hair, he shot me a rueful smile. “My apologies for borrowing your chair. I needed to respond to some urgent emails.”

“My throne.” I shot back without even thinking.

He met my gaze. I’m not sure if it was shock or amusement dancing in his eyes. “And very comfortable too. It’s feels like it’s been well worn.”

I bobbed another curtsey—this one was utterly unnecessary—what was I doing? Thanking him for being rude to me?

What a dick.

“Nice dress.”