I was daydreaming. Again. And my daydreams were getting more and more risqué as the afternoon went on. I would close my eyes and I could feel Charlie’s lips against mine, could feel his hand tangled in my hair, could feel his chest beneath my fingers. It was cool and temperate in the tent but I was hot, hot, hot.

“You look a bit flushed, luv,” Jules teased, pushing a glass of iced tea towards me.

I pressed it against my throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I responded coyly.

“Maybe you can get some information out of her.” Paige joined us over by the bar. “She refused to give me any of the juicy details when she came home last night. With her hair a mess and her lipstick smudged.” She arched an eyebrow at me. “I think the line you gave me was that you’d had a perfectly lovely evening.”

“I did have a perfectly lovely evening,” I said.

“A perfectly lovely, perfectly orgasmic evening?” Paige prompted.

I smacked her with a tea towel. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Since when?” She threw her arms up with exasperation. “You used to tell me everything.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to jinx it,” Jules offered.

I sent her a grateful look. “It’s still so new,” I said. “And unbelievable.”

Paige sighed. “Fine, I understand. I guess.”

She pouted, but not for long. A group of hot guys walked by, and she was immediately distracted.

“Excuse me,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“How does she get away with wearing her hair down?” asked Jules. “Mr. Smyth is a stickler about those things, but Paige seems immune to any of his orders.”

I shrugged. “She’s Paige. She makes her own rules.”

“Lucky,” Jules sighed.

Lucky. That’s how I felt every time I snuck a look at my phone to re-read the message Charlie had sent me after our date. He said he owed me luck, but as far as I was concerned, last night was luck incarnate. A girl like me, on a date with a guy like him? That kind of thing only happened in romantic comedies.

If only my mom was alive.

I felt a twinge of sadness. I missed her so much, especially being in London. So much seemed to remind me of her, and I kept experiencing things that I wished I could tell her about. That I wished she could be here for.

To alleviate some of my sadness, I went to take another look at Charlie’s message from last night, and found a brand new one waiting for me.

“Hey Lady Luck,” it said. “I have the day off. Want to play hooky and spend the day with me?”

My pulse went into overtime. There was nothing I wanted more than to see Charlie. But I also knew that I needed this job and I couldn’t risk getting fired. Chewing my bottom lip, I tried to figure out the best way to tell him that I couldn’t meet him until after my shift.

“Sexting?” Paige teased, coming over to me.

I blushed and her eyes widened.

“I was joking!” She grabbed my phone before I could hide it.

“It’s not a sext!” I hissed, but she was already scrolling through my messages.

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” she said with equal parts affection and annoyance. “I’m impressed,” she said. “He hasn’t sent a single dick pic.”

“He’s a prince!” I said, horrified at the thought.

“Princes have dicks.” Paige winked at me. “And I bet his is fantastic.”

I blushed again, remembering the feeling of being pressed up against him. Feeling how much he wanted me.

“He’s a gentleman,” I told her.

“Well, he certainly has good texting etiquette,” she confirmed, tossing the phone back at me. “Now hurry up, or you’ll be late.”

“What are you talking about?” I glanced down at my phone to find that Paige had responded to Charlie’s text.

She had written: “Pick me up in 10.”

“Paige!” I smacked her. “I have to work.”

She waved me off. “I’ll cover for you,” she said. “Like you haven’t done the same for me a billion times?”

It was true. When we worked at the coffee shop together there had been numerous times when she had been running late or had to leave early. I had always covered. Because she was my best friend. And that’s what best friends did.

“You’re awesome,” I told her, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“I’ve got a top in my locker that would look smoking hot on you.” She pushed me in the direction of our changing room. “Just make sure to name your firstborn after me. Boy or girl.”

I rolled my eyes at her and hurried off to meet my prince.

* * *

Paige hadn’t been wrong about the shirt. It did look smoking hot. Mostly because it barely covered my boobs. Usually I would feel self-conscious, but the look on Charlie’s face when he saw me—both gobsmacked and intense—made me glad I was wearing it. And yet, when he came over, his eyes didn’t stay focused on my cleavage, the way I was used to when guys addressed me. Instead, he kept his gaze on my face.

“You look fantastic.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you.” I had a hard time not blushing. He was so freaking gorgeous.

“No, thank you.” He took my hand. “I was having an absolutely rubbish day and you’ve made it instantly better.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as we climbed into a black car with tinted windows.

“It’s a surprise.” He put his hand on my knee.

If it wasn’t for the driver and Declan sitting in the front, I might have reached across the seat, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and kissed the ever-loving daylights out of him. But we were not alone, and so I had to maintain my distance, as much as I loathed doing so. All I wanted to do was kiss him.

We pulled into an alley and Charlie put on a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. It wasn’t an original disguise, but that combined with the ratty shirt and the beat-up jeans definitely had him blending in with the crowd on the street. Declan was dressed similarly, and kept a decent distance as we got out of the car.

I stared up at the gorgeous building in front of me.

“Welcome to the Victoria and Albert Museum,” said Charlie. “I’ve been told they have a great fashion exhibit.”

I let out a little gasp of pleasure, and he laughed.

“Come on.” He took my elbow and we joined the queue of people heading into the museum.

No one even glanced our way as we headed towards the permanent exhibit. It was stunning. The exhibition was set up in a circle, arranged by decades, and in the center of the room was a temporary ticketed collection of the history of underwear and lingerie.

“Now that’s my kind of fashion,” Charlie teased, buying two tickets for us.

There was no one else in the exhibit, giving us the privacy and luxury of exploring. It took a few moments for me to notice that the docent at the ticket counter had put up a sign, stating that it was closed. One look at Charlie and I could tell from his smile that it was his doing.

It was a fantastic exhibit. We took our time at each display, examining early corsets and bustles, and underwear of all kinds.

“It’s not just about clothing,” I gushed, showing him my favorite pieces. “You can see the history of social progress, and women’s rights, just through the different fashions of the day. When women stopped wearing corsets, it allowed them to become more active, and take on responsibilities outside the home. And when hemlines started rising, it reflected women going to work and needing more comfort and practicality in their clothes.”

“I never thought about it like that.”

I checked to see if Charlie was just being polite, but he looked really interested as I showed him around.

“Most people think fashion is just frivolous, or vain,” I confided. “But there’s a whole hidden language and history in every garment. It’s why I love it so much. You’re taking something basic that people need – to cover their bodies – and turning it into a statement, or a way to express yourself. There are limitless possibilities.”

“So how did you get into all of this?” he asked.

“I picked it up from my mom, sort of.” I felt a pang, remembering her. “She was always so stylish, but not boring – she had a way of taking a scarf, or a belt, and using it to make her outfit look totally different. She would let me play in her wardrobe for hours, getting dressed up, and pretending to be someone different. That’s when I first realized clothing is like a costume. A good designer lets you be whoever you want to be.”

“She sounds great,” Charlie smiled. “Are you guys still close?”

I paused. “She… passed away. A few years ago. Car accident.”

He stopped, his expression turning concerned. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s OK.” I replied. “I mean, it’s not OK. I still miss her, all the time. But, I guess that’s just the way it goes.”

Charlie took my hand and squeezed it. “I bet she’d be proud.”

“Of what?”

“You! All your designs.”

I shook my head. “They’re nothing special. I just like playing around with fabrics and embellishments, that’s all.”

He shook his head firmly. “You do that too much. Put yourself down. You need to believe in your own talents. Learn to toot your own horn.”

I smiled. “You mean, like you?”

“Absolutely.” Charlie grinned. His smile turned quieter. “Thank you for sharing that. About your mom. I’m sorry you had to lose her like that.”

“Me too.” I swallowed. “What about you?” I asked, needing to change the subject. “Do you get along with your parents?”

Charlie winced. “Let’s just say, my parents subscribed to the old-school philosophy on parenting. That children should be seen very occasionally, packed off to boarding school, and only brought out for ceremonial events.”

“Ouch.” I knew he had a joking tone, but it still didn’t sound much fun. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, looking self-conscious. “I think that’s part of the reason I got into tennis, to escape all the royal attention. I always loved the game, but I also loved being on tour, away from everything. They had Hugh to do all the dutiful son stuff anyway, so they all pretty much forgot about me. Except when I occasionally brought shame on the family name, that was.” He was still joking, but I could see there was something more beneath the surface. “Anyway, enough about me,” he said. “Tonight is about you.”

“Well, thank you. I’m having a great time.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, with a long look that left no doubt that he was very, very interested in my pleasure.

I blushed and turned away, focusing my attention on the beautiful fashion around us.

“I bet you’d look stunning in that,” Charlie whispered in my ear as we looked at a particularly gorgeous embroidered corset.

His hand had found its way to my hip, his fingers inching up under my borrowed shirt, teasing the bare skin there. I was just about to push him against the wall and have my naughty, naughty way with him—historical fashion be damned—when he sneezed.

I spun around to face him.

“Oh no!”

“What?” he wrinkled his nose at me.

“You have a match tomorrow,” I reminded him. “You can’t get sick.”

“It’s fine,” he waved a hand. “Just a sneeze.”

I shook my head. “It’s too cold in here.” I took his hand. “We should go somewhere warmer.”

“I really am quite alright,” he insisted. Then he got a wicked gleam in his eyes. “But then again, perhaps I shouldn’t tempt fate.”

Even though I knew he was humoring me, I didn’t mind.

“Maybe you should go back to your hotel room and rest,” I suggested. The last thing I wanted was to be responsible for him being too sick to play tomorrow.

“That’s a good idea.” He put his arm around my shoulder and let out an exaggerated cough. “We can order chicken noodle soup from room service.”

“I’ll take you back to your hotel,” I said, trying to ignore how much I wanted to go back to his room with him. “But I really think you need to rest.”

“I will,” he assured me.