The Next Morning

I was just getting out of the shower in our hotel room when my phone rang.

“Hey, Aly? Mind seeing who that is?” I called, bending over to wrap my hair in a towel.

“Got it!” she called back.

I winced when I straightened. Not only was my head pounding; my back was killing me. I must’ve tweaked a muscle during my—ah—athletic encounter in the back of a cab with the hot bartender I’d picked up last night.

Aly and I had ended up finishing our interview with Princess Jane yesterday. It had gone well, minus the whole family feud incident, and we’d decided to pub hop to celebrate.

Having my heart chewed up and spit out by my ex-husband Luke had cured me of any desire for a committed relationship. So a hot foreign guy I’d never see again was right up my alley. Sure, he hadn’t been the most interesting person I’d ever met, or the best dressed. He was, in other words, no Prince Kit. But he’d been a safe bet.

A very safe, very hot bet.

Speaking of Prince Kit…I don’t know why, but I kept thinking about him. He’d looked so damn good. But he was different, too. He’d changed. Before, the blue in his eyes had been warm.

It was icy now. Cold.

I shivered. Had he been that way since his parents died? Their plane had crashed while trying to land in bad weather in Ireland. The trauma of losing loved ones in such an awful accident like that—hell, I’d close myself off, too. It was easier to turn your heart to stone than to let it bleed.

I would know. I’d cordoned off the spot in the center of my chest the day my marriage fell apart. I didn’t trust anyone, even myself.

Aly flew through the bathroom door, not even bothering to knock.

“What the—”

“Look!” She held up my phone. It was still ringing. “I assume ‘Kit Thorne’ is the Kit Thorne? Prince Kit? The TA you schtuped in college?”

Yesterday after the interview, Aly had asked me about my relationship with Kit. Suffice it to say she hadn’t been expecting the answer I gave her.

I stared at the name lit up on the screen. Sure enough, it was Kit.

My stomach flipped. Did Kit and I really have the same numbers we’d had back in school? We’d never texted individually. But we had been part of a big group text for our Friday morning section.

“I…yeah. I guess that’s him.” I took the phone. It felt like a grenade in my hand. “I should answer it, right? Maybe he’s calling about the School for the Arts job.”

“When a prince calls you, yes, you’re supposed to answer.” Aly nodded at the screen. “So answer it!”

I did.

“H-hello?”

“Miss Kilpatrick? This is Kit Thorne.” His voice sounded deeper on the phone. Gravelly.

I looked at Aly. She wore this big, goofy smile that somehow only made me more nervous.

“Hey. Hi.” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello, Kit. Please, call me Emily.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“All right then, Emily. I’m sorry to be a bother. I wanted to apologize again for what happened yesterday at the palace. I promise we don’t usually shout at each other like that. Except on Sundays, of course.”

“What happens on Sundays?”

“Monopoly.”

I bit back a grin. “Monopoly as in you literally have a monopoly on all the things in the world? Or Monopoly the board game?”

“My family and I, see, we’ve got a massive board game…game.”

I laughed, even as I recognized that this was all part of a charm offensive. Kit wanted something. But what? What could I possibly offer the guy who could have anything—and anyone—he wanted at the snap of his fingers?

“And my brothers, they’re terrible cheaters,” Kit continued. “They steal money. Sneak in loaded dice. Doesn’t help they turn the whole thing into a drinking game. The arguments can get pretty heated.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun,” I replied. “Look, I appreciate you calling, Kit. But I’ll say it again—an apology isn’t necessary. We all have that uncle, believe me.”

“Carlton…well.” Kit sighed, a sound at odds with the flirty warmth of his conversation so far. “Anyway. Emily. I’d like to get together and thank you in person for being so cool about everything. Just you and me. Maybe we can also chat a bit about your plans for the School for the Arts, yeah?”

I loved that little yeah Brits tacked on to the ends of their sentences. It was cute and usually said in earnest. But this yeah had me seriously suspicious. Then again, if any of this could help us land that project for the foundation…

“Are you free this evening for dinner?” he asked.

Dinner. With Kit. The prince. Tonight.

Aly was frantically waving her arms at me, mouthing yes! Fuck yes!

“Yes. Yes, I’m free.” I turned to wipe the condensation off the mirror. Taking in my reflection, I silently thanked God for coffee and concealer. I’d be employing heaps of both today in an effort to not look like a corpse.

“Excellent. I’ll text you the name and address of the restaurant. Seven o’clock okay for you?”

We settled on the details, and then we hung up. I stared at my phone for several beats while I tried to process what had just happened.

I knew better than to believe in miracles. But I’d just gotten a call out of the blue from the future King of England. If he wanted something from me, then he’d have to offer something in return, right?

I was no damsel. But I was certainly in distress. I was confident I could save myself—all I needed was a break. A stroke of luck that I could use to turn things around. Maybe this was it.

I didn’t allow myself to think about the possibility that Kit just wanted to take me on a date. I’d heard the gossip. Prince Kit dated heiresses. Models. He didn’t dally with commoners like me. Even if he did, I didn’t dally with men like him. Good men. Serious men. Men who were into things like kids and commitment (Kit had told Oprah he wanted both “quite dearly” in an interview last year).

Yes, Kit had been amazing in bed. On the desk. Whatever. He’d been intense and gentle and confident, all at once. The ardent way his body moved over mine—

Ugh, I didn’t want to think about that. So I went to dig through my suitcase for something to wear tonight instead. Kit and I were different people now. We wanted different things.

Business. This was about business. I had to keep my eye on the prize. And that prize was bringing EP Designs back from the dead.

But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t cover all my bases, just in case.

I put my hands on the tangle of clothes I’d just dug up. I had a great pair of fuck me heels to wear, but I needed a dress to go with them. Something elegant and sexy. I did have the tiniest sliver of room left on one of my cards…

“Hey Aly?”

“Yeah?”

“Cancel our lunch reservation. We’re going shopping.”