Chapter 18
“Princesses do not carry cell phones,” Nicole hissed as they marched through the visitor’s lot, heading for the medical center’s revolving doors. “Not in the car, not at a birthday party, and especially not at a hospital.”
“Who are you?” Emma cast a sideways glance at their mutual friend in the Mulan outfit. “Doctor Seuss?”
“I’m putting it away.” Lucy slipped her cell into the blue, beaded bag looped around her wrist. The fabric matched her dress. But today she’d traded Cinderella’s restrictive ball gown for Princess Elsa’s famous blue dress. Elsa’s sister, Anna, marched between her and Mulan. All three of them had rushed home from a successful morning consult to put on their wigs and gowns.
“Jared hasn’t called yet,” Lucy announced, swinging the long, blond braid of her wig over her shoulder. “He said we would get together for dinner tonight, but it’s two in the afternoon and he hasn’t . . . What if he changed his mind? What if it was just one night?”
“Stop right there,” Nicole demanded.
“I’m sorry,” Lucy said.
“And don’t apologize,” Nicole said. “We’ve all been there. At least in our heads.”
“Nicole’s right,” Emma said. “Jared’s probably just busy dealing with whatever crisis Finn dropped on him last night.”
“Right,” Lucy said. “He’s busy.”
The trio of princesses walked through the revolving door one-by-one and smiled at surprised onlookers in the lobby. Lucy waved but didn’t stop. Up ahead of her, Mulan was on a mission to find the children’s ward.
“A rich, handsome billionaire like Jared,” Emma said as they turned left at the reception desk and followed the signs marked Children’s Intensive Care. “He doesn’t create a fake dating profile for one evening of sex—”
“Children,” Nicole hissed.
“Calm down,” Emma shot back. “We’re not to their wing yet.” Then she turned to Lucy. “Have you thought about calling him?”
Lucy nodded, and the long braid over her shoulder shifted and threatened to pull her wig off her head. She reached up to adjust it before they entered the brightly colored hall up ahead. “I sent a text this morning. I kept it light and playful, asking ‘Philip’ if he’d put out last night’s fire. He wrote back ‘under control princess.’ ”
Nicole paused with her hands on the swinging door leading to their destination. “So he’s not ignoring you.”
Lucy pursed her lips together. “No, but I expected more. The se—”
“Children,” Nicole hissed again.
“The ‘ice storm’ last night was amazing,” Lucy said in a sugarcoated voice.
“Call him and tell him that. Don’t wait for him to set up plans,” Nicole demanded. “But call after we cheer up the sick little people. Your love life with your billionaire can wait.”
Lucy followed her friends into the hallways lined with bucolic murals. A head wrapped in a scarf poked around one doorway. The little girl’s eyes widened, and she gasped before ducking back inside. She returned to the hallway dragging her I.V. a second later.
“Hello there, little princess,” Lucy said with a welcoming smile. “What’s your name?”
“Cara,” the child whispered.
“Hi, Cara.” Lucy lowered down until she was at eye level with the girl who looked to be about five years old.
“Don’t tell your sister,” Cara whispered. “But you’re my favorite. I dressed up like you for Halloween last year. I didn’t even need a wig. Before I got sick, I had long hair like yours. And I had the same dress.”
Cara rattled on and on. The beaded bag looped around Lucy’s wrist vibrated, and she quickly hid it in the folds of her dress, not wishing to break the illusion. Jared—please, please let that be from him—could wait. Right now, making Cara smile was all that mattered.
“Some days I wish we could drive around to all the hospitals and make kids smile.” Lucy settled into the back seat of the car, carefully tucking her dress in around her. “No more worrying about parents’ expectations for their daughter’s perfect party. Just kids who need a pick-me-up.”
“Me too.” Nicole put the car in reverse and steered out of the parking space. “But then we’d become starving princesses. These visits are pro bono remember? The parties pay the bills.”
“But if one of us marries a billionaire . . . ” Emma gave her a pointed look in the rearview mirror.
“He still hasn’t called. I think planning the wedding and how we’ll spend his money is a little premature,” Lucy said dryly.
“Have you checked your email?” Emma asked, turning in the front passenger seat to look back at her. “Voicemail?”
“A message from a potential client, and another from my dentist reminding me I’m due for a cleaning. I checked in the bathroom halfway through the visit.” The phone had been dancing in her bag throughout the visit. A buzz here. Another there. She withdrew it from the bag and glanced at the screen. Her eyes widened. “Jared didn’t call, but Philip Ryder sent me a Fated for Love message. I just received the alert.”
“Open it!” Emma demanded.
Lucy’s fingers tapped on the cell phone screen. “I’m trying. The stupid app wants my password again.” An “invalid password” message flashed on the screen. She held out the phone to her princess sister Anna in the front seat. “Here. You do it. You started this.”
Emma snatched the phone and started pecking at the screen.
Lucy’s fingers toyed with the end of the wig’s long braid. Just because she was excited to read the message . . .
“Oh no,” she whispered. “I want Philip. Not Jared.”
“Same person,” Nicole said sagely. “You want the fun, playful suitor.”
“True.” Lucy looked to Emma. “Did you get in yet?”
“Here. You read it.” Princess Anna handed the phone over the center console and into the Toyota’s cramped backseat. “He sent another picture too.”
See you tonight, princess.
Your,
Workaholic Suitor
Her brow furrowed, but she clicked on the attached image. She recognized the setting. A high-back, brown leather chair filled the back of the shot, but a glass-top desk dominated the picture. She’d seen this one before—at the Mitchell Fund’s Florida headquarters. Every other office held a generic wooden desk, including Finn’s, but Jared had selected a sleek, modern look for his workspace.
Compared to his home study, this image lacked clutter, handcuffs, and his abs. Instead, Mr. Ab Selfie had selected a messenger to hold a sign. A stuffed, white unicorn with a rainbow mane and silver horn sat on the desk. Given its size, roughly the same as a Labrador puppy, there wasn’t much room for anything else. The paper hanging from his neck like a bib read:
You’re invited to dinner.
8pm.
Here.
Lucy pressed her fingers to her lips. But a giggle slipped out, followed by another.
“What did he say?” Emma demanded, contorting her torso until she was leaning over the center console. “Tell us or we’re stopping at The Taco Bar and drinking margaritas until you break.”
“We can’t,” Nicole protested. “We’re in costume. Anna, Elsa, and Mulan can’t walk into a bar.”
“We’ll go to the back and drink with Minny,” Emma said.
Lucy lowered both hands to her lap. “We’re going home.” She stole another glance at the playful picture.
This is what I was looking for. This is what I’ve been trying to find on all of those disaster dates.
She wanted a man who could make her laugh. She hadn’t realized, or she would have written a dramatically different online dating profile.
Looking for a man who makes me smile after a long day. A man who likes sex on the beach more than long walks . . .
Grinning, Lucy met Emma’s impatient gaze. “We’re going home so I can prepare.” Another giggle slipped out. “Tonight, I have a date with a unicorn.”