20. AMANDA

A friend of mine from college loves to tell the story of how her boyfriend asked the people who ran the “kiss cam” to catch him proposing to her at a Chicago Cubs game. She said it was even shown on an ESPN highlights reel.

If all goes well, my proposal will be splashed on the front page of hundreds of newspapers and websites around the world. Not that I’m keeping score or anything.

Of course, her proposal was real. I try not to think about that part.

It’s just another day in the crazy reality show that’s become my life over the past week or so. I mean, how many people get this close to the Queen of England at the Royal Ascot in the morning, then find out their honeymoon will consist of cruising the French Riviera in a hundred-foot yacht in the afternoon?

All on the arm of a prince?

“How is your bourguignon?” asks Dante, pointing his fork at my plate. We’re at a restaurant in a hotel that takes up an entire city block, surrounded by a lot of rich people, including some you’d probably recognize from last year’s Oscars.

A lot of the patrons have been casting not-so-subtle glances in our direction since we walked in. Which is what we expected.

“I’m trying to think of a word that means ‘delicious times infinity,’” I say. “I’ve had a lot of amazing meals in the last few days, but this is like something out of a dream. It can’t possibly be good for me.”

Dante has barely touched the big-headed fish on his plate. They like to serve it whole in these fancy places, so its dead eyes are staring up at me.

“How about yours?” I ask.

“What’s the word you Americans use? Meh?”

I giggle. “That about sums it up.”

My phone buzzes in my purse. Normally, I’m not one of those people who are tied to their mobiles, but it’s probably Dad.

Sure enough, the text next to his name reads: No phone calls yet.

I smile and show it to Dante, who smiles back. I told Dad to be ready for media calls, just in case. Renaldo had his tipsters feed the reporters with my life story, so I figured I’d better give him a heads up on the off chance they track him down for comments.

This whole thing is crazy enough; having Dad along for the ride is going to make it either bizarre or hilarious. Probably both.

His phone might start to light up soon, though. It’s time for Part Two of the plan.

Dante glances around the room, looking for people who’ve set their phones on their tables. Renaldo’s people have told him that a number of photographers are actually undercover in the restaurant, ready to capture something big for the Enquirer or TMZ.

Well, they’re going to get it.

Our eyes meet and Dante raises his brows. Are you ready? that looks says.

I smile and nod, taking a deep breath. Might as well start the show.

He reaches into the pocket of his jacket and emerges with his hand closed around a small box. Inside is platinum band, topped by a ten-carat emerald-cut diamond surrounded by a dozen blue Ceylon sapphires. It belonged to Dante’s mother, Lia, and is one of the most famous engagement rings in the world.

As he gets up from his seat, my heart quickens, knowing I’m about to be wearing that ring on my finger. We didn’t even have to resize it – it’s a perfect fit.

Dante moves to the side of the table so he can kneel down in front me.

Before he can do that, everything goes to shit.

“Dante!”

I turn to see a tall woman in a dress that looks like it’s been stitched together from a dozen different quilts by a seamstress who was tripping on acid. Of course, around here, that means it probably cost upwards of fifty thousand dollars.

Her smile reveals a gap between her teeth and suddenly I recognize her: Giselle Ranette. She’s one of the top models in Europe.

And she used to go out with Dante.

“Giselle!” he says, putting on his princely smile. “Imagine seeing you here.”

She darts her head forward to give him the customary double cheek peck that we Americans find so strange.

“Where have you been hiding yourself?” she asks. “It’s like you dropped off the face of the earth in the last month!”

Dante ignores the questions and raises a hand towards me.

“Giselle Ranette, I’d like you to meet Amanda Sparks.”

She glances in my direction and gives me a brief glimpse of that gap in her teeth.

“Hello,” she says, then turns back to Dante. “You never told me you were getting rid of Maria. At least you know this one can’t possibly be any worse than her.”

Excuse me, bitch?

“Why don’t you join me for a drink after this?” she says, rummaging in her purse. “I’ll give you a key to my suite at the Continental. It’s been too long, lover.”

Right in front of me. I can’t believe this.

Dante holds up his free hand. The other one is still holding my ring.

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, Giselle. Amanda is…”

“Your assistant, yes, I know. As soon as she’s on her way, we can go have some fun.”

She takes Dante by the arm and tries to plant a kiss on his neck, but he pulls away.

That’s it. My dad always taught me that you should never start a fight. He never followed his own advice, though, and neither will I.

“Excuse me,” I say, smiling ever so sweetly. “Giselle, is it?”

She looks me up and down, obviously not used to being interrupted.

“Yes,” she sneers. “You should probably remember it if you’re going to keep working for Dante.”

Dante opens his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

“First of all,” I say. “I don’t work for His Highness. I’m his date.”

She gives me another critical once-over, then turns to Dante.

“Seriously, love? You’re slumming it with American girls now?”

“Secondly,” I say, grabbing her arm and spinning her so that she’s facing me again. “Maria is a dear friend of mine, so I’d ask you to keep your comments about her to yourself when you’re around me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a half-dozen people with their phones up in front of them, holding them parallel with their eyes. I’m being recorded.

And I don’t care.

Giselle’s mouth is hanging open as she glares at me. If looks could kill, I’d be taking the big dirt nap right now. But they can’t, so I keep on going.

“Thirdly, and most importantly, where I come from, it’s considered incredibly rude to hit on another person’s boyfriend.”

I can’t help but feel an obscene satisfaction at the look of disbelief blooming in her eyes. She turns to Dante, who simply tilts his head to the side and lifts his eyebrows. All eyes in the place, and more than a few cameras, are now on us.

Suddenly I realize that this isn’t how I wanted our proposal to go. But I can’t stop myself.

Giselle’s face is twisted into an ugly mask now. She’s angry and humiliated, which can be a dangerous combination.

“Fine,” she spits. “Have fun with your American slut. When you want a real woman, call me. Maybe I’ll answer.”

“And you can call me if you ever decide you want a dentist to look at those teeth,” I say. “I’ll send you to the one who works on the horses at our ranch.”

I barely have time to register all the gasps among the crowd around us before I hear the cracking sound of her palm connecting with my cheek. My head turns with the force of the blow.

“Amanda!” I hear Dante call.

The smug satisfaction on Giselle’s face lasts for all of two seconds before my right fist plows into her thin nose.