“You look gorgeous,” Paige told me as she finished my hair.

And looking in the mirror, I believed her. When I had been returned to Aunt Suze’s apartment after the PR powwow, most of the paparazzi had dispersed, to my relief. Both Paige and Aunt Suze were relieved to hear that there was a plan to counter the bad press, and then we were all able to focus on the next hurdle. Getting me ready for a last-minute, swanky gala that would be my only chance to make a second first impression on the entire country.

Easy, right?

The dress was mine—the only long, formal gown I had, but it was a dress of my own design, and I felt beautiful in it. With long sleeves and an open back, the black velvet looked luxurious and elegant. Instead of painting it like I did with my other designs, I had decorated this one with glittering beads that encircled my waist, emphasizing my curves. It was still pretty simple, but Aunt Suze had come to the rescue, pulling a dramatic pair of earrings from her jewelry box. They were deep red jewels in an intricate pattern that complemented the clean lines of my dress. She had also found a pair of silver shoes and a matching purse that looked stunning with the earrings.

Then Paige had gone to work, painting my lips the exact same shade as the red jewels, and executing, with her steady, eyeliner-applying hand, the perfect winged sweep. My long hair had been curled and gathered over one shoulder, giving me the look of a vintage movie star.

I felt beautiful. I felt confident. I felt like things were maybe—just maybe—going to be OK.

But I still couldn’t shake that cynical little voice in the back of my head—the voice of those PR people and internet commenters everywhere. I was just a cheap slut. I was dragging him down. I was a distraction in the middle of the biggest tournament of Charlie’s career.

“Are you OK?” Paige asked, interrupting my insecurities.

She had her hands on my shoulders, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw her face pressed next to mine.

“I’m terrified,” I confessed.

“It’s going to be amazing,” she reassured me. “He’s a freaking prince, and he likes you. Like, really, really likes you.”

When I had told her about the scene at Charlie’s apartment when he had called me his girlfriend, she had screamed with happiness for a solid five minutes.

“But what if this doesn’t fix all the bad press?” I laced my fingers together, because all I wanted to do was chew on my nails. Nails that had been perfectly manicured by Paige. If I messed them up, if I messed any part of my outfit up, she’d kill me. Basically, she was my fairy godmother on steroids.

“Don’t worry about that tonight.” Paige squeezed my shoulders. “Embrace the magic.”

Embrace the magic. It was something my mother would have said.

There was a knock at the door.

“Bloody hell,” Charlie breathed when I opened it. “You look gorgeous.”

I blushed. “Thank you.” I did a little spin.

“They’re going to go mad for you,” he told me, reassuring. “Are you ready?”

I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Waving goodbye to Aunt Suze and Paige, we took off for the gala. When we arrived, my jaw dropped open. I slapped Charlie’s arm.

“You didn’t tell me we were going to the palace.” I stared wide-eyed at the sight in front of me. “I thought this was just a fundraiser, at the theatre.”

“Well, technically it’s not the palace,” Charlie corrected me. “But it is a palace. We have a few of them in London, you know.”

I pinched his arm.

Whatever palace it was, it was beautiful. Enormous, and elegant, it almost seemed wrong to be pulling up in a car when a horse-drawn carriage seemed much more appropriate. There was a red carpet outside, giving it a slightly modern twist, but everything else was pure Mr. Darcy at Pemberley. Ivy-strewn and lit up like a Christmas tree, the building was one of the most incredible things I had ever seen. This whole thing was just becoming more and more like a fairy tale. I was just hoping I didn’t turn into a pumpkin in front of everyone.

Charlie got out of the car and lights started flashing. He extended his hand toward me.

“Embrace the magic,” I muttered to myself before taking it.

He kept an arm around my waist as we when down the red carpet, stopping every few feet to pose for pictures. I was pretty sure my face was going to fall off from all the smiling I was doing. Then at the end of the row were reporters who would be asking Charlie questions. I had been briefed on all of this by the PR people.

“Let him do all the talking,” they told me. “Just be quiet and smile.”

Usually I would have bristled at that kind of order, but as we approached a sea of microphones, I was glad that no one was expecting me to say anything. This kind of scrutiny was terrible, and I hated it. I’d never wanted to be invisible this badly before.

“Charlie! Charlie!” the press shouted. “How do you feel about your chances for the championship? Is this your new girlfriend? What’s her name?”

He gave them a playful smile. “Come now, you all know this is the brilliant and talented Emmy Anderson.”

But despite the grin on his face, I could feel the way Charlie tensed next to me. He hated this just as much as I did.

“Is it serious?” people were shouting.

“It is,” he confirmed, and I got that happy somersaulting-heart feeling in my chest again.

“What are you wearing?” someone else asked. “Emmy! Who made your dress?”

“I did,” I responded before I could stop myself.

“Emmy is an incredibly talented designer.” Charlie gave me a look of pride. “This isn’t the last time you’ll be seeing her work on the red carpet.”

Finally we were ushered away from the press and into the main building. We both let out a breath and I felt Charlie relax.

“How did that feel?” he asked me.

“Overwhelming,” I confessed. “I don’t know how you do it and seem so calm.”

“Years of practice,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, let’s get something to drink.”

“You shouldn’t have told them I was a designer,” I chided him.

“Why not?” he popped a canapé into his mouth. “You are a designer.”

“Just because I make clothes for myself and friends doesn’t mean I’m a designer.”

Charlie gave me an assessing look. “Do you design clothes?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you’re a designer.” He ran a finger along the neckline of my dress, making me shiver. In a good way. “The sexiest designer I know.”

“You’re only interested in what’s underneath this design,” I teased him.

“I’m interested in a great many things when it comes to you.” He swept me into his arms. He leaned in to whisper, so only I could hear. “But I am bloody curious about the knickers you’re wearing underneath this dress.”

I giggled. “I’ll give you a hint,” I whispered, my lips just brushing his ear. “They’re very, very tiny.”

He groaned, and I grinned.

“On that note.” I stepped away. “I should go powder my nose.”

“Your nose is perfect exactly the way it is,” Charlie assured me.

I gave him a kiss. A lingering one. One that could have turned naughty if I wasn’t careful. But who could blame me? My boyfriend was a tennis star and a gorgeous prince, and despite the humiliations of the past twenty-four hours, I was determined not to forget the good parts, either. With great reluctance I pulled away and headed towards the powder room. Still, I made sure to add an extra swing in my step as I walked away from Charlie. A glance over my shoulder showed that he was watching my ass as I sashayed across the room, a wicked gleam in his eye.

Blushing, I ducked into the restroom, which was just as beautiful and opulent as the rest of the palace. Everything was polished to perfection, the gold accents gleaming. The floor was an intricate patterned tile, and the walls were covered in a gorgeous, old-fashioned wallpaper. There was even a fricking crystal chandelier hanging above me.

Glancing at myself in the mirror, I suddenly felt unbearably plain. The black dress which had seemed so glamorous in my Aunt Suze’s apartment now seemed simple and handmade. Which it was. But I had never felt like it looked it. Until now.

Panic rose in my throat. I didn’t belong here. Did I?

The door opened, and I heard a collection of female voices, so I ducked into one of the stalls. I stood there, holding my breath, not exactly sure why I was hiding. I was a guest at this party. I deserved to be here.

“How do my tits look?” one of the voices asked.

“Perky and perfect,” another one answered.

I smiled, relaxing. Except for the accents, they were having the exact kind of conversation Paige and I might have had. I reached for the door, telling myself I didn’t need to hide, when I heard them mention Charlie’s name.

“He’s looking a bit of alright,” the first girl said. “Those eyes.”

“Those arms,” the second girl added.

“That arse,” a third girl giggled. “He could win Wimbledon on that arse alone.”

They all let out a sigh in unison. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. At the very least, they had good taste.

“But did you see his date?” the second girl—the one who had been admiring his arms—asked. “The American?”

My heart sank. The tone of her voice was still playful, but not in a kind way. This was not a joke I was going to be allowed in on.

“She looks nice,” countered the first girl—the one who had been asking about her cleavage when they first entered. “I liked her dress.”

I mentally thanked her.

“That velvet monstrosity?” the second girl asked with a mean laugh. “Come on, Mags, you know that velvet is so last season.”

Mags didn’t respond.

“It won’t last,” the third girl added. “Charlie will lose interest. He always does.”

“Still.” The second girl smacked her lips as if she was applying lipstick. “He used to have standards.”

I balled my hands into fists.

“She’s cute,” Mags argued, though she was ignored.

“She’s cute the way Adele is cute,” the third girl snickered. “A girl with lots of substance.”

“Please.” I could practically hear the second girl rolling her eyes. “She looks like she ate Adele. Twice.”

I’d had enough. I shoved the door open, enjoying the slam it made as it hit the wall. The laughter abruptly stopped as I emerged. There were three girls—all of them tall and willowy. Only one looked like she was embarrassed to be caught, a blonde with shimmering waves in a form-fitting blue gown. I was guessing that was Mags. The other two wore identical sneers, their chins tilted upward, their noses literally in the air.

“Ladies,” I said tartly, pushing past them to use the sink.

I reapplied my lipstick calmly, ignoring the way they were all staring at me even though my heart was pounding. When I was done, I faced them and gathered all my courage.

“You can say whatever you want about the way I look,” I said, proud that my voice didn’t waver. “Because at the end of the night, I’ll be leaving with Charlie Davenport and you won’t.” I gave the two mean-looking ones a long, lingering stare. “Bitch.”

They gasped.

I glanced over at Mags, who looked appropriately ashamed.

“Your tits do look great in that dress,” I told her. Because they did.

Then, before anyone could respond, I got the hell out of there.