I woke up tangled in sheets and Charlie. My body ached in the best possible way as I stretched, arching against him. He stirred, his arm coming around to pull me against him, his other hand reaching down to cup my ass. All without opening his eyes.

He was so gorgeous. I could have looked at him all day—his hair adorably rumpled, his face relaxed, a dark shadow of stubble beginning to appear on his jaw. Instead, I snuggled up next to him and fell back asleep.

When I woke, there was a tray on the bed piled high with scones and muffins. Next to it was a small stack of the Sunday newspapers. I rubbed my eyes and sat up to find Charlie leaning up against the pillows with a cup of tea and one of the papers.

“What’s this?” I asked, wrapping the sheet around my naked body.

Charlie gave it a playful tug. I swatted his hand away and took a bite of an absolutely delicious muffin.

“These were delivered this morning,” Charlie told me. “From the PR team.”

I paused mid-chew. “The PR team?” I asked, my mouth still full of muffin.

Charlie laughed. “I’m just as surprised as you are. They’ve never sent me treats before.” He gestured at the papers. “Then again, I never provided them with positive media coverage before.”

Wait, what?

I grabbed for the nearest newspaper. I didn’t have to look far, because we were right there on the front page of the Daily Mail.

“A royal showing for this American designer,” the headline said, underneath a picture of Charlie and me from last night. In it, I was gesturing to my dress, and Charlie was giving me a look that was so full of pride that my heart swelled.

“They liked it!” I skimmed the column. They were raving about my dress, and there was absolutely no mention of the naughty photographs from the night before.

“They loved it.” Charlie pushed the rest of the papers towards me. “Rave reviews, all of them. You’re a sensation.”

I couldn’t believe it. Could my luck have changed so quickly and so completely?

“Your PR people must be miracle makers,” I told Charlie.

“Only if they have magic to work with.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek. “And you, luv? You’re pure magic.”

Embrace the magic. Paige had been right.

This time, when I checked my phone, my hand was shaking from anticipation, not dread. There were still a few nasty comments, but they were overwhelmed by all the positive press everywhere.

“This one says I’m a good influence on you,” I teased Charlie.

“Well, they can’t all be accurate with their reporting.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re a very, very naughty influence on me.”

Charlie’s phone buzzed.

“H’lo?” he answered, before pulling away and giving it a look. He handed it to me. “It’s our PR firm. They want to talk to you.”

“Hello?” I asked nervously.

“Emmy. Patricia here.” The words came sharp and fast. “Great news. The new stories are working out, and in a few days no one will even remember the pictures from the alley. Next we need to get you connected with other well-respected faces. Have you heard of the designer Sara Saunders?”

“Um, yes,” I answered, though I wasn’t even sure Patricia heard me or was listening for my response.

“Great. She wants to meet you. We’ll set up a meeting and we’ll be in touch.”

Then she hung up. I stared at the phone in my hand.

Had I heard of Sara Saunders? She was only the newest up-and-coming designer. She was known for her extreme silhouettes and use of unusual fabrics. She was an incredible designer. And she wanted to see me?

“Good news?” asked Charlie.

Instead of answering, I launched myself into his arms, planting a massive kiss on him. Immediately, he threw away the newspaper he was holding and kissed me back. It seemed like the nightmare was over and we were back to smooth sailing again.

* * *

We spent the rest of the morning in bed, lazily reading the papers and drinking tea, laughing and joking as Charlie told me stories from the tennis circuit, and all the royal hoops he had to jump through. Even though I didn’t have much experience when it came to relationships, I knew enough to recognize how lucky I was to have a guy like Charlie. Prince or no prince, tennis star or not, he was turning out to be one hell of a boyfriend.

Boyfriend. I still couldn’t believe it. We sat together, me leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped around me, and it all felt so natural. So normal. Away from the lights, and the cameras, and the fancy dress, he was just Charlie. My Charlie. The man who could make me snort with laughter and then lose my breath with pure desire, all in the space of a kiss.

My phone buzzed and I saw that I had gotten an email from the royal PR team confirming my meeting with Sara Saunders. I proudly showed it to Charlie, who squeezed me tight.

“So what are you going to show her?” he asked. “Do you have a portfolio or something?”

I froze. I had been so excited about meeting Sara Saunders that I hadn’t given much thought to the actual specifics of our meeting. Namely to show her my designs. My stomach twisted in a knot.

“I don’t know,” I told him, my confidence faltering. “I mean, I have the things I’ve altered, and a bunch of sketches, but do you think they’ll be enough?”

As if he could sense my hesitation, he kissed my cheek.

“Why don’t you show me some of your designs?” he asked. “Think of it as a practice run.”

“Charlie—”

“Come on,” he urged. “Just pretend I’m her.” He pitched his voice higher. “Why, Emmy Anderson. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

I giggled. He pinched my side and continued his horrible impression.

“Everyone in London is all in a tizzy about your designs.”

“Tizzy?” I twisted to look back at him. “Sara Saunders would never say ‘tizzy.’ ”

“Shh,” he ordered me, his voice normal again. “This is pretend. Play along.” He returned to his imitation. “I am so excited to see your designs. Why don’t you show me the one you’re the most proud of?”

I sighed, knowing that he wouldn’t stop unless I played along. So I went to my photos on my phone and found some pictures of some of the designs.

“Well, this is what I’ve been working on the most recently,” I said, showing Charlie one of the more extravagant designs that I had yet to make a reality. They incorporated my favorite techniques, painting directly on the fabric and using embellishments to draw attention to the waist or the hips or the bust line.

“I like your models,” Charlie noted.

From what I had seen, most designers liked to draw their dresses on figures that fit the fashion industry’s ideal—tall and thin. I drew dresses for people with bodies like mine, because that’s the kind of body I knew how to dress. My models were short and curvy, and the work I designed was meant for them.

“It’s not really the way it’s done,” I told Charlie. “I’m supposed to make dresses to fit the sample size, which is a lot taller and a lot thinner than this.”

“Well, I like the way you do it,” he said, his voice low. “All the ways you do it.”

His hand had begun to wander downward, slipping into the borrowed button-up shirt I was wearing and drawing circles across my stomach. I leaned my head back, closing my eyes as I embraced the delicious sensation his touch offered.

But then he stopped.

“Come on,” he ordered. “Let’s see some more designs.”

“You’re a wicked man.” I glared at him, but I didn’t mean it.

“And you’re a great designer,” he responded, flipping through the pictures. “These are brilliant.”

I flushed. “You’re just saying that because I’m sleeping with you.”

He laughed. “Maybe.” He grinned. “But I really do think they’re good.”

I let out a deep breath. “But are they good enough for Sara Saunders?”

He shrugged. “I can’t tell you that—but I do know that if she doesn’t like them, then maybe she’s not as great a designer as you think.”

I slapped his arm. “Hush your mouth.”

He captured my hand and pressed it against his chest. “It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. You’re the only one who can determine whether or not you’re a designer.”

“You make it sound so easy.” I sighed, rueful.

“Well, someone very wise told me that in the end, you chose the life you want to have.” Charlie gave me his most winning grin. “I think it was Socrates.”

I giggled, and my phone buzzed again.

“More good news from the PR folks?” Charlie asked, leaning back against the pillows.

It was a text—from a number I didn’t recognize. Not from the UK. From the States. It said: “Having fun with Prince Charming?”

I got an uncomfortable chill up my spine.

Who was this?

I quickly deleted the text, and pushed aside my discomfort. Whoever had sent it was far away, and I wasn’t going to let some weird, creepy message ruin what was turning out to be a perfect morning.

“Nobody,” I told Charlie, tucking my phone away. “Now, if I remember correctly, you have a big match coming up tomorrow.”

He groaned.

“Fourth round,” I continued. I’d studied the order of play, so I knew exactly what he would be dealing with. “If you win, you’ll make it to the quarter-finals. And then—”

“No ‘then.’ ” Charlie cut me off. “Because I won’t make it that far. Dresden is an animal on the court.”

“And you’re a beast,” I said, arching my eyebrow. “You can take him, any day.”

“I’d rather take you.” Charlie suddenly rolled me under him, and I let out a shriek. “What do you say?” he teased, his hands skimming over my body. “Want to make it a love game?”

I answered him with a kiss. Charlie may be laughing it off, but I knew that deep down, there was still some of that competitive spirit burning bright. “If a kiss is good luck, then I wonder what this will do for your game,” I mused, parting my thighs wider. Charlie let out a noise of appreciation, and rocked against me.

“Let’s find out.”