Chapter Five
Charlotte
Serene and I entered the front doors of the Metropolitan Museum of Art arm in arm. Instead of calling in a favor to a designer, Serene let me borrow a simple, black Alexander McQueen dress from her enormous collection of dresses. Serene was much curvier than me in about every way conceivable, but somehow, the dress still worked.
The gala was just as I expected. The same people, same music, same everything. The latest multi-platinum, pop star the major record labels just cranked out stood in the corner, hanging on every word a famous, or should I say infamous, Hollywood producer said. He was every bit the clichéd Hollywood trope, sixty-ish, soggy in the middle, with too much spray tan and too-white veneers.
The scene made me a nauseous. I’d been in the same situation more than my fair share. I could imagine the conversation.
“I’ll make you a star, baby,” he’d say with a skeevy glint in his eye.
“But I’m already a star,” she’d coo in her perfectly honed baby voice.
“I’ll make you a movie star. Haven’t you always wanted to be on the silver screen? You’d be up there with the greats, baby—the Marilyns and the Farrahs.”
“Gross!” she said loud enough for me to hear. “I’d rather be a Streisand or a Streep, you creep,” she said and marched away.
I caught her eye and gave her a head nod as she passed. “Good for you,” I said.
She nodded back, but kept marching right out of the gala.
Serene tugged at my arm. “Don’t worry about her. She has a good head on her shoulders. Let’s go hit the bar. Oh, and the food! Char, you don’t have to worry about the camera adding twenty pounds anymore!”
I smiled. I’d already realized the same. “Or the wardrobe department complaining if I don’t stay the exact same measurements.”
“Come on. Let’s get some fancy drinks and something fried. And keep your eye out for any humanitarian/charitable types.”
An hour passed. Full of delicious, carb-heavy hors-d’oeuvres that I normally wouldn’t dare put past my lips, I threw back another glass of champagne and set my sights on the dance floor.
“Oh! Charlotte, you have to come meet my friend!” Serene said as I made my way to the center of the room.
“Wha...? Oh, hey Jeffery,” I slurred to Serene’s fiance who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “When’d you get here?” I asked between hiccups.
“Just now. I had a stack of papers to grade.”
I hiccuped again. “Isn’t that what teacher’s assistants are for? Don’t you have a whole gaggle of ‘em?”
He smiled. “I do, but all the good ones have all moved on with their lives. I don’t much trust this new batch yet.”
“Come on, Char. Let’s go meet my friend.” Serene tugged at my arm.
“Hang on a sec. I’m talking to your fiancé.”
Jeffery smiled again. “It’s fine, Char. We can catch up later.”
Serene tugged my arm again, and I tripped over the hem of my dress. “Goodness, Charlotte. How much champagne have you have?”
“I only had two glasses. I think I’m drunk on carbohydrates. I haven’t had one since I was nineteen.”
She laughed. “Well get it together. I think you’re really going to like this guy.”
Despite the carb sludge in my brain, I caught that last word. It just took me a minute to respond. “Whoa. Hang on a minute. I’m not interested in meeting your guy friend if you have some notion of being a match-maker, Serene.”
“Oh, stop being paranoid, Charlotte. I just think you two would really hit it off, that’s all.”
“Serene, I told you I’m not trying to get involved with anyone. Not now. Not until after I’m clear of the tabloid trail.”
“Fine. Don’t get involved with him. I’m just saying you should talk to him. He might know something about—”
“Hi, sorry to interrupt, Duchess. Is this the woman you mentioned?”
I set my jaw, staring at my friend. “Not interested,” I said quickly as I turned to face the man.
Holy shit.
This wasn’t just a man. Tall and broad with dark blue eyes and wavy hair just long enough to wrap my hands in. He brought dark thoughts to my mind and a flush to my cheeks.
“Oh, my apologies. The Duchess told me you were interested in starting a charity. I know quite a bit about the matter.”
I hiccuped. Then pulled myself together. “Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. I thought she was trying to set us up.”
He laughed. A rich, velvety sound that caressed my ears as it left his lips.
“Charlotte, I’d like you to meet Prince Ash of Trisea. Your Highness, this is Charlotte Blush, formally of Hollywood.”
Before I could say anything, before I had time to register what my royal friend said, the man in front of me dipped into a low bow as he took my hand. He pressed his lips against the back of my hand, letting his fingers linger as he drew away. “I assure you, the pleasure is mine.”
I nodded. It was all could manage. Every thought in my mind had been erased with that small kiss. I could only imagine what one on the lips would do to me. Or worse yet, a kiss somewhere a bit naughtier.
I took a breath and tried not to focus on how devastatingly handsome this man was. Or how his smooth, low voice made every word sound like pillow talk, or how perfectly he filled out that waistcoat and tails.
“Formerly of Hollywood, is that right? I’m embarrassed to admit, my schedule doesn’t afford me much leisure time. I doubt I’ve seen any of your work.”
I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say.
“Would you like to get some fresh air? I could use some,” he asked before the tension of silence grew too great.
I nodded, and he crooked his elbow. I took hold, unable to keep myself from feeling the hard muscle beneath his jacket, and followed him out the French doors to a small patio with topiaries and butterfly bushes. The night air helped, clearing out the haze of desire and thoughts of what this man looked like with his clothes off. I shook my head and found myself again. “I’m sorry. Serene has spoiled me when it comes to royalty. How should I address you?”
“You can call me Ash, Charlotte.”
His voice danced across my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. I dreamed of leaning into that feeling, letting it wash over me, drown me. Savoring the rich texture of his silky words would have been sinfully delicious. And epically disastrous.
Tabloids, tabloids, tabloids.
I chanted the words until I found myself again.
“Certainly there’s a proper title I should use.”
“If you like, you can call me Prince Ash or Your Highness, but I find it rather cumbersome and unwieldy when getting to know someone.”
“Ah. Well, I suppose I’ll stick with Ash then.”
He smiled, a slow and sexy gesture which made my stomach drop. “Good choice,” he said softly.
“So, um, what kind of charity work do you do?”
“All of them. That is, the Trisean Crown donates to most charities. I’ve a particular interest in funding the arts, however.”
“Trisea? I can’t say I’ve heard of that monarchy.”