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“I asked for dance number three before you came outside. Two years ago.” He gives me a little frown. As if I displeased him back then. And for some reason that makes me want to make it up to him.
That’s stupid. What are you thinking?
“You didn’t ask,” I point out. “You told me to come back and find you.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why not?” He leans in a little.
Somehow, that makes my stomach flip again. I pretend it doesn’t, though.
“I didn’t want to.” That’s the truth.
He overwhelmed me. I don’t like being overwhelmed.
And now…he’s even more overwhelming.
He’s a prince—a real honest-to-god-you-have-to-be-kidding-me prince. My sisters had told me about the royal family living in Autre after I’d met Torin at Charlie’s wedding. I’d met Torin’s sister, Fiona, his brother, Cian, and his niece, Saoirse. They’d told me about Cara, and because I’d thought they were kidding, I’d looked it all up and…it’s all real.
He lifts a brow. “If I’d asked, would you have come back?”
I find that amusing for some reason. This guy definitely doesn’t ask a lot of questions. I just know it. So, I take it as something of a compliment that he’s even contemplating asking me something. And I give him the courtesy of actually considering the question. “Probably not. I’m not really into dancing. Or parties. Or staying up late,” I tell him honestly.
He watches me as he ponders that. “So I should be grateful for the dances I got.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Then I’ll be extremely grateful for getting four tonight.”
My mouth drops open, and I shake my head as I fight a smile. God, he’s pushy. “How do you say incorrigible in Irish, or whatever you are?”
He frowns as if confused. “I’m not familiar with that word,” he says.
I can tell he’s kidding. I’m sure he knows the word well. Though I’m also sure he’s unapologetic about being the very definition of the word.
He leans closer. “But you know exactly what I am, don’t you, Abigail?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You looked me up after we met, didn’t you?”
That’s pretty arrogant of him. But it’s also true. “Oh, you mean the prince thing?” I ask.
“Yes, the prince thing.” He looks mildly amused.
“Yes. I know about that.”
“And what do you think?”
“That a prince is a strange, and awful, cross between a politician and a celebrity.”
He considers that for a moment. “True.”
“And I would never, ever, date either a politician or a celebrity. So I definitely wouldn’t date a prince.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Good thing no one said anything about dating then.”
