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“They're enough for most of the women in the world,” she retorts. “Did you not hear me? He’s a prince. He’s hot. He’s a hot prince. He’s Prince McHottie.”
“The fact he’s a hot prince is not enough reason for me to want to spend any time with the man. That I can tell you for sure.”
“Why? Has something happened? I mean, I know you met him at your big princess thing last night because there are super cute photos of you two together. And can I add that it is beyond amazing to get to see you on TMZ being talked about as this new exciting thing?”
“I’m on TMZ?”
“Are you kidding? You are all over it, girl. All. Over. It.”
I turn the paper over again and my eyes land on one of several photos of me with various people last night. I'm standing with Amelia and Voldemort—sorry, Prince Alexander—looking down at my feet as Alexander smiles his dashing smile. I begrudgingly admit his swollen nose doesn’t diminish his good looks, which makes him doubly horrible. If you’re sporting a damaged face, you should at least have the good grace to look bad. It’s not fair for us mere mortals otherwise.
“I look all awkward and shy.”
“Sure, you're looking down, but your dress is so pretty, and you're standing next to Prince Alexander. No one is going to look as good as him.”
I roll my eyes. “I get it. You want to marry him and have his babies.”
“Oh, I would so marry that man and have his babies. Just give me the chance.”
“You're welcome to him.”
“Okay, spill the tea, girl. What happened with you guys? You have to tell me.”
I let out a sigh. “You’ve gotta keep it to yourself.”
“When have I ever betrayed your confidence? I want to see that tea spilled all over your fancy palace room.”
“Okay,” I begin reluctantly. “I was hiding out in a closet last night before the big event and?—”
She interrupts. “Why?”
“Because… you know. It was super scary. Everyone was waiting to meet me and I was all dressed up with a freaking tiara on my head. It was… a lot.”
“Girl, you looked gorgeous.”
“I didn’t feel gorgeous. I felt totally out of place and totally freaked out about it all.”
“That’s not how to respond to a compliment. Say, ‘thank you, Chloe’,” she instructs.
“Thank you, Chloe,” I parrot.
“Of course you’re going to feel weird, Mads. This is all totally new for you.”
“I was on my way to meet my dad and my grandparents when it all felt like too much for me. That’s when I decided a few minutes in a hallway closet, taking some deep breaths, would be a good idea.”
“Were you having a panic attack or something? My cousin used to get those when we were teenagers. They sound horrible.”
“Oh, no. Nothing serious like that. It was just all too much, you know?”
“It’s a lot, girl. I can’t believe you hid in a closet in your tiara and gown.”
“It was all good until someone rudely burst inside and I had to press myself up against the back of the closet so he wouldn’t see me hiding in there.”
“Wait.” I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking. “Don’t tell me it was Prince Alexander.”
The memory has my insides tying in knots. “I could tell you it wasn’t, but it’d be a shamefaced lie.”
“You were in a closet with the world’s most eligible royal bachelor?”
