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“You sure about that?” I eye the growing crowd.
“Of course I am, ma’am.”
Me? I’m not so confident.
I’ve got to remember how to get out of the car elegantly and without showing the world the color of my underwear. Easier said than done, believe me. Then, I’ve got to walk up the steps without tripping while being photographed by a clutch of photographers, all calling my name. And then, the most nerve-racking of all, I’ve got to act all put together and princess-y while meeting sick kids who will probably make me cry right there on the spot, ruining my makeup as well as my composure, and I’ll end up a streaky, blubbery mess.
Not the way I need this to go.
I glance at the crowd once more. I know I need to give Vlad the word and get out of the car, walk up those steps, smile and wave maybe, and then I’m inside the hospital. But right now, that feels like one of the scariest things I’ve contemplated in my life.
“I’ve got this. I’ve got this,” I murmur to myself as a mantra, when there’s a sudden frenzy of voices and camera flashes outside the car, grabbing our attention. All the photographers seem to be focusing on one person, who is walking down the steps toward our car with a very familiar gait.
No! It can't be him.
Prince Superglue himself.
“What the heck is he doing here?” I say against the window. I lift my arm to wipe the fog formed by my breath from the window when my door springs open, the noise from outside suddenly filling the space.
I pull back in shock and gape at him.
Alexander leans inside and says, “Would you mind scooting over please, Texas?”
“What? Why? What are you doing here?”
The flash bulbs are still snapping around us and I can hear people excitedly calling Alexander's name amidst the hubbub.
This is crazy.
“How about you let me get in the car and I can answer any and all questions you may have?”
I glance at Vladimir. He does one of those subtle head nods of his, giving the go ahead to allow Alex in. I slide over the black leather seat and he closes the door behind him, the outside noise dulled once more.
“This is a lot better in here. It's rather busy out there,” he says with a smile, as though he hasn't just been yelled at, photographed, and generally pawed at by an excited mob. “Everyone’s very eager to meet you, Texas, but I believe you need to get out of the car in order to do that. It would be rather crowded if everyone came in here, don't you think?”
“Why are you here?” I ask him again, getting straight to the point. “This is my event. They're here to see me.”
“Which is why you're still in the car?”
I bite down on my lip.
“I was waiting inside the hospital, actually. I knew this was your first big public outing, so I didn't want to steal the focus from you. I slipped in a back entrance.”
I gesture out the window. “I think you definitely stole the focus.”
“They're here for you, Madeline, not me. I simply got caught in their photographic crossfire when I came down the stairs to see if you needed me.”
“Why would I need you?” I ask, my voice high and shrill.
I know how incredibly rude that sounds, but this is Smug Alexander busting into my car. Smug Alexander who is also Confusing Alexander and Unexpectedly Kind and Sexy Alexander, all at the same time.
He’s the last person I want to see right now—and, oddly, the first.
I’m not going to pick that thought apart.
He gestures at the lowered privacy screen between us and the front seats. “May we?” He gives a hand gesture to show lifting it up.
“Why?” I ask.
