“Spinwhat?” I hiss. “I amnotdating Prince Kellen. I’m not dating anyone!”
Nolan flinches at the statement. For once, I don’t care. What I said is true.
Raelynn picks up her tablet and shoves it under her arm. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is now. With any luck, this will roll out of the news cycle in a few weeks. Until then, we meet with the Royal Family and plan together how to handle this PR nightmare. If we’re lucky, we can spin it into album marketing for you.”
My fists clench at my sides. “Do you ever think of anything other than sales and money, Raelynn?”
Her eyes snap to mine with fire burning bright within. “Yes, contrary to popular belief. I’ve kept the press from eating you alive before, Piper. I’m doing it again. Let me help you.” And then she throws a glare at Nolan. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed your behavior. I’m going to assume this scent-match extends beyond the Prince. Don’t let meorthe press catch wind of this, Pierce.”
Nolan bows his head for a moment. “Yes, ma’am.”
Raelynn smooths her blazer and grabs her bag. “You’re going to get dressed. Nolan is going with you to the palace. They’re sending a car. You are to be polite and charming, and you willnotget scent-matched to any more members of royalty.”
“I don’t think it works that way,” I say, but she’s already out the door.
I stare at the closed door, then at Nolan, who has come out of hiding to lean against the counter.
He looks at me. “You okay?”
“Nope.” I gesture to the pajamas that I’m still wearing. “Do I look like a ‘meet the royal parents’ type?”
He scans me head to toe, and his lips twitch at the corners. “You’ll do.” Then, softer, “I’ll be with you the whole way, Piper.”
“That’s the spirit.”
I stomp to my suitcase and start pawing through options. The majority of my wardrobe consists of sparkly performance outfits, threadbare jeans, and the one “serious” dress I keep for funerals and lawsuits. There is no category for “summoned to the palace to explain your embarrassing omega problem.”
I hold up a sequined blazer. “Is this too much?”
“Yes,” Nolan says.
I hold up a black slip dress.
He hesitates. “Maybe with a cardigan.”
I put both back. “You’re no help at all.”
He’s silent, watching me struggle with my own disaster. Nolan has great advice on a lot of things, but fashion is not one of them.
I go back to digging through my bag and can’t help thinking about the fact that my entire life is now a viral meme, and it’s not even seven in the morning.
Somewhere, my mother is cackling.
The palace car is waiting in the circular drive outside the hotel. Security guards keep paparazzi and fans away but I can’t get into the sleek black SUV quick enough. I slide into the back seat with all the grace of a hungover gremlin. Nolan gets in next tome, scanning the sidewalk with that “extraction team” energy he exudes. The driver nods but doesn’t say a word. I dig my nails into my palms and wonder if you can get car-sick just from stress.
Raelynn files into the front seat and we’re off as quickly as possible. The city recedes, replaced by wooded hills and tidy little fences until it’s clear we’re suddenly on palace grounds. A ridiculous sprawl of gardens and fountains go on for a quarter mile ahead of us.
The car slows at a gatehouse where guards perform an extensive sweep of the car despite all of us being invited hereanddriven by their own people. One of them eyes me, then does a double take at Nolan. I watch the subtle up-nod they exchange. Do bodyguards have a secret language? Probably.
Then I see the patches. Ravenwood Shield Security. The same company Nolan works for that specializes in royal and celebrity security. I wonder if they know each other but don’t ask.
We’re eventually ushered through. The car glides up a long, cobbled drive to the front entrance. I don’t know what I expected—some kind of old-money fortress, maybe, or at least a building with turrets. But the place is modern as hell with huge windows and no visible security. The air is so perfumed with blooming stuff that I can taste it in my throat.
I check my phone. Zero bar.Intentional, I assume.
Inside is incredible. Marble iseverywhere. In floors and pillars and statues. The ceilings are so high they could probably host their own weather systems. A woman in a tailored black suit greets us at the door and ushers us along to a waiting lounge, which is approximately the size of my entire childhood home and contains more gold leaf than the Vatican.
There are even pastries that look delicious, but I think I may vomit if I eat right now.
