Page 49 of The Heart You Kept

“Who?” I glance around.

“That entitled bastard who owns the casino.”

“Oh.” I sip my champagne as I zone out, this topic is becoming very old.

“Of course he’s here with the prince.”

“The prince is here?” My interest reignites, the Prince of Monaco is one hot specimen. “Where are they?”

Pascal tilts his chin in their direction and I subtly glance over to the corner. Prince Theodore Chapelle is wearing a black dinner suit and bow tie; his sandy brown hair has a curl to it and damn…. The man is fine. His bodyguards are by the wall as they watch his every move. It still seems surreal to me that Monaco has a reigning royal family.

Prince Theodore says something to his date and she laughs up at him and cups his face.

Agnes Maras…she’s blond and beautiful, a Danish billionaire heiress who often graces the local news on her prince’s arm. She’s laughing and talking to another woman wearing a white silk gown. I take a sip of my champagne as I pretend not to be interested, but unable to help it my eyes go back to linger on the beautiful people.

The woman in white has long golden hair and a figure to die for. Her date is tall with dark hair, he has his back to me but has his arm firmly around her.

Jeez.

I sip my champagne and drag my eyes away. “Where are we sitting?”

“The seating arrangement is on the wall.” He takes my hand and leads me over to it; I glance back at the beautiful people just as the man with the dark hair looks over.

Our eyes lock and the air leaves my lungs.

It’s Mr. Doe.

CHAPTER NINE

ALORA

Our eyes are locked and then his chin tilts to the sky as if angered, he leans down and says something to the woman in the white dress’s ear before walking toward us.

Oh no….

My heart beats like a drum and I take a large gulp of my champagne before glancing down at the glass, damn it, it’s nearly empty.

Not now, fucker.

Pascal leads me to the seating chart and starts to read through the tables. From my peripheral vision I can see Mr. Doe approaching us.

No…no…no…what is he doing here? He’s not supposed to exist in the real world. He was the fantasy man I worked hard to forget.

“Here we are, table eight,” Pascal tells me. I blink as the words on the seating chart blur. I feel him before I see him; standing beside me, his presence overtakes the room.

Pascal glances up. “Prescott.”

“Bonjour,” he replies in his swoony English accent, he nods to him and turns to me. “Alora.”

He knows my name.

Thump, thump, thump beats my heart.

The familiar scent of his aftershave envelops us, reminding me of a time when he touched me.

“Hello.” I force a smile. He bends and kisses my cheek; his lips burn my skin and every cell in my body screams. “Hi,” I whisper as the air leaves my lungs.

Oh my god….