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I want to be angry at him for his sexiness and devotion.
Ugh! Why must he be so fucking perfect!?
We make it across the street without getting run over, then I pull on his arm to stop running.
“Come on, Percy,” he says as he tries to pull me again.
I shoot him a look. A look that says I’ll cut off his fucking balls and feed them to him if he pulls me again.
He may not believe me when I tell him that I don’t love him—and why would he when I don’t believe it myself—but when he sees the look on my face, he knows I’m not kidding around.
I lean down to peel my Louboutins from my feet.
“There. Now we can run.”
He takes my hand, and we’re off to the races once more.
Thankfully, we’re close enough to my hotel where we can hide for a while.
I may not have my clutch with me, but the hotel’s manager is a fan of my tits and knows me by face. But plans of rushing through the front door of the hotel fall apart when the hotel comes into view.
A swarm of paparazzi are standing around outside, waiting like mosquitoes.
“Well, fuck.”
“Well, fuck.”
We look at each other and laugh.
It’s a cute moment—which I love and hate at the same time—that’s quickly ruined when the swarm out front of the hotel hear us.
“Prince Anton! Over here!”
“Just a couple of pictures!”
We run toward the side of the hotel. The swarm has smelled blood, and they chase after it. From the street we can see my hotel room, but there’s a fucking problem.
My suite is on the second floor.
“The next time I run, it better be to a fucking bar,” I groan.
“Hang on. I have an idea,” he says with far too much confidence.
“Oh, this better be goo—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence as he lifts me off the ground and puts me on his shoulders.
“Alright. I’m going to jump, and you’re going to grab the balcony’s bars okay?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you think that you married some parkour princess or something?”
“Just fucking do it, Percy.”
I let out a groan of frustration, but at this point, I’ll do what I have to just to get rid of the paparazzi on our tail.
Anton does a short running leap that is high enough for me to grab my balcony’s railing. The problem is, I can’t fucking pull myself up.
“What now, smart ass?” I call down over my shoulder.
