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“Oh,” says the prince, finally catching on to what this person is implying. “I see. I’m so sorry, but I’m not staying in town. This is but a brief stop on a whirlwind tour with my…with the ambassador of West Virginia.”
He really needs to stop calling me an ambassador.
“Oh,” she says, puzzled. “Well, see you around!”
When this painful display has finally ended, I clasp a hand around the prince’s forearm and pull him away from the group of tittering, winged women.
“Where are we going, Hailey?”
“To get you a better disguise,” I say, marching us into the craft tent.
“Better? But I’m not wearing a disguise,” he says.
Shit.
“I-I mean,” I stammer.
He runs his fingertips across what might as well be a caterpillar on his top lip. “Do you think this is fake?”
I squint at him. Is he fucking with me? I give up.
“It’s giving Spirit Halloween, friend,” I tell him.
Ben hums thoughtfully, considering something. Then, without a word, he presses a gentle hand over mine, where it clasps his forearm. Inch by slow inch, he loosens my grip.
Oh no. I went too far.
I’m about to apologize for being so forward, but then something dangerously magical happens. Ben threads his fingers through mine.
We are holding hands. That’s a thing we’re doing now, because…he wants to?
My stomach tumbles at how good it feels to hold his hand.
We enter the craft tent, where he points to a ridiculously over-the-top Mothman mask for sale.
“You’re right. Perhaps I require something to prevent strangers from propositioning me with sex?”
I choke on my saliva.
“Ben,” I wheeze, clutching my chest, thinking,in this crowd?A bug mask on that body will only make him more enticing.
The prince gazes down at me with a boyish that absolutely wrecks me. Our joined hands are already transmitting shockwaves straight to the feel-good center of my brain.
He’s making me feel things and has no idea he’s doing it.
I’m generally not the kind of girl who bats her lashes at people, but I’m flustered at how my body reacts.
Stop acting stupid and say something smart, Hailey.
“Covering up that pretty face would be a good start.”
That was not the smart thing I had in mind.
Ben bristles at this. “No one has ever called me pretty.”
“Oh? You don’t think you’re pretty?” I ask, willing away the teasing smile.
“A prin—er, the men in my family are not pretty. We are rugged, virile, and imposing.”
