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“What are you doing back there?”
“Just hanging out,” I answer sarcastically.
“Okay, I’m ready.” Lee comes galloping down the stairs in a sapphire tux. “For real this time.”
“Sure you’ve not left some stray nose hairs untrimmed?” Jamie mocks him with a smirk, popping another cashew.
Lee strides past to slide his feet into a pair of patent leather shoes. “I would never.”
“You look different,” Jack says quietly while Jamie and Lee banter. His blue eyes drift over my dress, which, admittedly, is doing most of the work. “I mean nice. You look really nice.”
“Thank you.”
In the weeks since we (translation: he) agreed to pretend the kiss never happened, things have gone back to normal between us. Sort of. My body still hasn’t gotten the message from my brain that Jack and I are strictly relegated to the platonic sphere. My nerves still respond to every small compliment. Stupid things like his shoulder brushing mine trigger a response.
“Here, take a picture.” Lee shoves his phone at Jack and wedges himself in beside me to pose for the camera. “Next time you see me, I’ll be calling from a yacht in Amalfi with my new rich boyfriend.”
“I hope all your dreams come true,” Jamie says, stepping in to adjust Lee’s bow tie.
“Thanks, luv.” Lee grabs his phone from Jack and glances at the time. “Right. Enough dawdling. My future husband could be getting away.”
“Keep an eye on this one, would you?” Jack nods toward me as he speaks to Lee. “Try to keep her out of trouble. She’s liable to topple the monarchy.”
I mock glare at him. “I would never. Not on purpose anyway.”
“Don’t wait up.” Lee takes my arm and escorts us out the door to the impatient driver waiting at the curb. Once we’re on our way, my date lets out a deep sigh. “I might actually shit myself.”
I glance over with a grin. “Cranberry.”
“What?”
“If either of us is in crisis or just wants to get the hell out of there for some reason, we saycranberry. That’s our escape word.”
“Good plan. I like that. And if one of us needs to ditch the other— ”
“Grapefruit.”
“Got it.”
He spends the rest of the drive reminding me of the customs and protocols regarding the royal receiving line and how to behave if I should stumble my way into encountering royalty in the wild while at this event. Mostly, we’re relying on not leaving me unsupervised. When all else fails, do what everyone else does.
Not far from Notting Hill, we encounter the traffic jam of limos and town cars lining up to enter the gates of Kensington Palace. Spectators and photographers press against the police barricades. TV news crews are set up to capture the arrivals. Lee rolls down the window a couple inches to peer up at the helicopters hovering overhead.
“This isn’t real,” I mutter to myself.
“A little nip for the nerves?” He produces a flask from his breast pocket.
I shake my head. I’d be hurling before we even stepped out of the car.
When I was little, maybe a year or two after my mom left me at Dad’s doorstep, he brought me to the People’s Choice Awards. I think someone on his PR team got it in their heads to create a sort of debut, introducing his daughter to the press and casting him as the good father. There are pictures of me in my tiny pink dress and too much makeup, posing with celebrities I wouldn’t recognizeunless they were on Nickelodeon. What I remember most is lots of standing, being horribly bored, and waking up in the back of a limo with Dad’s publicist watchingTrue Bloodon her iPad while he was inside at some party until the sun came up.
This probably won’t be like that.
What seems like an hour later, we arrive at the front of the line, where we’re ushered from our car into the palace. We follow the traffic through the immaculate halls, security checks, formalities, and finally into the ballroom where hundreds of elegant guests mingle with glasses of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Up on the raised stage, a ten-piece orchestra plays instrumental covers of contemporary pop songs. I feel small under the tall mural ceiling, towering oil portraits, and priceless tapestries.
“Pinch me,” Lee whispers.
I give him a little squeeze on his forearm.
