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I had to cancel all of my engagements in New York and each time I said I couldn’t attend the runway shows or popup parties, it was a knife in my side. I missed my work the most. I had plenty of inspiration, but very little time, which I knew would be even less when I started squeezing out the kids.
One of the greatest things about having so many staff members was that stuff just disappeared. I didn’t have to wash dishes or do laundry, hell I didn’t even have to pick out my clothes, though I missed having my own style. Actually, I missed me more and more, but as I mourned the loss of myself, I was filled with Liam. Everything in my world had become Liam and my role as his soon to be wife. While Avery Johnson had all but disappeared, her royal highness, the princess of Ireland was slowly starting to take her place.
One drawback was that Liam and I were starting to get hounded by the paparazzi. They had started calling me Princess Barbie, a term I found pretty offensive. It became such a problem that we often found ourselves going out in disguise. I knew from my years living with Kylie what trouble paparazzi created. The best way to protect ourselves was to avoid them. Liam and I were able to disguise ourselves and do some normal things together. I found out that Georg truly enjoyed planning new and intriguing ways to hide us with makeup, wigs, and even prosthetics on occasion.
Thanks to Georg’s genius we were able to go out undetected. It was then, when we were escaping everything, that Liam and I had the most fun.
“I can’t believe that guy just belted into song like that,” I said as I slipped off my blond wig and threw it on the counter.
“He was two sheets to the wind, but his voice wasn’t half bad, despite the drink.”
“Well, if you’d stop falling asleep listening to legitimate music, you might think otherwise,” I teased as I slipped out of my gown and draped in on the chair.
In my lingerie I grabbed some lotion and started my evening routine lotioning my legs, brushing my hair and teeth as I prepared for my nightly romp with his royal highness.
“Are you ready for the engagement party tomorrow?” Liam casually asked as if it wasn’t an atom bomb.
The engagement party would be it. After the official announcement, there wouldn’t be any turning back. “Is one ever ready for such things?” I used my best Irish accent as a means of deflection, and I knew it irritated Liam.
“Oh, do that at the party, you’ll be a total hit with your critics.”
“I have critics? Whatever for? I’ve been a model Irish citizen. I raise my pinkie when I drink my tea, I wear a chignon every chance I get, I’ve worn hose so often my inner thighs are chaffing… what on earth would they have to criticize?” Again, I used a cheesy Irish accent.
“You’re American, from the United States. You aren’t from Ireland, or England, or the UK. You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you have a personality, so many horrible things, I don’t even know where to begin.” He lifted his shirt over his head and his abs stood out more prominently.
Since we’d begun our serious fake relationship, he’d been working out. He was much more muscled than when we first met, and he’d taken to reading fashion magazines and following Kylie Morgan and Alec Blair on all of their social media.
“I’m curious, why does the next king of Ireland need to look like a marvel comic hero who is secretly a social media stalker?”
“Oh, yes, well. I’ve read the news have you?” His face had turned an adorable shade of red.
“And that news would be?” I slipped out of my underclothes and into the covers.
“Well despite you being a Yank, you’re also much more beautiful than I deserve, apparently. You travel with the likes of gods and goddesses on Mount Olympus of social media, namely your best friend and her husband who, despite you telling me they avoided the press, are all over it.” He took off his underwear and met me under the sheets.
“Is that so? Tell me more,” I cuddled closer.
“And Flower Street clothing has reached legendary status with new lines being few and far between due to you secretly becoming a princess to a European monarchy. Apparently, your clothes are starting to trend on Instagram and Twitter.” He seemed so playfully defeated.
“That I did know. I’m trying to get some more stuff out there.” My hand went for his finely chiseled chest. “I like this though, it’s so sexy. Maybe lighting a little fire under your ass has its benefits.”
“I sure hope it helps me keep my too-beautiful-for-me-fiancé from leaving me at the altar,” he teased.
