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Oh, God. I think I am falling for him.
How is that possible?
I’ve never believed in love at first sight. I’ve never even thought much about love at all, other than the knowledge it wasn’t in my cards. At least, not for a long time. And I would have never guessed someone like the prince could be the one.
Love is supposed to be this beautiful thing. It’s supposed to happen after you get to know a person. It’s supposed to feel inevitable, something you see coming.
But there it is.
Unexplainable.
Undesirable.
Undeniable.
I am falling in love with him . . . and I hardly know him.
Fuck. I’m falling in love with a Fae prince, and I think he’s falling for me too, and none of it makes any sense.
The horrifying realization must show on my face because Mack says, “Oh, no.” Her hand flutters over her mouth, the breath she releases rushing through her fingers. “I have to go to the ceremony. Just . . . we’ll talk about it later.”
“Wait?” I tilt my head. “What ceremony?”
That’s when I notice she’s wearing makeup—a lot of makeup. And her dark chocolate hair is shiny and curled into loose spirals that show off her new silver and indigo highlights.
“Didn’t the prince tell you?” she calls over her shoulder as she plucks a black sheath dress from her closet. “There’s a banquet tonight for the Evermore and their families. Shadows are supposed to attend. It starts in like twenty . . .” Her gaze flicks to her watch. “Oh, shit, like five minutes.”
Five minutes? My heart stutters into a frenzy. Crap. The prince failed to mention a banquet tonight, but he must have been busy preparing for his father’s visit. I glance in the mirror and sigh. I need a shower and a come-to-Jesus with Mack’s makeup palette before I can do anything.
Especially since the prince’s father is here. The prince’s father, King of the Unseelie.
Definitely not ready for that. Definitely not ready for any of this.
Anxiety settles squarely between my shoulder blades. Grabbing Mack’s pink shower caddy, I rush for the communal showers with the promise to meet them at the banquet.
Thirty minutes later, my hair is wrangled into a wet bun on top of my head, and I’ve managed to dab on lipstick and mascara. None of Mack’s dresses will fit me, so I run barefoot to Evelyn’s room, praying she has a dress I can wear and maybe some shoes.
Not that I won’t rock my Salvation Army combat boots if I have to.
Buried deep in a pile of clothes on the floor is a slinky coral mini-dress that barely covers my butt. I glance at the clock, a frustrated breath rushing out.
Tiny stripper dress it is.
I shimmy into the dress, nearly break my arm trying to zip it, then slip into some black three-inch heels a half size too small. Right before I run outside, I check my reflection in the mirror.
The dress might be short, but it hugs my curves in all the right places.
My gaze travels down and snags on something inside Evelyn’s small metal trash can. I drop to a knee and peer into the pile of tissues, sifting through a few cans of Diet Coke her parents must send her.
There’s a box with a pregnant woman on the front . . .
Oh, no. No. No. No. I dig deeper into the tissues and my fingers catch on something long and hard. I hold up the pregnancy test, my heart in my throat.
I stare at the results. Then I grab the box to see which mark means pregnant, even though I’m already pretty sure. Once I’ve confirmed what the two lines mean, I drop the box back into the trash and let out a deep breath.
No. She can’t be . . . she can’t be.
My brain whirls with questions like who and how far along, but I’m already late to the ceremony, and I want to make a good impression on the prince’s father.
