Chapter 6
Maddy
I’m twenty-three, and my life has flipped upside down in the best way possible.
I’ve been in the North of England for the last six months filming Palace of Lies: the Princess’ repentance, for HBO Max, and tomorrow I fly home.
Mickie, who of course had adapted her novel into the teleplay and insisted on being on set the whole time, laces up my sparkling, ice blue ball gown, and I zip up her stunning burgundy one.
We interlace our arms and sip from champagne flutes together to celebrate the end of an incredible journey.
We’re about to go downstairs for our wrap party ball, which HBO obviously went way over the top for, but liquid courage and girl time with my bestie are certainly needed before I go down there.
“Thank you for negotiating that I had to be Princess Aerin, Mickie. You’ve literally made my life.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that because you met your dream husband on set!”
I smack her arm with a pack of makeup wipes. “Don’t jinx it, Mick!”
“When I saw the two of you read together for the first time.” She literally swoons onto a chaise lounge in the corner of our hotel room. “It was like fireworks!”
“Really, Mick? New York Times bestseller like you, using such a basic simile?”
“Shut up! It was like fireworks! It was like … that first bite of the lobster roll at Nobu! Better?”
I stick my pout out at her. “No! Now I’m just hungry! And they’re certainly not going to have melt-in-your-mouth sushi downstairs! Probably a dry roast! Again!” I whine, so tired of my native land and its food. You can take a girl outta LA, but you can’t take LA outta this girl, that’s for sure.
“You won’t care what’s on your plate when you’re sitting next to Ace!”
I hate that she’s right, and I also kinda hate who I become when I’m around Ace Archer, the most exquisite, royal princely looking man I’ve ever seen.
I could talk to him if I were in character and so was he, but when he’s Ace and I’m Maddy, it’s like my lips, teeth, and tongue take a permanent holiday.
I’m no longer intelligent and well spoken; it’s like I’m a vegetable, but with less personality.
He’s a foot taller than me, and his bone structure is like Brad Pitt made love to the entire Windsor bloodline.
His dark blonde hair and blue eyes are all I could think about for the last six months; his beauty would literally make me forget my lines!
And yes, he’s the type I’ve always gone for, but at least he’s English this time and not American! That shows growth, I’m sure of it.
“He lives in London, and constantly stars in plays in the West End. He’s not going to just up and move to LA because I got drunk the other night and told him how I feel!”
“Mads, we’ve all seen the way he looks at you. Like you’re a real princess, not just the Princess of Rock. He said he really likes you. Why worry?”
I grab the bottle of champagne and swig half of it down. “Worry? Me? Never!”
Kel, my on-set hair and makeup artist turned soul mate bestie number two, arrives alongside her assistant.
With her soft blonde curls that match her sweetness and Bridgerton-worthy curves, Kel gives the best hugs.
Like the slightly younger little sister I always wanted, she wraps me up and rocks me back and forth, which always helps with my nerves.
They sweep up our locks into intricate updos while our faces are contoured within inches of their lives.
I don’t let my brain overthink it, but if I like Ace Archer so much, why do I feel like hiding up here all night?