Chapter 7
So You’ve Met a Hot Prince and Now Your Life is in Shambles?
“Absolutely not,” Harper said the moment Emilia sat down across from her, her expression murderous.
Emilia blinked, setting her laptop bag on the chair beside her. “What?”
Harper leaned forward. “Whatever unholy rage is currently radiating off your entire being, I refuse to let it ruin my coffee.”
“Harper,” she said, voice dangerously even, “I have met the future King of Caledonia. And he is—”
“A devastatingly handsome, well-tailored mistake?” Harper guessed, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Emilia stabbed a sugar packet open with unnecessary force, granules spilling across the wooden tabletop. “—he’s the kind of handsome that would be impressive if he didn’t already worship himself enough for the both of us.”
Harper laughed softly. “Oh, I love this for you.”
“No, you don’t,” Emilia snapped.
Harper stirred her coffee lazily, the spoon clinking rhythmically against porcelain. “Oh, but I do. Please, proceed.”
Emilia threw her hands up. “First, I walk in to find him telling his aide how ridiculous it is that someone my age would apply for this position. Apparently he thinks I only wanted the job because I saw his ‘idiotic GQ spread’ and was hoping for a chance to meet him.”
Harper’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “No. He didn’t.”
“Oh, he absolutely did,” Emilia continued, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “He actually insinuated I have a Pinterest board of royal wedding ideas. Me!”
Harper pressed her lips together, clearly holding back a laugh. “And you heard all this…?”
“Standing right behind him,” Emilia confirmed. “And then when I made it clear I heard every word, he had the audacity to act like nothing happened.”
Harper leaned forward, completely enthralled. “What did you say to him? Please tell me you eviscerated him.”
“I informed him that I was approached for this position and declined it twice,” Emilia said with grim satisfaction. “And that I understood why the concept of being selected on merit might be foreign to him.”
Harper clutched her chest dramatically. “Emmy! You didn’t!”
“I did.” Emilia finally took a sip of her coffee, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “You should have seen his face.”
Harper looked positively delighted. “And then what?”
Emilia’s momentary satisfaction faded. “And then he was arrogant. Condescending. Insufferably smug. And utterly convinced that the monarchy should be allowed to sanitize history however they see fit.”
Harper sipped her coffee, unconcerned by her friend’s outburst despite the curious glances from neighboring tables. “Mmm. A classic prince problem.”
“Oh, and let’s not forget,” Emilia went on, voice rising as the flush crept up her neck again, “he thought I was going to be starstruck. He seriously thought I was just going to fall at his feet.”
Harper tilted her head, studying Emilia over the rim of her mug. “Well, to be fair, you do love history.”
“Yes, but I do not love royalty.” Emilia’s fingers drummed an agitated pattern against the tabletop.
“Tell that to your face when you’re reading about tragic royal romances at 2 a.m.,” Harper countered, the corner of her mouth lifting.
Emilia glared, her eyes narrowing. “That is research.”
Harper leaned back in her chair with satisfaction. “If you say so, Emmy.”
Emilia ignored her and pressed on, her voice dropping to a frustrated whisper as a barista passed by with a tray of pastries. “The worst part? We have to work together for months and he is going to make it absolute hell.”
Harper leaned on her hand, looking far too entertained as she traced the rim of her mug. “Oh, Emmy. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Emilia stared, momentarily speechless. “To you?”
Harper grinned, revealing the dimple in her left cheek. “Yes. Because now I get to watch you, the unshakable Emilia Carter, lose your entire mind over some tragically attractive prince who already managed to get under your skin before you even properly met.”
Emilia grabbed a napkin and threw it at her. “I am not losing my mind.”
Harper dodged it effortlessly, the paper fluttering to the floor. “Of course not. You’re completely unaffected. That’s why your entire soul is on fire right now.”
Emilia crossed her arms, slumping back in her chair. “I hate you.”
Harper beamed, reaching across to squeeze Emilia’s wrist affectionately. “Babe, you love me.”
Emilia groaned, dropping her head onto the table with a soft thud. The cold surface felt soothing against her forehead.
Harper took a thoughtful sip of coffee. “You know, if he’s really as awful as you say, I could write a brutal hit piece on him. ‘Prince Alexander: Stiff, Arrogant, Clueless About Merit, and a Blight Upon Historical Accuracy.’”
Emilia lifted her head slightly, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Tempting.”
“I could add a quote from an anonymous palace insider,” Harper wiggled her eyebrows dramatically. “Maybe something about him being ‘a tyrant in tailored suits who wouldn’t recognize actual merit if it slapped him in his royal face’?”
Emilia rolled her eyes, finally reaching for her cooling coffee. “I cannot believe you call yourself a serious journalist.”
Harper shrugged, brushing a crumb from the sleeve of her cardigan. “Serious journalism is subjective.”
Emilia huffed a laugh despite herself, taking her first sip of coffee. The rich bitterness matched her mood perfectly. This was going to be a long, long project.