the sound of him makes blood rush to my face, and here I am mentally preparing myself to beg Prince Thomas for help. I must be insane. He doesn’t have a philanthropic bone in his body, unless it involves tits and beer.
You’re doing this for your brother, I remind myself. Your incredibly stupid brother.
Thomas raises the microphone, his deep voice tumbling out of his lips. “We would like to thank you for stumbling out of your cockroach-infested hovels to spend your hard-earned dollars on cheap beer and steamed hot dogs.”
Wow. He hasn’t changed.
The crowd doesn’t seem to know what to make of that, but there’s a smattering of laughter and applause and “PRINCE THOMAS!”
He continues in a deadened voice. “Since Daisy’s Aid’s inception, we have helped over two hundred countries feed their children. Every dollar that you spend at this event will directly contribute children in need. Once again, we thank you for supporting this great cause, but we must stress the need for donations.”
The paralysis that froze my limbs slowly ebbs away as he winds down his speech.
Keep going.
I bounce from foot to foot, craning my neck over the sea of heads. Damn it. It’s almost impossible. Somehow, though, I manage to get a few feet from the stage by carefully navigating through the crowd with copious amounts of excuse mes and sorry.
God, I’m close enough that he could hear me if I screamed, if only there weren’t dozens of other women doing the same thing. When the hell did he reach rock star status?
“Prince Thomas!” A girl wearing a hot pink tank top crushes her breasts against the metal fence. “TAKE ME BACKSTAGE!”
Tom pays them no mind except to occasionally give them a lewd smile. I manage to get behind two of the women, and then my lungs swell.
“Tom! TOM!” My screams add to the cacophony of female voices, but they do nothing to distract him from the crowd.
I fight my way to the fence and lean over so it cuts into my stomach. Bodies press up against my back to fill in the gap. Tom’s just a few feet away from me, maddeningly close. I scream his name so hard that I feel a tear in my throat. Damn it. He won’t even glance in my direction, but that’s probably because I’m lined up next to these women. I must look like a nutcase.
My heart slams in my throat as Tom’s gaze sweeps over us, but he doesn’t recognize me. A girl immediately on my right wearing blonde dreadlocks and a giant foam hand loses her shit. Her plastic cup of rainbow Dippin’ Dots flies into the air, raining tiny colored balls of ice cream over my head. They melt in my hair almost instantly.
This is wonderful.
I picture myself with smudged, rainbow streaks in my hair. If I didn’t look deranged before, I sure as hell do now. The noise from the crowd roars behind my head like a bullhorn, drowning my voice. That’s not the case for Dreadlocks. I catch every ringing syllable of, “PRINCE THOMAS! TOUCH MY TITS!”
A surge of annoyance burns in my chest when she flails her arm, trying to get his attention, walloping me in the head with her giant foam hand.
Ow.
It doesn’t really hurt, but I’m getting annoyed with Prince Thomas’ groupies.
There’s another blue blur across my vision. The giant foam finger swipes me across the face a second time.
“Fuck’s sake!”
She doesn’t hear a word I say. Dreadlocks is too preoccupied with the venue’s security, a beefy man who rebuffs her attempts to climb the fence.
Whump.
This time it rips across my cheek like an honest to God slap.
Jesus fucking Christ give me that stupid thing.
I snatch the stupid foam hand from the air, and she scowls as it flies out of her hand.
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Give it back!”
“Nope.” I give the dreadlocked girl a look filled with acid that she returns.
“I paid good money for that!”
I roll my eyes and turn my back on her, which ends up being a big mistake.
Thump.
A soft cushion hits the back of my head, and then another fierce blow follows. She’s got another damn foam hand, except it’s not a hand. It’s a spongy sword, pointed right at me.
What the hell? They have swords at this thing? Oh, because he’s a prince.
I can’t roll my eyes hard enough. Then I see a ten-year-old kid standing behind her, looking crestfallen. She stole it from him.