teeming mass of frenzied estrogen. Her scream is immediately drowned out by the noise, which is earsplitting. My teeth grind as another girl shrieks right into my ear.
Jesus.
The jostling gets worse when the prince pivots on his heel. The women standing next to me go batshit, and I actually go deaf for a few seconds. My eardrums are pretty much fucked at this point.
Dark hair is slicked back over Prince Liam’s head as he offers a smirk to the women heaving against the guards, their hands clenching over air. Amusement twinkles in his gaze, which rakes over the mostly female crowd. It’s tragic that a man that hot is such a complete asshole. Heat pricks over my skin when his hazel eyes slide over me. And stop.
The women beside me go mental. This is what I imagine a Justin Bieber concert must be like. Scowling, I turn to one of them.
“Get a fucking grip, lady!”
Prince Liam holds up a hand for silence, and even from this distance I can tell it’s a well-manicured hand free of calluses. He’s probably never done anything arduous in his life. At once, the crowd falls silent as though struck dumb, except for one voice ringing out somewhere behind me.
“Marry me, Liam!”
It’s the same woman who exposed her breasts to the prince. She’s fighting to rejoin the center of the circle, and the prince’s gaze leaves mine for a moment to lock on her as her tits bounce from her shirt. He inclines his head in a princely gesture of benign amusement.
“Thank you.”
The woman sags in the arms of the guards trying to drag her away, apparently overcome with being directly addressed by a member of the royal family. I burst out laughing as ecstasy blooms over her face. Smiling, I turn back to the prince, who is back to staring at me.
Oh shit.
“You. Come here.”
Who—me?
Even though his finger points at me, there’s a moment of confusion as the girls on either side of me fight each other.
“He meant me, you twit!”
“Did not!”
Prince Liam settles the matter by taking a step forward, making it no question that it is me.
“You. Come.”
Shit, shit, shit.
There’s no way I can slink backward into the crowd to escape. Someone pushes the small of my back, and I stumble forward. I try not to stare at the dozens of hostile eyes stabbing at me. Jealousy burns the back of my neck.
“Join the girls in line.”
The way he says girls—gulls—sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. It’s hard not to feel the tendrils of attraction slowly wrapping around my limbs as he gently takes my shoulders and directs me to the lined-up women. I’m surprised by the strength in his arms as he effortlessly guides me. He’s a prince. It’s hard not to be little bit breathless, even though it makes me feel like the rest of the fools around me.
I stand in line next to a shorter brunette, having no idea what the hell this is about or why there are so many bitter faces glaring at me. The prince’s touch disappears.
Then he turns, his hands clasped behind his back as he takes a few steps, stops, and stares at one of the girls. She’s a waifish little thing with string beans for legs and a mass of orange curls hanging down either side of her face. It’s hard watching her try to keep it together.
“Too skinny.”
She bows her head, her cheeks burning.
His shoe scrapes the cement as he stops in front of the second girl, who beams at him.
“Too happy.”
My jaw drops as he abruptly dismisses her and moves on to the third girl as I wonder what the hell I’m seeing. Is this some sort of bizarre dating ritual?
“Nope,” he says, hardly looking at the third. At the fourth, his lips twitch. “Not bad, but I’m a tits man and you’re a bit lacking in that department. Sorry, love.”
I watch as devastation destroys the hope lingering in her over-bright eyes, which rapidly fill with tears. She bows her head and crosses her arms over her small chest, now positively sobbing. Ever the gentleman, Prince Liam reaches out to give her a few conciliatory pats on her head.
“There, there.”
Seriously?
I don’t think my mouth can widen any farther. I expect her to slap him, but she doesn’t say a word. Why the hell are they taking his bullshit? I don’t give a damn if he’s a prince. I’m taking a picture and I’m writing about this.