his ass. The fabric wraps around his waist, and then he grabs the tiny zipper. The sound slices the air, and my heart is inexplicably pounding.
“Come in.”
A woman looking to be about fifty years old walks inside. Liam gives her a warm smile.
“You’ve worked for my family for how many years?”
“Twenty-six.”
So that must mean she watched him grow up. I wonder what she thinks of the picture attached to the ceiling.
I take Marcia’s offered hand and tentatively smile back. “I’m Daisy, nice to meet you.”
“Lovely to meet you.”
“Marcia has made gowns for all my girls. She is very talented.”
She smiles at him in a motherly way. “Can you at least tell me the occasion?”
Liam shoves his hands in his pockets and grins. “Can’t. Sorry.”
Marcia buries her hand in the leather purse hanging from her shoulder and produces a measuring tape. “It’s a secret?”
“Very much so.” He walks behind her, staring at me, and takes her shoulders. “I need you to make her a gown fit for a royal.” He grins at me from behind her back. “And don’t be afraid to show some cleavage.”
Marcia doesn’t even blush. “You’re a naughty boy, Liam.”
From: Professor.Sanduskyberkeley.edu
To: Daisy_Walkergmail
Subject: Write Back Now
Where are you? You haven’t been answering your phone or email. Are you okay? Please call me at your earliest convenience.
From: Daisy_Walkergmail
To: Professor.Sanduskyberkeley.edu
Subject: Re: Write Back Now
I’ve decided to stay in Anglefell and marry a prince. I will be writing articles about the superiority of this country compared to America instead. Good-bye.
From: Professor.Sanduskygmail
To: Daisy_Walkergmail
Subject: Re: Re: Write Back Now
Daisy, if you can read this, I’m contacting the American embassy in Scotland.
From: Daisy_Walkergmail
To: Professor.Sanduskyberkeley.edu
Subject: PISS OFF
Dear Professor Dickweed,
The Scots have no jurisdiction here. Kindly remove your abnormally sized head from out of your ass and browse Wikipedia’s article about Anglefell. Also, PISS OFF!
I’m going to kill him.
It’s not enough that I have to marry this jackass, but he had to go through my email and insult my professor. I look through the flood of concerned emails from everyone, overwhelmed. He left my phone on his nightstand, almost as though he wanted me to find it.
I start an email to my parents before biting my lip hard. How the hell am I going to explain any of this?
Hi, Mom and Dad, I got arrested by the prince here and sentenced to ten years hard labor, but it’s okay, I’m marrying him.
Yeah, that won’t exactly put their spirits at ease.
So what then? Lie? They’ll find out when the ceremony is broadcasted on live television. I stare at the tiny screen, searching for words that would explain my situation that don’t involve arrested. Dad’s voice booms in my head.
We told you. We said it over and over that this was a stupid idea. You’ve been putting yourself in harm’s way ever since Ben—
I cut it off as a swift pain hits my chest.
There’s no way I can explain this in an email.
To: Mike_Walkergmail
From: Daisy_Walkergmail
Subject: I’m fine!
Hi, Dad,
Sorry to worry you guys. I did run into a little bit of trouble, but I’m fine now. I can’t explain everything, but I promise to call as soon as possible. Love, Daisy.
I click the Send button, hoping it’ll be enough for now. I debate whether I should return the phone back to his nightstand, but I decide it’s useless.
“Ready for the ball, love?”
The mere sound of his voice grates my ears. Prince Liam stands near the head of the room, dressed in a black suit and tie, every strand of his hair neatly gelled to the side. His cocksure grin falters when he takes in my appearance.
I stare at myself in the wall-length mirror, hardly recognizing the girl in the navy-blue wrap dress that ends just above my knees. Marcia also called in a stylist, who gave me a trim and massaged fifteen different hair-styling oils through my hair before blow-drying it. My hair is softer than goose down, and it shines like black ink.
Liam’s gaze trails down my neck to the diving neckline, where he has a nice view of my tits.
“You’re so predictable.”
His playful eyes snap back up, strangely intense, and then he approaches me until I feel the heat from his skin.
“You look fucking hot. This dress will look amazing on the floor later.”
The heat blazes from his throat too. He touches my neck.
“Thanks,” I hear myself say, completely ignoring the comment about my dress.
My stomach tenses when his hand wraps around mine and lifts it. Looking unusually solemn, he digs for something in his pocket and produces