drinks. I accept one with a smile. Alcohol isn’t my favorite substance, but it’ll do for now.
The drink sloshes as my hand trembles, and I bite down on my bottom lip to stop my mind from spiraling out of control.
“So, what’s causing you so much grief?” he asks, taking the tiny umbrella out of his drink and sliding it behind his ear.
I smile, surprised that a Prince would do something so…normal.
Shrugging, I take a sip of the cocktail. “Just work stuff.”
And the fact that my life is slowly spiraling out of control, and all I can do is watch.
“Is it about my brother not giving you the time of day?”
I glance at Prince Beckett’s face, trying to see any sign of mockery. Was it that obvious that I was offended? Am I that pathetic?
He looks earnest, though, so I smile. “He’s not my type anyway.”
Prince Beckett’s eyebrows jump up. “No?”
I shake my head.
“So, what is your type?” The Prince pushes his sunglasses up onto his head, and I can see a sparkle in his dark eyes. His eyebrow arches. “Perhaps a guy who’s six foot four with abs of steel, a roguish smile, and chocolate-brown eyes?”
He gestures to his body, and I laugh.
“I like ones who wear drink umbrellas in their hair.”
“That’s oddly specific.” He grins, taking a sip of his drink. “Do you always tell people exactly what they want to hear?”
“Part of the job.” I wink.
“Isn’t your job to be yourself? As far as I can tell, everyone loves you.”
I let out a sigh. “My job is to give the public a part of me, every single day.”
“Sounds like my job, too.”
I smile at the Prince, and a quiver passes through my chest. Clearing my throat, I turn away from him. I take a sip of my drink, wishing it were stronger. When I put it down on the small side table beside my lounge chair, tension eases between my eyes. Now, I don’t have to worry about trembling and spilling it.
I’m a mess. I don’t deserve Prince Luca’s attention—or Prince Beckett’s, for that matter.
So, when the Prince turns to me and smiles, I keep my head facing forward. I close my eyes and lay back on the lounge chair, pretending to enjoy the rays of sunshine that warm my skin. I pretend that I can’t sense his movements, and I can’t smell the faint scent of his cologne.
I close myself off from him, just as I’ve closed myself off from every man who ever made advances at me.
It’s the reason that I agree to enter into these ridiculous publicity stunts like dating Prince Luca. It’s the reason I don’t mind being dragged through the tabloids every time I breathe.
If they knew the truth about me, it would be much, much worse.
14
Luca
Walking up the steps to the second floor of the yacht, I do a lap of the luxurious cabins and living rooms, but I still can’t find Ivy. This floor has a dining room at the front end of the boat, complete with another bar, and then a hallway leading back to the bedroom cabins.
The yacht is huge, and well-equipped, and frustratingly easy to hide in.
It’s not until I get to the top deck that I see Ivy, tucked under a small awning. She’s crouched down with her nose tucked into a book, her hat and sunglasses covering most of her face. Unlike her sister, she hasn’t stripped down. The small parts of her skin that are exposed are already starting to turn pink in the sun.
How this girl and the bronzed, blonde model below could be related, I have no idea.
“Hiding from me, are you?” I sink down onto the floor beside her, stretching my legs out.
“Isn’t that exactly what I told you I’d do?” Ivy swings her eyes over to me. “Tell me something, Your Highness—are you allergic to shirts?” Her eyes sweep down my body, her cheeks turning pink before she turns back to her book.
I grin. “You didn’t seem to mind before.”
“I was focused on trying to stop the blood gushing out of your head.”
“That explains the kitchen,” I grin. “What about the other times?”
Ivy’s lips twitch. “The other times, I was wondering what it would be like to lick melted chocolate off your abs.” She turns her head to look at me. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“That can be arranged. Do you prefer milk or dark?”
Ivy’s cheeks turn red, and she shakes her head. “You’re not supposed to be talking