over again, torturing myself with the absolute mortifying shame of it all. The last half hour of my life will probably play on repeat in my head for the next ten years.
Even the way Prince Dante looked at me when we were upstairs—with that sexy, pouty smirk—made me burn with embarrassment…and something else.
Desire.
Treacherous, forbidden desire.
How could I even consider being attracted to him, when I’m carrying another man’s baby? No, not just another man. I’m carrying his horrible half-brother’s baby.
Great.
I sink down on a stool and lean my elbows on the kitchen island.
Maybe it’s hormonal. They say that pregnancy can pique your libido. I’m well into the second trimester, now, and I rarely feel nauseous. I have way more energy.
Maybe my body is just looking for a way to burn it off?
For example, I could burn it off by climbing Prince Dante like a tree. I’m sure he could find a way to get rid of a lot of excess energy with me.
Just an idea.
I’m not going to act on it.
I jump when someone clears their throat in the kitchen doorway. My eyes widen when I see Prince Dante in nothing but a towel. My eyes drift down his chiseled body, feasting on the sight before me.
Muscle. Brawn. Sex-god status.
A little droplet of water escapes his hair and starts trailing down his body. Fascinated, I watch its journey from his collarbone, over his chest, and down the center valley of his abdominal muscles. The adventurous drop of water makes it all the way to his towel, absorbing into the fluffy white fabric just as my eyes snap back up to his.
Did I mention my cheeks are on fire?
The Prince arches an eyebrow. “Did you happen to grab my suitcase?”
“Oh!” I clap my hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry. I was distracted by…stuff…” I shake my head, trying to keep my eyes from finding more droplets of water trailing down his body.
His hand is holding the towel up, and a fleeting image of the Prince dropping it passes through my mind. I clear my throat, shaking my head to dispel the thought.
Bad Margot.
Blame the hormones.
I avert my eyes from his brawn, rushing past him and taking care not to touch his body as I slip through the kitchen entrance. I make my way to the front door, hauling in his suitcase.
“Here,” I say.
One of the house staff appears and rushes forward to help with the bag. She takes it from me and starts hauling it up the staircase.
The Prince’s eyes stay glued on mine, and I do my best to keep my gaze above shoulder level. Heat teases the edges of my stomach, and my heart thumps.
My tongue slides out to moisten my lips, but my mind feels completely empty. I scramble to think of something to say—anything.
Anything at all.
Earth to Margot? Where have you gone? Say something!
Where did my brain go? Did it go on a long journey with that droplet of water? Why am I suddenly mute?
The Prince clears his throat. “I’d better…”
“Yeah,” I say, averting my gaze. “I’ll see you…”
“Thanks…”
“Uh-huh.”
We stumble over each other’s words until the Prince coughs into his fist and turns around.
I cringe hard, releasing a breath as soon as I hear his bedroom door close.
Why am I like this?
I swear, I’m the worst famous person in the world. I somehow missed the classes on poise and grace, and hung onto my core awkwardness.
Hunter used to say it’s what made me relatable, and part of the reason that I’ve been as successful as I’ve been. People see me, and they recognize themselves.
I just wish people didn’t love a cringey, awkward mess. Do normal people knock things over every single day? Do normal people think Dante of Freaking Argyle is actually Todd the Plumber?!
Just another thing for my anxious brain to obsess over in the middle of the night, I guess. Add it to the long list of material that I already have.
A few months ago, Ivy and I ended up on a yacht with Prince Beckett, Prince Luca, and a bunch of celebrities. I fell in the water, and Ivy had to jump in to save me. It was all over the news for days. I laughed it off, but I died a thousand times every time I saw a photo of me flailing in the water.
That little episode has been playing on repeat in my mind every night, so at least now I’ll have something new to cringe about when I can’t sleep.