Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Everyone in that crowd has things they are afraid of, by the way—even me. I have a horrible fear of heights that I keep a secret from everyone. When I was eight, I climbed up a tree on a dare and then was too petrified to come back down. Everyone in the palace saw me shaking and hugging the branch. I was so embarrassed. I am still embarrassed about that, actually, so you must keep this secret to yourself.
Until we meet again,
GM.
“You have hijacked my morning,” I whispered, looking down at the full page he had taken up. So much for not thinking about him. How was I going to get the image of him as a boy stuck in a tree out of my mind? Or his sister—a princess—throwing a fit? What could I even say? I sat there, rereading and rereading, then smiling before getting mad at myself for smiling. What happened to my new day?
He really didn’t have to do this for me. Yes, I enjoyed it, but part of me felt like he was using moves. Did I like it? Yes. But still. All of this felt like a step-by-step play for me to fall for him.
Reaching over, I grabbed my cell and prepared to text him back but saw the time.
Well, if he can wake me, I can do the same to him, I thought, opening a message.
Your flowers woke me up. Backspace. Backspace. Backspace. That sounded rude. My mom’s comment about getting flowers in the morning was right. It wasn’t the worst thing. It wasn’t even a bad thing. The last thing I wanted to do was insult him over it. But I also didn’t know how else to send a message to him. And then it came to me.
All I needed now were flowers.
If he could send them, so could I.
It was after four in the afternoon before I woke up. My body was aching and heavy. Jet lag always hit harder the second day than it did the first, and it completely knocked me out last night...and all of this morning. I figured Iskandar must have left me to sleep, which was why my clothes weren’t already laid out by Wolfgang. However, now that I was dressed and downstairs, I could clearly see he hadn’t let me sleep in. He hadn’t woken up, either.
There he was lying still, upright, and almost like a dead man on the couch. Immediately, I did what any rational person would do, and I got out my phone, bent over the couch, and took a photo....no one would believe this otherwise. Iskandar the Rock had overslept. He was sleeping, in fact! It was amazing. It was the sign of the end times.
Slam.
The front door behind me opened and closed.
“Sorry!” Wolfgang said when I turned back to him.
However, I was more confused about the giant basket of white and yellow flowers in his hands.
“What are you carrying?”
“Flowers?” he replied.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I can see that, but why do you have them?”
“They look to be delivered, sir.” Iskandar’s voice was right at my ear
“Jesus Christ!” I jumped away from the now very awake man, sitting up as if he came from the grave right behind me. “You are awake?”
He nodded and got up off the couch, bowing. “Forgive me. I overslept.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too. Wolfgang, you should slap him on the back of the head for payback after what he did last night.” I grinned, really wanting to see that.
“Who sent flowers? Are they for Ms. Wyntor?” Iskandar ignored me to ask Wolfgang. “Competition for the prince?”
I cracked my jaw, annoyed at that, and how he said it as if he were hoping so. Did he forget his duty in his nap? He was supposed to be on my side, not cheering on someone trying to—
“No, the flowers are for him.”
My head went back to Wolfgang. “Him, who?”
“Him, you.”
“Are we writing a Doctor Seuss book? What do you mean him, you? What kind of explanation is that?” I snickered.
“I mean, Ms. Odette sent you flowers and a letter. The front desk called earlier, and I went to pick them up. Where should I put them?”
“She sent me flowers?” That was a first.
He handed me the letter before putting the flowers onto the coffee table. And that was a very strange sentence to even think of. I did not understand what this meant.
Glancing down at the card, I saw my name. Not Gale. But Galahad, written in tiny, slanted cursive handwriting in the center. Pulling out the letter, I was not sure if she was messing with me. She teased me for my speech being formal, and yet, her handwriting looked like it was stolen from the eighteenth century.
Dear Galahad,
Hold fast to dreams, Langston Hughes once wrote.
Galahad, I like to dream. If you are going to send flowers, please do not let them wake me. I am thankful for them, anyway, so I am returning the gesture. The flower I sent to you is the Seattle Dahlia. It is the symbol of those who stand strong in his or her sacred values and Seattle itself.