Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 68691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Yes, thank you, I’d appreciate it, I can put you in touch with the right people,” I said, smiling at him, grateful.
But it went further than that.
“Maybe I can set something up for us to do together,” he offered. “Work with the Roma people hands-on, figure something out.”
And it was then that my smile shone out, emitting ten thousand watts of pure happiness. Because most people would rather give money than actually work with their hands, put in the blood, sweat and tears, so I respected Kristian all that much more, unable to stop smiling.
“If you could set something up, I’d be so grateful,” I said softly. “Especially since it’ll give me a chance to get away from Miss Carroll’s,” I added mischievously under my breath.
And the big man threw his head back and laughed, the rumble deep and oh so masculine. God, the man really was gorgeous, everything about him was devastatingly beautiful … as well as kind and thoughtful, uncommon for a man of power.
“Sure honey, I’ll set something up,” he said with mirth dancing in his eyes. “Now we better circulate, otherwise everyone’s going to be on our cases,” he said mischievously, and with another kiss on the inside of my wrist, moved away.
But it was too late because I knew, just knew, that everyone had already noticed us, noticed the instant connection. And when I got back that night, Crikers actually congratulated me, the old lady knocking on my door around midnight.
“You did well,” she cackled, an old, tatty bathrobe tied tight around her waist, those rimless glasses perched on her nose.
“Oh really?” I asked slowly. I didn’t want to presume. I’d been doing better in the looks department, regularly getting mani-pedis, my hair professionally styled once a week although the curls were still unruly. So maybe she was referring to my improved appearance, the fact that I looked more like a “princess,” desirable, beautiful, stately, instead of my usual curvy, casual self. But no such thing.
“Prince Kristian of course,” wheezed the old lady. “He liked you, everyone saw.”
I nodded, that was true, but I wasn’t counting my chickens before they hatched. Maybe Kristian picked a girl at every event, making a certain someone feel special only to be forgotten the next day.
“Yeah, we talked about the Roma people, their unfortunate plight,” I said carefully. “He offered to help but I wouldn’t count on it,” I added. The prince had a lot of things on his plate, maybe he’d already forgotten me.
But the old woman just cackled and wheezed more.
“Yes, his office has already called to arrange a meeting with some local Roma who run a general store downtown,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be meeting him there.”
And my cheeks colored. Tomorrow? So soon? Evidently, my chickens had already hatched and I hadn’t even been aware of it. My heart caught in my throat, going at a million miles a minute.
“So soon?” I said weakly.
“Tomorrow,” confirmed Crikers, cinching her belt even tighter before heading out of my room. “So look pretty! You only get one chance to catch a prince!” she cawed before stepping out into the darkness.
And it was true. My face flushed and I sat down slowly, hardly able to believe the changes in my life. I was going to meet with Kristian one on one again … and I couldn’t wait.
KRISTIAN
The girl was beautiful, intelligent and practical. When my limo pulled up to Miss Carroll’s, she got in, decorously sweeping her skirt over her knees before looking up at me with those big brown eyes.
“Hi,” I rumbled, lifting her hand to my mouth for another inside kiss on the wrist. God, she was delectable, a whiff of perfume tickling my nostrils, those creamy, meaty thighs outlined under the soft fabric of her dress. I was ready to jump her right then, but stopped myself because of the look her eyes.
“What is it?” I asked, curious. The girl looked a little jumpy, almost nervous, and I had no idea why. She’d been lovely yesterday, curvy, funny, with a mischievous sense of humor. But the brunette looked around the car, surveying the interior, before turning to me with a big sigh.
“We can’t go in this,” she said.
“What?” I asked. I’d been traveling by limo since I was a kid, it was rare that I that I arrived in anything other than some sort of black car. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, waving her hand at the leather interior, the bottled watered stashed in the side pockets, the warm nuts already set out on the entertainment console, “it’s too fancy. They have so little and this is beyond what they could ever afford,” she concluded quietly. “I don’t want to throw your wealth in their face.”
And I almost smacked my forehead with my hand then, cursing myself for being a dunce. Of course the limo was all wrong, what had I been thinking? But then again, I was so used to being chauffeured that I hadn’t questioned it, sliding into the car without a second thought, getting comfortable immediately.