The Prince and The Escort

The Prince and The
Escort

Book 1

In the series: A Scandalous Royal Fairytale

by Marilyn Cruise

Marilyn Cruise

This is a work of fiction.
All the characters, organizations and events
portrayed in this novel are either products
of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously.

First Edition, Oct 2018

ISBN-13:
978-1727661071

ISBN-10:
1727661079
E-Book ISBN
9781370652457

Copyright © 2018 Marilyn Cruise

The Prince and The Escort

All rights reserved.

For anyone who ever believed in the fairytale…

3

Marilyn Cruise

Also by Marilyn Cruise
The Chapel Series
The Black Chapel
The White Chapel

The Everlasting Chapel

The Prince and The Escort

CHAPTER 1

5

Marilyn Cruise

My knees are shaking and my teeth are clattering.
This. Sucks.
Not only am I freezing, I’m starting to seriously
doubt my decision-making skills in life.
Gah! Focus, Jennifer!
I can’t believe I forgot my jacket.
I’m literally going to freeze to death.
Or die of shame.
Or both.
“Hi, Ben Cunningham,” I mutter. My voice is
shivering like crazy. “My, aren’t you a sexy thing. I’m
Jennifer, and tonight I’ll be your escort.” I roll my eyes.
This is so fucking ridiculous.
But it’s not like I have a choice. Those are the exact
words I was instructed to say by Gary, my new boss,
when I meet my very first client. Now if I could just say
them with enough conviction so Ben will actually believe
I mean it, that would be great.
Why didn’t they include a section in the three-hour
escort orientation, teaching me to lie like a pro and go
against my feelings?
I run my hands up and down my goosebump-
speckled arms, trying to rub any amount of heat into
them, because any amount of heat is more than the zero
heat I feel in my body at the moment.
I’ve been waiting outside the Royal Porter Hotel in
downtown Orlando beneath the overhang for the past
thirty minutes. Ben was supposed to be here twenty
minutes ago, at 7:00 p.m., so we could go to dinner. I

The Prince and The Escort

should have known. Guys who have money and status
think the rules of common courtesy don’t apply to them.

Wearing nothing but a black, sequin, spaghetti-
strap, scandalously high above-the-knee length cocktail
dress and three-inch black pumps, I have no defense
against the icy gust of air that blasts against me.

I scan my surroundings again, but no one looks in
the least bit like my first client. Ben’s profile says he’s 5’8.
In his picture, he has short, dirty blond hair and ogley
hazel eyes. And he looked like a fitness freak, which
worries me a bit since I haven’t seen the inside of a gym,
like, ever. However, of all the other women, he chose me,
even though I made it very clear on my Escorts & Lovers
profile that I’m not into fitness in the least, and that I’m
voluptuous. Maybe it was my waist-long, wavy, dark hair
that made him interested. He said he liked it.

Another particularly ruthless gust of wind blasts
against me. Oh. My. God! It’s so damn freaking cold!

Forget this waiting outside shit!
I team into the high-end hotel for the fourth time to
warm up. Right as I step through the glass swiveling
doors, heat encompasses me. My body immediately
starts to thaw, but I’m still cold so I head straight for the
fireplace and turn my ass toward it.
“Jennifer! Wow your lips are blue!” Claire Kenyon,
my best friend of eleven years, and my co-worker of one,
stands up from the leather sectional, her big blue eyes
brimming with concern. She walks over to me and wraps
her arms around to my back, rubbing vigorously.
“I’ll be ok,” I say.

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Marilyn Cruise

Claire is here to make sure my very first Escorts
and Lovers client isn’t some serial killer or kidnapper.

Or both.
“You’re quivering like a leaf, you poor thing,” she
says. Claire is striking in every way—tall, slender, blonde,
has skin of marble, and is super smart, funny, and sexy.
And with a generous monthly allowance from her father,
she always looks like she just walked off the cover of a
fashion magazine. Me, I haven’t been able to afford a new
outfit for a couple of years. In fact, the dress I’m wearing
is Claire’s.
“He’s still not here yet?” she asks as she pulls away,
her irises reflecting the flames in the fireplace.
I shake my head. “No phone call either.” I trust
Claire without reservation. Like peas in a pod, we
suffered through middle-school humiliation together and
through high school hell, and lately, our friendship has
been the glue that has kept my wreck-of-a life from
falling apart.
“Well, he certainly doesn’t deserve sex,” she says.
“Don’t worry. I’m not a Lover. I’m an Escort.”
Her right eyebrow rises. “Which means what
again…?”
“My job is to provide good conversation, female
company, and perhaps a make-out session or two.”
“So basically, you’re there to look good on a man’s
arm and be his PG-13 date,” she says.
I nod, but cringe inwardly. For the eleventh time
since I got here, I remind myself why I’m putting myself
through this humiliation. When my parents died in a car

The Prince and The Escort

accident a year ago, my seventeen-year-old younger
sister, Gabby, was in the same accident. She survived, but
lost both legs. My parents had no savings and no
insurance, so we were out of luck. Now I’m trying to save
up for her $19,000 prosthetic legs so she can have
somewhat of a normal life.

“What’s the cancelation policy?” Claire asks.
“He’ll show.” I hope I’m right, but there’s a little
voice inside me that fears I’m wrong. I need this money.
Desperately.
Right now I have $236 in my bank, and I haven’t
even paid rent this month yet. I fucking need this job. If
Ben doesn’t show, I don’t get paid. Which is a ridiculous
rule since I took the time to get all dolled up and pretty.
I glance up when a beefy, handsome, middle-aged
man, wearing a black suit passes us by. Then, I see
another one just like him down the hallway, only more
muscular. Suddenly, the entire foyer is crawling with
brute men dressed in black suits, wires going from their
ears and vanishing into the collars of their white dress
shirts.
“What’s up with all the security guards?” The sight
of so many of them makes my breathing shallow.
Claire shrugs, then smiles mischievously. “I have no
idea, but if I didn’t already have plans, I’d sure have liked
to take one of them home. Two even.” She’s a self-
proclaimed serial dater and has hooked up with more
men than there are minutes in the hour.
I chuckle. “I’m sure you would. But from the looks
of it, I think they’re on an important job.”

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Marilyn Cruise

“God I love a serious man who isn’t available,” she
mutters, then bites her perfectly pouty bottom lip. “It
makes the chase that much more fun.”

“I triple-dog dare you to try,” I nudge.
She exhales, her shoulders slumping. “I’m meeting
Jeremy later, remember?”
Jeremy is her long-time friend-with-benefits friend.
He’s a sweetheart, and I’ve often wondered why they
don’t just make their relationship official. He loves her—
that much is obvious—and she seems to adore him. And
she can’t brag enough about their amazing sex life.
“So how long are you going to give this no-show
loser before you decide to come out dancing with Jeremy
and me?” Claire asks, eyeing one of the hot, buff dudes.
Now that my rear end feels like it’s burning, I turn
around and warm my front side in the flames of the
fireplace. “I’ll wait until he shows.”
“You’re way too nice,” she says. “I’d have been outta
here five minutes past.”
But she’s not desperate for money like I am. “I’m
sure he’ll show up in a moment. Maybe he forgot his
jacket at home.” And truth be told, I’d prefer to go on a
date rather than be the third wheel to Claire and Jeremy’s
date.
Again.
Claire shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Already
making excuses for him?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m pathetic.”
“How long has it been since you were properly
fucked?” she asks. “Over two years, right? I mean a 21-

The Prince and The Escort

year-old woman like you should be having sex all the
time.”

She’s such a great friend, always reminding me of
things like that. “I’m an ‘Escort’, not a ‘Lover’.”

“I’m a great people reader,” she says. “I’ll be able to
let you know if he’ll be good in bed. And if the
opportunity presents itself, why not have a little fun?”

She’s right about the people-reading part. She’s not
been wrong once about anyone since I met her.

She slumps down onto the couch again, spreads
her arms across the back of the couch and crosses her
legs. “You’ve had a rough year.” Her voice has turned soft,
as if she knows she’s treading on sensitive ground.
“Maybe it’s time you open yourself up to love again.”

Her comment makes my insides roil, and I shift on
my feet.

“And if you have chemistry with this…what was his
name again?”

“Ben,” I say.
“Yes, Ben. If there’s chemistry, why don’t you just
use him for some pleasure?”
God, I can’t believe I’m even considering this. But
having a man touch me, caress me, kiss me…to receive
some affection…it’s been way to long. “What if he’s a
psychopath?”
“Since I’m a people expert, I’ll nudge your elbow if I
like him, tap my nose if I think he’s a creep, and step on
your foot if he’s a jerk. Just don’t forget to bring him in
here so I can meet him.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”

11

Marilyn Cruise

“Deal.”
“I said maybe.”
“Maybe is yes in my book.” She smiles triumphantly.
Feeling sufficiently warm to take on the cold at
least one more time, I glance back outside.
Huh.
There’s a man out there that wasn’t before. Maybe
that’s Ben. It’s hard to make out his physical features
from here so I head toward the swiveling doors. I step
outside and I suck in a sudden breath as the frigid air hits
me. Fuck, I forgot how cold it is out here.
I glance at the man standing directly to the right.
From what I can tell with the limited side view, he’s
young, and very, oh, very attractive.
He’s smoking a cigarette, which with any other guy
would be a complete turn-off and an immediate,
interminable deal-breaker, but not with him. I bet he
could make anything look cool and healthy.
He’s leaning his back against the hotel marble wall.
He wears a black tuxedo with silver cufflinks. Rich as
fuck, probably. Probably arrogant too. I mean, I know I
shouldn’t judge but I can’t help myself. I’ve had too many
encounters with the likes of him.
The black bowtie at his neck is undone, as are the
top buttons of his shirt. His face is partly hidden from me
in the shadow, but the contours of his muscular physique
are glaringly obvious, as is his height—he must be at
least six-foot two. My motto is and always has been:
tallness is next to godliness. And this man is indeed godly
on so many levels.

The Prince and The Escort

He turns to face me.
Oh, shit.
I feel utterly defenseless when his intense green
eyes watch me. He’s definitely not my date, Ben.
But damn. I wish he was.
My cheeks warm, and I almost get the feeling that
I’ve seen him or met him somewhere before. Is he
perhaps on the Escorts and Lovers site? No. I’d certainly
remember him if he were.
He’s hotter than hell. All of a sudden I realize that I
have become completely and utterly oblivious to the cold.
I can’t help but feel a magnetic pull toward him. My
stomach flutters.
What…the? I can’t remember the last time that
happened.
“Hi,” he says with a crooked smile as he moves out
from the shadow. He exhales the cigarette smoke away
from me. Oh… Marlon Brando has nothing on this guy—
except he looks shockingly like the movie star, full lips, a
mole above his lip on the left side and all. He has a
straight nose, thick lashes, dirty blond, medium, short,
wavy hair that flies about his face in the frigid wind. His
chiseled face and sheer beauty and charisma would make
a movie director weep with joy.
“Hello,” I croak. Without my permission, my heart
starts to beat in a pounding, disjointed rhythm. I feel
eerily uncomfortable and unreasonably excited at the
same time.
I hate it. I love it.

13

Marilyn Cruise

“I’m sorry.” He drops the cigarette to the
cobblestone ground and steps on it with his shiny black
Oxford. He sits on the bench, elbows resting on his firm
thighs, as he hunches forward.

I squint, acutely aware that I have lost the ability to
think. Or breathe. Shit. Why is my heart racing? It’s not
like he’s my type or anything. Despite my reasonable self
screaming at me to ignore the man—‘cause I know men
like him are trouble—I say, “Sorry for what?”

“I don’t really smoke,” he says with a deep chuckle
that hits me right in the solar plexus. “Last time I lit up
was two and a half years ago.” I note a slight accent, but I
can’t quite place it. French? No. German? Definitely not.

“So why are you smoking now?” I take a small,
hesitant step forward. Ugh, I don’t really want to engage
with a guy like him, do I? Yet, something invisible, but
irresistibly forceful draws me toward him and there’s
absolutely no way I can stop myself.

The right side of his lips quirk up, and something
about the way he glances up at me sends a shiver of
excitement through my body.

“I have to attend a charity ball that starts in twenty
minutes. And my girlfriend just broke up with me.”

“Oh. She’s not coming, then?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your doing.” His eyebrows rise and he sits
back, one arm extending across the back of the bench, the
other running through his hair before settling on his
thigh. He watches me intently for a moment, and for

The Prince and The Escort

some inexplicable reason, my cheeks turn hot. “Were you
headed to the ball as well?” He gives me a soft smile and
his dimples appear.

“No…er… Just dinner.”
“With your boyfriend?” he asks.
Make up a story, quick! There’s no way in hell I’m
telling him I just started a job as an escort. It’s too
embarrassing for me to admit it to him. Hell, I can barely
even admit it to myself! “I just had…have…er. I’m waiting
for my date and he’s late. It’s a first date. Kind of a blind
date—date.” I huff. Sheesh. I can hardly manage to
formulate a single sentence. Is it him or is it the fact that
I’m starting an embarrassing job? “He was supposed to
be here at seven.”
“So you’re dateless at this point.”
“Well. I’m not… yet,” I say.
“Right.” He stares at me for a few seconds, and it’s
as if time has suspended. He smiles, revealing perfect,
white teeth. And that dimple again…
I should look away. Be normal, Jennifer!
Before I can decide on whether I should smile back
or not, he breaks eye contact and taps the empty space
next to him on the bench. “Why don’t you have a seat?”
He says it in a way that makes me think he’s used to
getting what he wants. It’s not a suggestion, rather a
command.
Yup. Rich man. Power. Control. Gets what he wants
kind of guy.
Not my type. My types are nerds, tree-huggers, and
humanists. Not hot, well-dressed, worldly, wealthy,

15

Marilyn Cruise

money-mongering, cocky men who think they are God’s
gift to women and who can afford to dress in smokin’ hot
tuxedos and donate millions to charity events. He’s
absolutely not my type.

My insides clench, vehemently disagreeing.
What the…?
Against my better judgment, my body rules right
now. I slink over to him, and just as I sit down beside him,
a blast of wind gusts against my bare legs. Shuddering so,
I wrap my arms around my torso as best I can, but it does
little to shield me from the cold.
“Here.” The young man takes off his jacket.
“That’s really not necessary,” I object.
“You’re shivering like a leaf.” He places the jacket
around my shoulders.
I go to object again, but oh… mmm…his jacket is so
very warm and silky on the inside. “Won’t you be cold?”
And his scent, it’s as if it has mind-altering powers over
me, causing me to lose all reasonableness.
“Where I’m from, this almost feels like summer.” He
chuckles.
I smile and my gaze slides to his. “Where are you
from?”
“Norway.” He watches me carefully as he says it,
and I blush again.
Oh my God. I need to get a grip.
“That explains it,” I say.
His spontaneous laugh, shit, it does delicious things
to my insides. “Are you visiting then?” I ask.

The Prince and The Escort

“I’m attending the University of Florida. It’s my last
year.”

“I took a semester there.” That was before my
parents died and I had hopes of earning a law degree.

“Did you like the university?” he asks.
“Yes. I just... I’m working now. At Coffee and Go.
Being an adult, you know. Paying the bills.” I’m so
spellbound by this god-like man that I’ve completely
forgotten why I’m here. He peruses me with amusement,
and I feel like I need to fill the silence with something.
“Being a responsible adult is highly overrated,” I
say. “Just in case you were wondering.”
“A necessary evil.” He chuckles, as if he has plenty
of experience in that department.
“Yes, but no fun,” I say.
“Indeed.” He glances at his platinum watch. Silence
settles between us. “What else do you like to do?” he
asks.
“Oh, I’m a dog walker, and I sew, I dance, and paint,
and write poetry. You know. Lots of stuff.”
“I like creative people. I think far too few people
think out of the box.”
“Really?”
He nods. “You intrigue me. If your date doesn’t
show up in the next three minutes, care to join me for a
glass of wine at the bar?”
I can’t afford to lose this client. I should stay right
here. And I will. My will is stronger than my lust. “I don’t
think so. But thanks.”

17

Marilyn Cruise

“Well, do you have anything better to do tonight?”
he asks with a crooked smile.

I want to say that I do have lots of other things to
do, but he knows I have been stood up.

“Then why waste a perfectly good evening and a
damn sexy dress and just go home and watch TV the rest
of the evening when you can end it in any number of
interesting ways?” he asks.

Assuming he’s offering sex, I shoot him a glare. “I’m
not a slut,” I snap.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Good, because I make it a
point to never pay for sex.”

I gasp. Damn rich boy. Does he think I’ll drop my
panties and fall all over myself just because he’s got
money? Well, this girl is not going to be this man’s ego
booster. “What I mean is, if I accept, I’m not going to
sleep with you.” Fuck. Why did what I just said sound like
a question?

And why the hell am I still sitting here? I should
leave because clearly, he’s just after one thing. A rebound.

Ugh. I don’t want to go. But I will. Because…
Dammit! Stand up, Jennifer!
“Good evening, sir,” I snap.
I storm back inside, quickly finding Claire, who is
still sitting in the same spot she was before.
Her face lights up into a smile. “Oh, you found
him?”
“No.” I huff.
She squints. “Whose tuxedo jacket?”
Fuck.

The Prince and The Escort

Now I need to go return it to him. “Hold on.” I spin
around to head toward the exit, but instead of moving
forward, I bump into the royal Norwegian’s muscular
chest. Standing right in front of him, it’s now I realize
how tall he is. Yep. He’s six-foot three—at least. I’m 5’6,
but even with the 3-inch heals I’m wearing, the top of my
head only reaches to the bottom of his sexy, cleft chin. He
peers down at me, eyes hooded, and he licks his bottom
lip.

Without my consent, my heart starts to beat in a
forceful, disjointed rhythm.

“Hello again,” he says with a smirk. “Are you sure
you won’t join me?”

I take a generous step backward, pull the jacket off,
and hand it to him. He puts the jacket on and I catch
another whiff of his cologne. It smells so damn good.

“I just don’t appreciate how you assumed I’d have
sex with you.”

There’s movement at the corner of my eye. Strange.
I get the feeling the security guards are stalking our
every move, listening to our verbal exchanges.

“I didn’t assume anything. You assumed that I
assumed that.” His eyes smolder.

“Hi, I’m Claire.” She smiles at him with a sparkle in
her eye and nudges my elbow with hers, a sure sign she
approves. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you. Just wow!”

“I’m trying to get Jennifer to get a drink with me,
but she seems resistant,” he says without taking his eyes
off me.

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Marilyn Cruise

“Jennifer, remember what we talked about earlier?”
Claire says with a stiff smile as she clutches my elbow.
Hard.

She must be referring to how we discussed that I
never get sex. Or that she’s an excellent people reader.

“Since the other guy stood you up, you should
totally get a drink with…?” Claire lets her voice trail off
and turns toward him. “What should I call you?”

He holds out a hand and they shake. “Erik, please.”
“Perfect,” she says with a giggle, falling all over
herself because of the guy. “Remember, Jennifer. Nothing
is more boring than being the third wheel on my date
with Jeremy.”
“See? I’m girlfriend approved,” the sexy foreigner
chimes in and smiles.
Why the hell are they ganging up on me? I do not
like it. No, not one bit. But Claire’s approval of him makes
me think I should reconsider his offer. But why? Is she
just in love with his looks like I am? Could that be it?
“I need to use the ladies room,” Claire says. “Will
you excuse us for one moment?” She pulls me with her
before I can protest and stops abruptly just as we cut
around the corner, turning to face me. Her gaze is
determined. “You have to say yes. Why the hell are you
even hesitating?”
I stare at her, completely confounded for a moment.
I’m floored. Really. Can’t she see through the guy’s high
and mighty rich-dude I-just-want-to-get-laid crap? “Let
me enlighten you. He told me he—well, it was more like

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he alluded to—that he expects me to sleep with him
after.”

She stares at me, a baffled look on her face,
horrified almost. “Aaaand?”

“Seriously?”
“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Jennifer.”
“Once in a lifetime? What the hell are you talking
about?”
“I mean, for months you’ve been complaining that
you’re not dating, and then Prince Charming shows up
and—”
“Well yeah, but—”
“But what?”
“I—”
“You need to have some fun, and you know you do.”
She folds her arms in front of her chest and glares at me,
her left eyebrow rising way up.
“But Ben…” I object, feeling a sting of guilt as I
consider dumping Ben and losing precious income that
would go to my sister’s prosthetic legs.
“He’s not showing. It’s seven fucking thirty in case
you failed to notice.” Her arms are flailing now.
“Oh, my God. What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” She’s nearly shouting
now, and a few heads turn to look at us. “If you don’t go
out with him, I’ll never ever let it go.”
Now she’s just saying crazy shit. But I’ve never
seen her this adamant about anything, so maybe I should
just go with it. “Fine! But if it turns into a disaster, I’m
calling you pick me up.”

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Marilyn Cruise

Her eyes come alight and she squeals in delight. “Of
course. You can always count on me for anything. And I
promise you won’t regret it.”

Still slightly agitated, my reluctance holding on, I
fish my phone out of my purse to let Gary know my client
is a no-show.

“Call me after, ok?” Claire gives me a quick hug.
I watch as she walks toward the exit and makes her
way outside. What he hell did I just agree to? Can I really
do this? What if my client shows up? I look at my phone.
Should I call Gary? Yes, I should. I dial his number. Five
rings, no answer. I call again. Still no answer. I type up a
message.

Me: Gary, my client, Ben Cunningham didn’t show up.
It’s 7:34. I’m leaving. Jennifer.

I press send. Peaking around the corner at my new
date, I catch another glimpse of Erik. My heart flutters.
Sheesh. How is it he is having this effect on me?

I pull my shoulders back and take a deep breath.
Well, here goes nothing.

My eyes lock with his just as I round the corner,
and once again it strikes me how much he looks like the
young Marlon Brando. As I walk toward him, I feign
confidence, but in reality, I’m so nervous that I’m
trembling inside. It doesn’t help that his eyes are as cool
as the summer breeze. And what’s really unnerving
about it is that I like the effect he has on me.

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“What’s the verdict?” he asks once I stop a few feet
away from him.

“I’ll gladly accept your invitation and have a drink
with you,” I say. “I apologize for the delayed response.”

He gifts me with such a scintillatingly wicked smile
that my stomach clenches with need.

Seeing that his bowtie is still undone, instinctively, I
reach up and take a moment to tie it. All the while, he’s
looking down at me, the energy between us igniting
more for every second. When I’m done, I brush the lint
off his tuxedo jacket. “There,” I say. “Now you’re ready to
go.”

I peer into his eyes, and it’s as if I can see to the
very bottom of them, a man who is powerful, yet gentle,
confident, yet humble, strong-willed, and yet
unbelievably forgiving.

I have to remind myself to breathe.
He smirks as he watches me with hooded eyes.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Erik takes my arm and we walk up the red-
carpeted stairwell to the second floor. It’s difficult to keep
my balance in these three-inch pumps, so I grip his bicep
to stabilize myself. He is as muscular as expected beneath
his clothes, and I can’t help but squeeze his arm a little
harder than I need as I wonder what he looks like
shirtless.
What he looks like naked.
What it would feel like to press my body up against
his…

23

Marilyn Cruise

Jennifer!
To get my mind off how his presence is making me
all dizzy, I focus on the surroundings. The security guards
are still everywhere. A few men and women dressed in
formal attire meander the hallways. Probably the charity
ball attendees.
Before I know it, Erik and I are standing at the
entrance of the bar.
His eyes narrow as he faces me. “This just occurred
to me,” he says. “I just realized you might not know who I
am.”
Wait, what?
Erik’s famous or something? Now I kind of feel
stupid for not recognizing who he is. But how am I
supposed to know who some random rich college
student from Norway is? “I’m sorry. I can’t say that I do.”
The security guard directly to my right moves a
step closer and leans in. What’s going on?
Erik inhales a breath to say something.
“Jennifer! Jennifer! There you are!” yells a deep
voice.
I turn around and Ben is jogging toward me. He’s
red in the face and his forehead is glistening with sweat.
I don’t have time to ask Erik any of the dozens of
questions that have suddenly popped into my mind
before Ben gives me a giant bear hug.
Oh, shit. Er… My mind draws a complete blank.
What was it I was supposed to say to my client again? “Hi,
Ben Cunningham,” I say and force a smile at him. “My,
aren’t you a…er…” I pull away. God, he’s so not sexy. I

The Prince and The Escort

mean, he’s not horribly unattractive. He’s tan and
muscular and dresses very well. He just doesn’t hold a
candle to Erik. “I’m Jennifer, and tonight I’ll be your…” I
can’t fucking say that I’m an escort in front of Erik! Forget
the damn script. It’s improv from here on out. “I guess
I’m your date.”

“I’m sorry I was late,” Ben says. He’s about an inch
shorter than me, and now I’m kicking myself for wearing
such high heels.

“I had an emergency business meeting.” He dabs
the sweat off his forehead with a white handkerchief.
“And I do apologize in advance but I’ll probably need to
make a few phone calls throughout the evening.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you Jennifer,” Erik says.
“Have a good evening.” He nods, swivels around, and
starts down the hallway.

No! Don’t leave! I want to ask him so many
questions. I want—need more time with him. It takes all
my willpower not to run after him, but I force myself to
stay. My sister is counting on me. This is for the best. It is!

I grit my teeth. I did the right thing. I did!
But why then do I feel as if I have betrayed myself?

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Marilyn Cruise

CHAPTER 2
Once inside the restaurant, our host leads Ben and
me over to one of the tables. Ben pulls my chair out for
me, and I sit. Just then his phone rings.
He pulls the phone out of his back pocket and
glances at the screen. “Motherfucking…” He looks at me.

The Prince and The Escort

“Order what you want, sweetheart. I’ll be back in a
minute.”

Sweetheart?
He vanishes through the exit. Dammit. This is so
not the evening I had expected. I wish I were somewhere
else entirely. With someone else entirely.
From where I’m sitting, I can see Ben pacing up and
down the hallway. He’s yelling obscenities, and his arms
are flailing. No wonder he can’t get a normal girl to date
him. If he treats all his dates like this, they probably don’t
put up with his shit.
The waitress takes my order, salmon and rice pilaf.
Ben returns and sits with a slump, his face all flustered,
the sweat back on his forehead.
“My business partner decided to go behind my
back and partner with someone else in a competitive
business deal.” He goes on and on about what happened,
and I just sit and listen while trying to pretend I’m
interested in what he’s saying. Once he’s ordered his
steak and potatoes, his phone pings with a text message.
He reads it.
He looks at me, a remorseful look on his face. “I am
sorry, sweetheart. I need to leave.”
I’m fine with that. So totally fine with it. “Awww…
bummer. But no worries,” I say.
“Can I see you again? I want to make it up to you.”
He caresses my cheek, then quickly pecks a kiss on my
lips.
I want to say no, but still clear enough in the head
to know why I’m dong this, instead I say, “Sure.”

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Marilyn Cruise

He stands up and drops a one hundred dollar bill
on the table. “Bye, pumpkin. I’ll be in touch soon.” He
walks out of the restaurant.

What. The. Hell? I sit still for a moment and try to
process what just happened. I seriously hope all my
Escort dates aren’t like this, but something tells me the
guys on that site are there for a reason, and not a good
reason. The waitress brings the food and sets it onto the
table. I pay her right away, and ask for a couple of to-go
boxes.

Sitting here alone in blessed silence, my thoughts
wander back to hot sexy Erik. So…who is Erik? I wrack
my brain as I’m picking at the food. He’s not a huge
celebrity, or I’m sure I’d know. The son of a celebrity? A
professional athlete? With those muscles, he could be.

The waitress brings me the boxes and I pack up the
food. After this odd evening, I’m actually looking forward
to going home to my sister, vegging out, and watching a
movie with her.

I walk into the hallway and just as I do, I see Erik
exiting the ballroom. Oh… my stomach does a
summersault. Fuck, he’s handsome. He sees me, smiles,
and immediately heads in my direction, three security
guards following closely behind him.

“Where’s your date?” he asks.
“He had to, er… leave.” I look at the security guards.
Curiosity getting the best of me, I ask, “So what was it
that you were going to say before?”
Erik inhales a deep breath and releases it slowly.
“I’m the prince of Norway.”

The Prince and The Escort

Wait. What?! It takes me a second of staring at him
in complete and utter disbelief before the word and
concept “prince” sinks in. When it does sink in, I try not
to seem too surprised or overwhelmed or embarrassed,
which unfortunately for me, I am one hundred and ten
thousand percent of all of those things.

The prince of Norway? Like as in real prince? Oh,
God. Holy Thor and shit. That’s how I know him! Now
suddenly, the bodyguards make sense. And Claire’s
comments about “Prince Charming.” She actually meant
real prince, not like in a figurative fairytale kind of a
sense.

Then I remember seeing a news story on my
Facebook feed a few years ago about how the prince of
Norway had chosen to attend the University of Florida.

The dots are connection at a fast and furious pace.
And I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“So are you available to have a drink with me now?”
he asks.

Before I can gather enough brainpower to answer,
a middle-aged couple approaches arm in arm. The thin,
beautiful woman wears a hunter green, shimmery, floor-
length ball gown, and the heavyset man looks dashing in
a tuxedo, a red sash draped across his shoulder.

“Mother. Father,” Erik says.
Shit. The king and queen of Norway. I feel like I just
stepped into a fairytale.
Erik’s father gives me a disproving look and his
wide face turns red. “Who is this?”

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Marilyn Cruise

“This is Jennifer,” Erik says. “Jennifer, my parents,
Queen Maud and King Lars.”

Erik’s father glances my way for half a second, a
displeased look on his face.

I give Erik’s parents a smile and a nod. “Pleased to
meet you.”

“Your father isn’t feeling well so we will be
retreating to our room,” Queen Maud says, completely
ignoring my presence.

Right.
“Very well. Shall I check up on you later?” Erik asks.
“There really is no need.” Queen Maud smiles at me,
although her eyes wander up and down my dress, an
expression of subdued horror on her face. She smooths
her short, dark hair back and looks away. Suddenly, I feel
invisible. Completely unwanted. As if I’m a bother and
inconvenience of the greatest proportions.
They walk down the hallway, and the tension in the
air lifts.
“Was it just my imagination, or do your parents not
like me?” I say once they’re out of earshot.
“Don’t worry,” Erik says. “When it comes to their
opinions of people, I never really consider what they
think.”
His reply makes me believe my assessment of their
opinion of me is true. Oh, God.
“Why didn’t you tell my who you were from the
beginning?” I hiss.
“Honestly, I just assumed you knew.”

The Prince and The Escort

Of course he did. Self-important men like him
always do. And if that isn’t the biggest turn off in the
history of the world, I don’t know what is. My rich ex-
boyfriend from three years ago was way too self-
important for his own good, and he made sure I knew
how unimportant I was. Not going to repeat that mistake
again.

“Let’s get a drink,” he says.
“Before your ‘Honestly, I just assumed you knew’
comment, I might have said yes,” I say.
He gets this cocky look on his gorgeous face. “Yeah,
you’re probably right. My parents wouldn’t approve of
me being seen with someone as scantily dressed as you.”
My insides go rigid. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His eyes are steely serious.
My competitive side kicks into hyper drive. Fuck
him for saying that. But how can I not get a drink with
him now? “Fine. One drink.”
He gets a triumphant smile on his face and takes
my arm in his. “Anders—” He gestures to one of the
security guards who looks exactly like I’d imagine a real
Viking would, but without the beard. His eyes are alert,
his expression serious, and there’s something about him
that makes me think getting on his bad side would be a
very, very unfortunate thing.
Anders takes my doggie bag and he and the other
two security guards follow us across the hallway and into
the bar. We sit down in a booth across from each other. I
bite my lip, being under his scrutinizing glare, but even

31

Marilyn Cruise

though I’m still upset by what he said earlier, I simply
cannot look away.

“Wine?” Erik asks.
“Red, please.”
Erik nods toward Anders, who then heads to the
bar and orders our drinks.
Erik looks at me intensely, and all of a sudden it’s
as if the air has lost every ounce of oxygen. “First, I want
to apologize for how my parents treated you. Just
because you’re a commoner…”
“Commoner?” I interject.
He exhales in slight frustration. “I mean, non-
royalty…” He chuckles at me, his eyes brimming with
amusement.
“Does something amuse you?” I don’t know why I
have become so angry all of a sudden. Oh yeah, my life
majorly sucks right now, and I’m obsessed about trying
to make ends meet, agonizing about it every second of
the day, and for hours before I finally go to sleep at night.
“No, I find no amusement in it, it’s just…did I push
one of your buttons?” He appears sincere.
Damn rich prince. He’s so blind he doesn’t see it.
Not that I hate rich people in general, it’s just when they
have an attitude like he and his parents do—treating
people condescendingly just because they don’t have
royal blood running through their veins—that’s when I
have a problem with it. He has no idea how hard it is to
not have a penny to my name and to have the
responsibility of caring for my sister. To have to give
upon my dreams of going to law school, and wondering if

The Prince and The Escort

I’ll ever be able to save enough money for my sister’s
prosthetics so she can have somewhat of a normal life.

I lean forward. “See, this…this is the problem with
people like you. You live in this alternate world where
there are superior people and inferior people, and—”

His jaw tenses. “I did not say inferior or superior.”
“But you’re inferring it with your labels.”
“It’s not a label. It’s just how it is.”
Obviously, he’s not going to get it. “It’s fine. Let’s
just change the subject.”
“Ok.” He clasps his hands together and places them
on the table. “Whatever makes you feel more
comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
Anders sets my wine glass in front of me, a whiskey
on the rocks in front of Erik.
“What do you like to do for fun?” He sips his
whiskey. How on Earth does he make such a completely
normal thing look sexy?
I squint.
“You said before that being an adult is no fun. So
what’s fun to you?” he asks.
Oh, he listened.
“Fun. Ha. It’s been a while.” I sip the wine. It’s the
most exquisite red I have ever had, and I can imagine one
bottle of this costs as much my entire paycheck.
He sits in silence as if waiting for me to expound on
my drudgery of a life.
“My parents passed away in a car accident a year
ago.” I have to take a breath to settle my emotions. “I

33

Marilyn Cruise

work full time at a dead-end job to support my sister and
I. But I’m figuring it out.”

“So being an adult?”
A half-chuckle, half-moan tumbles out of my lips.
“Yes.”
“You should be studying, or creating your future.
Not just taking a crap job to make ends meet.”
Should I be upset he’s telling me how I should live
my life, or appreciative that he seems to care about my
future? He of all people probably wouldn’t understand
what it’s like to have to make sacrifices like that. I decide
not to tell him about my sister’s condition. I don’t want to
be pitied by him. “I have a plan,” I say. “Once I’ve saved up
for a few things, I’ll go back to school to get my law
degree.”
“No offense, but becoming a lawyer is the last thing
I’d recommend you do.”
Oh. My. God! Has the man no filter? “And you would
know this because…?”
“I have friends who are lawyers. They never have
time for their families and they’re always stressed.”
“I’m sure I can balance it.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“Well, we commoners have to make a living
somehow,” I snap.
His upper lip curls back ever so slightly. “I upset
you. Again.”
I look away as if I don’t care. And I don’t. He is no
one to me. Although I do want to yell at him and put him
in his place.

The Prince and The Escort

“You’re a strong woman.” He sits back. “How do you
do it?”

I’m taken a little back by his compliment. I don’t
feel strong. I do it because I feel I have no other choice.
“What about you? What’s your daily life like?” I ask,
trying to take the spotlight off me.

He narrows his eyes and thinks for a moment. “I
recognize that I’m privileged, however—” He pauses for a
long time. “I’m not going to complain. I have an amazing
life. Far better than I deserve, I’m sure.”

Our gazes lock, and goddammit, my heart is racing
again. Although I feel like there is something at the tip of
his tongue, he remains silent. What was he going to say?
Life is miserable? He feels imprisoned by his
responsibilities?

Anders approaches and leans down and whispers
something into in Erik’s ear, breaking our eye-contact.
Erik nods and Anders takes his place back by the piano
with the two other security guards.

“Unfortunately, my responsibilities are calling,” Erik
says. “I’m sorry.” There’s a hint of displeasure in his voice,
mirroring the disappointed twinge in my stomach.

“May I walk you to your car?” he asks.
“I…I didn’t bring a car. I can just get a friend to pick
me up.”
He glances at Anders, then looks back at me. “Allow
me to take you home.”
“It’s really not—”
“I insist.” He shoots the rest of his whiskey and
stands up, then holds out a hand toward me. I’m still

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Marilyn Cruise

furious at the man, but I take it. I catch a whiff of his
intoxicating cologne and the skin on skin contact makes
me shiver in delight. I stand up, and when I do, our gazes
lock. For just a split second, before I can tear my eyes
away, the world stands completely still.

“I’ll be driving Miss Jennifer home,” Erik says to
Anders.

Anders seems bewildered for a split second, but
composes himself in an instant. “I’ll ready the limo, your
highness.” He bows and vanishes out into the hallway.

We walk toward the exit, and just as we step into
the hallway, there stands a gorgeous woman dressed in a
golden gown. There are mascara streaks down her
cheeks, and I immediately feel sorry for her. Her gaze
goes from Erik, and then to me. Her eyes flare open in
anger, as if she means to murder me. The air has
suddenly turned hostile, all I can think is that I just want
to get the hell away from this place.

“Who is this?” the woman asks Erik, her voice high-
pitched, frantic. She slurs her words, which makes me
think she has had quite a bit to drink.

Erik’s bodyguards approach, but Erik holds up a
hand, staying them.

“Victoria.” Erik walks over to her, grabs her by the
hand, and leads her down the hallway until they are out
of earshot. The bodyguards follow a few feet behind
them.

Oh dear. Is that Erik’s girlfriend? Or ex-girlfriend?
As inconspicuously as I can, I steal a glance at them.
She’s shouting at the top of her lungs, calling him all sorts

The Prince and The Escort

of vile names. She slaps him across the face hard enough
so his head snaps sideways, and then she storms down
the hallway in my direction. Oh, fuck. It’s hard to tell
whether she’s heading toward me or just in my direction,
because she doesn’t look at me. Right after she passes
me, she stops abruptly and spins around to face me.

With narrow eyes, and fury in her voice, she says,
“I’m glad I dumped him. He deserves a lowlife like
yourself. I mean, look at you.” She gestures toward me,
and her light blue eyes run up and down my dress as she
scowls with so much disgust that I can feel it deep in my
gut. “Seriously. Who wears non-designer clothes to a
charity event? A loser hooker, that’s who! Your dad must
be so ashamed to have a daughter like you. You’re as
pathetic as Erik is, and—”

She doesn’t manage to say another word before my
fury has total control over my hand and I slap her across
the face. Her head is quick to rebound. With a hand
covering her pristine marble-white skin, she looks at me
with as much shock and horror as I feel about slapping
her.

Oh crap. Oh, crap! What did I just do? I have never
been violent to anyone. Ever. What the hell is wrong with
me?!

I open my mouth to gravel for her forgiveness, to
apologize profusely, but before I can manage to utter a
single sound, she socks me in the face and I fall to the
floor with a thud. Instantly, she pounces on me, and I
grab her by the hair to try and get the bitch, my new
archenemy, off me.

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Marilyn Cruise

“Cat fight!” someone calls, while some onlookers
gasp.

I scream when she grabs my hair and she growls,
and we go rolling across the red-carpeted hallway, the
charity-attendees gasping and jumping out of our way. I
feel Victoria’s nails dig into my skin, and in return, I drive
my knee into her abdomen. What the hell? How did this
happen? It’s as if an evil spirit has taken over my body or
something. I’m no longer in control of my movements,
conquering instinct driving every move.

I go to knee her in the stomach again, but before I
can manage, strong arms pull me to a standing position,
and I’m suddenly staring into Erik’s gorgeous green eyes.
I’m furious, manic, raging, but after a millisecond in his
gaze, my sanity returns. A security guard has grabbed
Victoria and is hauling her down the hallway, kicking and
screaming.

“She’s not worth it.” Erik says it with far too little
rage than this situation requires, ‘cause aren’t I a criminal
now? Haven’t I joined the ranks of the insane? But his
coolness rubs off on me, making me slowly calm down.

“You ok?” he asks.
I nod, though right in this moment I feel the tears
press behind my eyes and I just might lose it at any
moment and start to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He glances at Victoria who is being held by the
security. They stand about twenty feet away. “I’m not,” he
mutters beneath his breath.
“I don’t know what came over me. I—I… Oh, my
God. I don’t even know…”

The Prince and The Escort

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s grab your coat and go.”
He reaches across my shoulders and guides me down the
hallway.

“I didn’t bring one,” I say.
Once more, he removes his tuxedo jacket and
drapes it across my shoulders. This time I don’t object.
I’m in too much shock.
Erik leads me to the back of the hotel, and his
bodyguards trail after us. The anger and disbelief are
slowly subsiding, giving way to sadness and shame. I
have to keep swallowing to press back the tears.
We arrive at the back and step outside into the
frigid night. Another couple waits for their ride. The
woman wears a thick diamond choker and a mink fur.
This must be the entrance for the VIPs, not the
commoners like me in my non-designer dress.
“Is she your girlfriend?” I ask.
“Ex-girlfriend,” he corrects.
I cringe inwardly.
“And my parents absolutely adore her and want her
to be their daughter-in-law. All because she is heir to the
Danish throne.” He glances at me sideways. “But she isn’t
for me. She’s too controlling and not enough fun.”
Anders approaches. “Your ride is here, your
highness.”
Erik takes me by the hand as if it’s the most natural
thing in the world. As if it’s nothing. My stomach tingles
in delight as he leads me into the black limousine. I give
the driver my address and we get into the vehicle. I sit
across from him, but he moves so he sits right next to me.

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Marilyn Cruise

“I can’t believe you slapped Victoria,” Erik says. “I
have to admit that in all my years of charity events, I’ve
never been so entertained.”

I pull back and hit his arm. “You’re horrible.” I can’t
help but chuckle a little. “She said something about my
dad being ashamed of me, and I just snapped.”

His eyes turn soft. “I’m sorry.”
We share a silent moment, and I know he
understands why I completely lost my shit back there.
“I like you, Jennifer Dawson. A feisty girl with a
sense of humor is a rare commodity in this day and age.”
He glances at me sideways, a crooked, almost
mischievous smile on his lips. “You’re a breath of fresh
air. Real. Down to earth. I appreciate that in a woman.” He
looks out into the air, absentmindedly. “Royalty, they’re a
different breed.”
“But don’t you think women who are raised in that
type of environment are conditioned to be that way?” I
ask.
“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind.” He runs a hand
through his hair. “But that doesn’t mean I want to marry
one of them.”
“Is it expected of you?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “Yes. Although it hasn’t been
required since the fifties, no one in our family has
married a commoner.”
I cringe at the word “commoner” but decide not to
say anything. The after effects of the adrenaline rush has
me feeling docile as a lamb. “What would happen if you
did?”

The Prince and The Escort

“My parents haven’t said anything, but they have
damn well made certain that every girl I have introduced
them to who isn’t of a royal lineage is shunned.”

I think back to when I met his parents in the
hallway and how his mother made me feel invisible.
Shivers go through me as I remember his mother’s icy-
cold eyes. Is that the type of shunning he’s talking about?

“So what would you say is the best perk about
being a prince?” I ask, trying to forget everything that
just happened.

“Perk?” He smiles.
My heart starts racing from one measly smile.
Geez…I roll my eyes at myself. He’s truly breathtaking,
this Norwegian prince. I bet every Norwegian girl hopes
to one day become his princess.
“Like, do you get free stuff? Get to travel a lot?” I
clarify.
“I suppose the best thing is that I get to meet so
many interesting people. And also that I never have to
worry about finances. The Royal Norwegian family is
extremely wealthy, and I can do anything, buy whatever,
or travel to any destination without considering the cost.”
Wow. I wonder what that must be like. I can’t help
but let my thoughts wander to my miserable, MISERABLE
financial situation. For my sister to not even have money
for what she needs while others can squander thousands
upon thousands without even batting an eyelash, it’s just
not fair.

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“So why aren’t you finishing college?” he asks.
“Money can’t be the whole issue. I mean, there’s financial
aid… loans…”

Oh. That again. Meddling in my future plans. “I just
need to save up for something important.”

He studies my face for a few moments. “Now you
truly have me intrigued.”

“It’s nothing.”
“Why do you say that?” he asks.
“It’s just something personal.” Stop staring!
He tilts his head to one side, his gaze growing more
intense by the second, and the muscles in the deepest
part of me clutch.
Fine. I’m just going to lay it all out. He wants to
know? I’ll tell him. “My sister…she was in the car accident
with my parents. She needs prosthetic legs.” Suddenly, I
start to feel the weight and hopelessness of my situation
on my shoulders. Nope. Not going there. I stuff my
feelings down.
He nods, a quiet understanding. “So you’re saving
up to pay for it.”
“Yes.” I bite my lip, being under his scrutinizing
glare.
“I see.”
I’m almost embarrassed when the driver pulls into
the parking lot of the low-income apartment complex my
sister and I live in. Right as we pass the office, I catch a
glimpse of the polished limousine’s reflection in the dirty
cracked window. Now more than ever do I feel the weight
of my disadvantage. And I hate it so much.

The Prince and The Escort

The limousine stops in front of my complex, and
Erik steps out of the vehicle with me. Anders hands me
my to-go boxes of food.

“Thank you,” I say.
“A pleasure, madam.”
“Can I walk you to your door?” Erik asks.
I balk for a moment. But against my better
judgment, which has basically been missing this entire
evening, I realize I don’t want him to leave just yet.
“Sure.”
I lead the way up the stairwell. God, there’s so
much trash on the steps. And now more than ever, it
becomes evident to me how it smells like crap. He’s
probably thinking I’m so unbelievably commoner status,
or below commoner status.
Right as I step up to my door, I fetch my keys out of
my purse.
“Well, good night, Jennifer,” Erik says. “It was a
pleasure.”
I take off his jacket for the second time tonight and
offer it to him. I wish I could wear it forever.
He takes his jacket from my hands and smirks
playfully. “It has honestly been an unforgettable evening.”
My cheeks feel crazy hot. “You’re referring to the
most violent and most embarrassing moment of my life.”
He nods. “Unforgettable.”
I offer him my hand so he can shake it.
He takes it, but instead of shaking it, he presses his
lips to it. “Thank you, Jennifer.”
My heart beats faster. Great.

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Marilyn Cruise

Best make this quick before I start to like it too
much. I withdraw my hand. “Good night.” I unlock the
door, step into my humble two-bedroom apartment, then
close the door behind me. I stand still for a moment with
my back pressed against the door. God. I can’t believe this
evening. Erik…Erik’s smoldering eyes, his intoxicating
scent, his electric touch…

A prince. A real prince. A goddamn fucking REAL
prince! My thoughts are all over the place. Why did he
have to be so wonderful? Dammit!

I’ll never see him again. Ever. Tonight I stepped into
an impossible fairytale for a few hours. A fairytale I
believed in before my world fell apart with my parents’
death. Before my ex-boyfriend broke my heart. Like those
other dreams, this dream was destined to be nothing
more than a dream. Shit.

I shove the thoughts about Prince Erik aside. I will
never see him again. Best erase this evening from my
memory before it starts to take root.

“Gabby?” I call.
“I’m in here!” she replies.
I head into the living room and she’s sitting on the
couch watching TV. She looks so small and helpless as
she sits there, her dark, long hair in a messy ponytail. Her
amputated legs have a throw across them, and she beams
at me with her hazel eyes as if I just made her day. Such a
brave, beautiful smile. My heart squeezes a little like it
always does when I look at her. There’s always a twinge
of guilt in me, feeling it was so unfair how I was the only
one in the car that day who got to walk away. Why me?

The Prince and The Escort

“How was your day?” I ask.
“Great. I got all caught up on my homework and I
finished reading The Universe Will Catch You.”
She’s a huge Law of Attraction fan.
“Ready for bed?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m exhausted,” she says, her hazel eyes
droopy.
Every time I look into Gabby’s eyes, I see my
mother looking back at me. And it’s both unbelievably
comforting and excruciatingly painful at the same time.
“How as your evening with Claire?” she asks.
Before I left for the evening, I told her I was going
out with Claire. She doesn’t need to know about my new
side gig or what I’m raising the money for. I know her all
to well, and she’d feel guilty for me wanting to get her
prosthetics.
“It was great,” I say. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
She has a wheelchair, but I like the little ritual
we’ve created: me carrying her into the bathroom so she
can brush her teeth, then me tucking her into bed.
I wedge my left arm under her stumps, then secure
my right arm behind her back. “On three. One. Two.
Three.” Just as I hoist her up, she pushes off from the
couch. With her arm around my neck, I carry her into the
bathroom. After she brushes her teeth, I take her to her
bedroom and set her on the bed. I help her into her
pajamas, then tuck her in beneath the sheets.
“Thanks, Jennifer. I hope you know how much I
appreciate you,” she says.

45

Marilyn Cruise

“And I hope you know how much I appreciate you.”
“I just know something amazing is coming our
way,” she says, her hazel eye alight with hope. “I can feel
it. The Universe is making it happen for us.” She fluffs her
pillow and lies down.
I don’t tell her what I really think: that no one is
going to make anything happen except for us. We’re it.
We’re all we’ve got. Her unyielding optimism makes my
heart ache. Because even though she is strapped to a
wheelchair, she hasn’t yet accepted that fairytales don’t
come true. She hasn’t yet given up on the dream, the
happily-ever-after, the lie that the naive believe in.
She smiles and her eyes flutter shut. “Good night.”
I flick the lights off and close her door. With a heavy
heart, I head for the kitchen and heat up the leftovers in
the microwave.
As I stand in the dark, my thoughts return to this
evening. Was tonight truly real? Did I really meet the
prince of Norway? If everything happens for a reason,
like Gabby says, and the Universe is making everything
happen, then this is one of the meanest jokes the
Universe has played on me yet. Because it almost
rekindled my hope that good things can happen to me.
And dammit, I can’t afford to start to hope again. Hope
sucks.
So what I need to do is to never think of him again.
My phone pings, and there’s a message from Gary.

The Prince and The Escort

Gary: Your client says he had to leave early, but he
paid and says he wants to see you again. Keep the client’s
interest or you’ll be out of a job.

What. The. Hell? Ben didn’t leave because of me!
Ugh. This is not fair in the least. I didn’t have a full first
date even, and I already loathe this job. Loathe it. I so
want to quit already.

After I grab the food from the microwave, I go and
sit on the shabby sofa in the living room and slowly eat
my dinner. At the rate I’m saving up money working at
Coffee and Go, I’ll be able to afford Gabby’s prosthetics
like… never.

I have to keep this ridiculous escort job. For Gabby,
I have to! Tears roll down my face. I suppress my sobs so
my sister won’t hear. I’m such a disappointment to
myself. And what would my mom say if she saw what I
was doing? What would my dad say? That’s why
Victoria’s comment hurt so much. I know he’d be so very
ashamed of me.

And I’m ashamed of me.
But still, I won’t let Gabby down now.

47

Marilyn Cruise

CHAPTER 3
“You’re a minute late,” Barbara, my boss at Coffee
And Go says the second I step in through the doors at an
ungodly early hour. I swear the only thing she does all
day is just sit and watch/stalk her employees, waiting
until we make the tiniest mistake so she can dock us a
few dollars out of our next paycheck. But seriously, how
much can you dock a minimum wage worker?
“Sorry.” I yawn as I run to the back room and toss
my purse into my locker. Once I have pulled my hair back

The Prince and The Escort

into a ponytail, I throw my red apron on, and head back
out to the front.

Great.
The freaking line is out the freaking door, and like
every other morning, people look desperate to have their
caffeine. Not that I was expecting anything different.
Mornings here are hell, and the 6:00 a.m. rush is here like
it is every other day. I take my spot behind the cash
register and get into work mode.
“What can I get for you?” I ask the next customer
with a forced smile. The guy who reminds me of a truck
driver gives me his order. I always associate customers
with professions. Makes the day more interesting. Next is
a lawyer, and after that is a bartender, followed by a
zombie mother. Oh yeah, at least on out of every four
customers is a zombie mother who wears sweats, hasn’t
done her hair or make-up, and who looks like she’s
running on three hours of sleep and no sex. Why would
anyone ever want to have a kid? Yes, they’re cute, but it
seems they suck the joy out of everything.
Before I know it, Claire arrives for our 11:00 a.m.
weekly Sunday brunch break, and we head out to the
sandwich shop across the street. She works opposite
weekends than me, which is a pain in the ass. Not only do
I not get to work with my bestie, we rarely get to hang
out on weekends other than a few hours at night. She’s
thinking of quitting, ‘cause she doesn’t need the money
and the only reason she started to work here was to be
able to work with me.

49