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Published by PSS Semesta, 2020-12-04 22:17:20

The Prince and The Escort

The Prince and The Escort

Marilyn Cruise

We sit in our usual booth and give our orders to
our waitress, Maria, then get down to business sharing
our stories about the weekend.

“You go first,” I say, sipping on my water.
“Ok. So, sex last night with Jeremy was again
amazing. That’s all. Now tell me about your night.”
“Wait, wait, wait…details?” I tease, knowing she’s
dying to hear about my night.
She rolls her eyes. “Please don’t torture me any
longer. Spit it out.”
She’s onto me. “Sheesh. I didn’t know it was such a
big deal.” I smirk.
Her eyes widen. “Of course it’s a big deal. It’s
fucking huge. You haven’t had sex in over a year, and you
went out on a date with the prince of Norway!” she
bellows.
Half the customers in the restaurant turn to look at
us. My cheeks flush hot. “Why didn’t you tell me he was
the prince?” I hiss.
She gasps. Then her mouth falls open. “Oh, my God.
You didn’t know?” She reaches for my hand across the
table and squeezes it before slumping into her seat with
a huff. “That explains a lot.”
I’d say.
The waitress brings us our salads and I take a few
bites as I wonder if perhaps I’m the only woman on the
entire Florida continent who didn’t recognize him.
“Anyway. We were heading to get a drink, but then Ben
showed up.”
“Ben, Escorts and Lovers Ben?”

The Prince and The Escort

I nod.
“Please don’t tell me you went out with Ben.”
“I did.”
“I am so going to kill—”
“But then Ben had to leave like ten minutes into
the date, so I got a drink with Erik.”
She leans forward, her eyes wide. “And…?”
“Then Erik’s ex-girlfriend, the princess of
Denmark, showed up and she was throwing all sort of
insults in my face and I slapped her and we got in a huge
fight.” I say, feeling like I’m going to die of humiliation all
over again.
Her mouth drops open. “You… you got in a fight??”
I still can’t believe I did that. I feel like I’m telling
Claire the story of something I witnessed, not something
I actually actively participated in. “Well, she was terrible
to me. She said my father was probably ashamed of me.
And I don’t know... I just snapped. I know I’m a horrible
person.”
“She totally deserved it. And you’ll get over it.
Besides, I never liked her anyway. Do you know she
cheated on her last boyfriend, the prince of Spain, and
then she had a threesome with her sister and some
soccer dude? Just ewww…” Claire shoves two fingers into
her mouth and pretends to vomit.
“How much do you know about the royals in
Europe anyway?” I ask.
“More than I should, probably. I also know that
Erik is considered the rebel and bad-boy of the royals in

51

Marilyn Cruise

Europe, and he has a reputation for being amazing in the
sack.” She sighs.

“How do you know that?”
“Vogue.” She says it like I should know. However,
she’s forgetting the fact that I don’t read Vogue
obsessively like she does.
“And you actually believe it?” I believe it.
She drizzles a generous portion of ranch dressing
onto her salad and stabs a cherry tomato with her fork.
“Do I have a reason not to?”
“Do you have a reason to?”
“I guess I don’t really, but…wait.” She leans forward
onto her elbows and stares intently at me. “Did you sleep
with him?”
I bark a laugh as if it’s the most ridiculous thing in
the world. Which it is. “No.”
“Why the hell not?” She takes a bite of her salad
and chews on it for a while, while waiting for my answer.
“It’s not like I can just make him sleep with me,” I
say. “He drove me home though. In his limousine.”
“He’s so going to call you.”
“Yeah right.”
She points her fork at me. “Just watch. He is. I saw
the way he looked at you last night. He’s into you. And it’s
a proven fact; guys fall in love much faster than girls.
Usually instantly.”
“I didn’t give him my phone number,” I say.
“But he knows where you live.” She gets a look of
mischief on her face. “And I’m sure he can easily get one

The Prince and The Escort

of his people to track your number down. I mean, he’s a
prince for God’s sake.”

“He won’t.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“Oh, he will. Remember, I’m an excellent judge of
character and nine times out of ten I’m right.”
I roll my eyes, although her statement has been
proven to be true too many times to dispute.
“And you should have dumped Ben and spent the
entire evening with the prince. Just sayin’.”
“You know my reasons why I couldn’t do that.”
She rolls her eyes. “Listen. I get your dilemma. But
did you ever think that the chance meeting with the
prince was more than that? Maybe he’s the love of your
life.”
When she says it, I so would love for a fairytale like
that to be true. But fairytales aren’t true. And I’m not
going to waste my time wishing for something so
outlandish. “Oh, please.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“No.”
“This is how I see it,” she says, continuing on as if
she has my permission. “You’re not going to like me
saying this. But you’re using your sister’s misfortune as
an excuse to not to let anyone get close to you.”
I wasn’t expecting her to say that at all. Anger
floods me. “I am not! My God, Claire.”
“You’re going to hate me for saying this, too, but
I’m going to say it to you anyway because I’m your best
friend and you deserve honesty from me. Did you ever

53

Marilyn Cruise

think that you might just be hiding behind
responsibility?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I say. “I’m
not hiding. I actually have real responsibilities!”

“You can still be close to a man even if you have
your sister, but it’s like you won’t let yourself. You’re
using your sister’s disability to avoid getting close to a
man because you’re afraid—”

“Oh. My. God.” I’m boiling on the inside. She is
absolutely not right in the least. In fact, she’s the
wrongest she has ever been. “I don’t hide. I’m all my
sister has. She needs my help, and for me to be there for
her. ”

“It’s great that you are but you need balance in
your life. You’ve told me countless times that your father
never could give you the love and attention you needed.
And your stupid asshole ex-boyfriend totally broke your
heart. And because you’re afraid of getting hurt again you
don’t ever give any guy a chance, just reject them before
they can reject you so you don’t get hurt.”

Her comment stings, deep down. “You couldn’t be
further from the truth,” is all I can manage to say as I feel
particularly vulnerable. My dating habits have nothing,
NOTHING to do with my father. Or my stupid ex-
boyfriend. I glance at Claire, and she is as sincere as I’ve
ever seen her. I know she has my back and loves me. But
what she’s saying is ridiculous beyond measure.

“I have to get back to work.” I stand up and drop a
twenty-dollar bill on the table.

The Prince and The Escort

Claire takes my hand and looks up at me. “I’m
serous. I love you, Jennifer. I know what I said seems
hurtful and harsh. But just think about it. I know you
want what’s best for your sister. But she also wants
what’s best for you. And when was the last time you
thought about what’s best for you?”

“I do that all the time. And helping Gabby is what’s
best for me.”

“You’re my best friend and I look up to you in so
many ways. You’re like the one-woman wonder. But one-
woman wonders need to put themselves first sometimes,
too. I just want to see you happy.” She smirks
mischievously. “And to see you happy in a relationship.”

“Who are you to say anything anyway? You’re so
busy being the slut of the town that any real relationship
eludes you.” Immediately after saying that, I regret it.

She draws in a sharp breath and looks away, as if
ashamed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean
it.” I reach out to place my hand on her shoulder, but she
withdraws further.

“I’m sorry, Claire. Truly, I didn’t mean it.” I huff.
“Listen, I want to sort this out, but I gotta go.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk later,” she says, forcing a brief
smile to her lips, but still looking away.

Fuck. I’m horrible. What’s gotten into me lately? I
don’t even recognize myself lately. Usually I’m sweet,
docile, composed, and quiet.

We usually part with a hug, but I don’t force it. I
head back to Coffee And Go. Despite what Claire said, I

55

Marilyn Cruise

will still save enough money to make sure my sister has
her prosthetics. But maybe she’s right about the me-not-
dating-men thing. I do tend to protect my heart so guys
can’t crush it to smithereens. Like my ex did.

Just as I walk into Coffee And Go, one minute early,
my phone pings.

Gary: Please make sure you are on time for your
date tonight. Tonight: Meet Ned Mortensen at Lenny’s
Diner on 1206 Gabe Street at 6:00 p.m. sharp. Here’s a link
to his profile. Need I remind you to keep his interest?

I quickly check my Escorts and Lovers account to
get a glimpse of my next date. Ned is… Holy, oh, holy shit
he’s smokin’ hot! He looks like a goddamn model! With
auburn hair that falls in trundles around his face, and a
perfectly chiseled face, he reminds me of that guy on that
Scottish TV series. Jamie. Oh, have I had quite a few
dreams about him. Maybe this escort job isn’t such a bad
idea after all?

***

I’m standing in the foyer at Lenny’s Diner,
anxiously awaiting my very own Jamie look-alike.
Butterflies swarm my stomach, and I check his profile
one more time just for the hell of it. Yup. He’s damn hot.
Smoldering.

The Prince and The Escort

“Are you my escort, Jennifer Dawson?” A deep,
dreamy voice says behind me.

With a ridiculous grin on my face—I couldn’t wipe
it off even if my life depended on it—I swivel around as
sexily as I can manage, eager to finally meet the dream of
a man.

But the instant I see him, I feel as if someone’s
playing the meanest, cruelest trick on me. Because truth
be told, the guy standing in front of me looks nothing,
NOTHING like his profile picture. Where is the
Highlander hair? This man is balding with a severely
distasteful comb-over across a greasy forehead. And why
is he scrawny and pale and middle-to-late-aged and two
inches shorter than me when on his profile picture, he
was divinely tall, muscular, tan, and dreamy?

“Er… yes, that’s me,” I squeak, still confused as hell.
“Rad. I’m Ned.” He slides into the booth closest to
us and offers me to sit. “I’m so glad to see you look
exactly like you do online.” He gestures toward all of me
as his eyes greedily take me in. “You’re a fucking rock
star!”
A-ha-ha. As discreetly as I can, I pull my long dark
hair in front of my chest, trying to hide my cleavage.
Dammit, I shouldn’t have worn this low-cut, magenta
tank top and these skinny jeans and uber-high neon pink
pumps. I was trying to impress a highlander, not a
geriatric.
At least I wore my plain black frayed bra and pink
cotton grandma panties—just as a reminder to myself

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Marilyn Cruise

that I wasn’t going to let it go any further than making
out. Not even with the highlander.

“Thanks.” I sit across from him and try to not look
too shocked. Or disgusted. “You look…rather…um… quite
different than what I expected.” I don’t want to offend the
guy. Gary would kill me if I did. But what? Did he think I
wouldn’t notice the one thousand percent non-
resemblance to his profile picture?

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he says, waving his hand
dismissively at me.

I wait for the second half of his explanation, but
after a while, I realize I’m out of luck. Right. I so wish this
date was already over.

He takes my hands across the table. His skin is
cold, clammy, and rough. “Are you hungry, darlin’?”

Darlin’? My stomach has been growling since an
hour after lunch. I’m starving. But suddenly, I feel
nauseous. “I could eat something.” I think.

He winks at me. “Good. How about I order you a
burger?”

I’m about to tell him I’m more in the mood for
something healthier, like a salad, but before I can get a
word in, the waitress is at our table. Without letting my
hands go, Ned orders two cheeseburgers and sodas.
Swell. I hate cheese. And I gave up soda years ago.

“So tell me about yourself, Jenny.” He stares at me
with wide eyes while rubbing my hands.

“It’s Jennifer,” I correct him.
“I like Jenny. It’s more fun.”

The Prince and The Escort

I paste on a smile. Fine. He’s paying for the damn
date so I guess I’ll be accommodating. Rule number one
as an escort that was hammered into my brain at the
three-hour orientation was to please my client. Needing
to get paid, I’ll stick to that rule.

I don’t want to tell him the least bit of anything
about me, so I ask, “So, tell me everything about yourself,
Ned.”

“Mmm… I love how my name sounds on your lips.
That’s so rock star rad.”

“Cool.” Gross.
He laughs, a high squeaky sound. “I’m an engineer.
I was married for a year and a half, then divorced last
year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.
“It was for the best. My sixth marriage. Women just
don’t get me.”
Huh. I wonder why.
The waitress brings our burgers, and I force the
greasy burger down while he talks about his three cats,
his four parakeets, and his last root canal. Once we’re
done, he pays the bill.
“Would you like to go out for some ice cream?” he
asks. “I know this really great place just right down the
street. Best ice cream in town, I guarantee it. It’s rock star
great.”
I really don’t want to, but because I’m supposed to
please him, I go along with it. “Sure.”
We head out into the parking lot, and he suggests
we drive together. He seems harmless enough, so I agree,

59

Marilyn Cruise

and soon we’re driving down Universal Blvd. After five
minutes of driving, I start to wonder how far away the ice
cream parlor ‘right down the street’ is. After ten minutes,
I can no longer keep my mouth shut.

“This seems a bit farther than just down the
street,” I say, kicking myself for having believed him in
the first place. Obviously the man doesn’t know the
difference between truth and lies.

“Oh, well, I just thought we’d go find a hotel room
and fuck first.”

I go rigid in my seat. “I’m only an Escort, Ned,” I
remind him. “I’m not one of the girls with a Lover status.”

“I know. But there was this rock star connection
between us that I thought we could take it to the next
level.”

“Well, I didn’t quite feel that connection and I’m
really not comfortable with that.” I twist my fingers into
knots.

“Oh, come on.” He gives me a sleazy look, then
winks. “You’re not going to go all prude on me, now are
you?”

“Prude? It specifically states in my contract that I
will not have sex with my clients—”

“—Unless you so desire,” he finishes my sentence.
“And I don’t desire it,” I snap. My heart is racing
now. I need to get out of here.
He grabs my hand and places it on top of his
crotch. “See how hard you make me?” He’s erect, but
there’s not much there. I snatch my hand back. “Rock star
hard, baby!”

The Prince and The Escort

“Drop me off at the corner right now. This date is
over.”

“Oh, come on. I’m going to have blue balls
tomorrow. You wouldn’t—”

“That’s your own fucking problem. Now drop me
off this instant or I’ll tell my boss you are sexually
harassing me!” I yell.

That’s enough to make him pull over to the side of
the road. “Hey, I’m sorry, sweet heart, I just…”

I open the door and slam it shut behind me. I’m
shaking like a leaf. I’m furious and hate myself in this
moment. I should have known this would happen. What,
did I think I’d be able to avoid creeps in this profession? I
whisk a tear away before it rolls down my cheek. I cling
to my purse as I storm down the street, trying to get as
far away from Mr. Creeper as I can.

Needing to be around people, I step into a souvenir
shop. The store is filled with trinkets, pictures, key
chains, candy, toys, and so much more. And it feels like a
hundred degrees in here compared to outside.

“Can I help you ma’am?” the old male clerk asks.
“Just looking.” I press a smile though I’m still
trembling. I pretend I’m interested in the items while I
consider what to do. Should I call Claire to come get me
and take me back to Lenny’s Diner where my car is
parked? No. She’s probably out with Jeremy. Besides,
even though I called her after work and we made up from
our argument over brunch, there’s still some tension
between us. I consider walking back to my vehicle,

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Marilyn Cruise

though with these high heels, I just know my feet will be
rubbed raw.

I really should call up Gary and tell him what
happened—that one of the members on his site isn’t
following the rules. But I get the feeling that he won’t be
happy to hear that I ended the date. Or that I didn’t
please the non-Highlander.

Just then my phone rings. The number is
unfamiliar to me, but I still answer it.

“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jennifer?” a deep, familiar voice says.
A rush of excitement goes through me. “Yes.”
“It’s me. Erik.”
Of course I know. How could I not? His accent… His
voice… So deep…mind-numbing, hypnotic. “How did you
get my number?” I ask, all the anxiety about my failed
date forgotten.
“I knew you worked at Coffee and Go,” he says. “And
I called pretty much every damn one in the entire town
before I found the one you worked at.”
Wait. “But they wouldn’t give you my number.”
“Claire answered.”
“She’s not working tonight,” I object.
“Apparently, she got pulled into work last minute.
One of your colleagues quit.”
And of course Claire would give prince Erik my
contact information. She’s probably giddy at work right
now. Although I’m not sure whether her doing this is an
act of revenge because of our argument, or an amicable
gesture. I’m guessing a little bit of both.

The Prince and The Escort

“So you called all the Coffee and Gos yourself?” I
ask.

“Yes.”
“Don’t you have like a...uh…a secretary or
something?”
“A personal assistant. Yes. Several, in fact.”
There’s a long pause as I consider how it makes me
feel all warm inside that he made the effort to call by
himself.
“Ok,” I say.
“I’m calling because I wanted to see if you’re busy
tonight?”
I pick up a snow globe with a Sugarplum fairy
inside a watch as the glitter swirls around. I was
supposed to keep Ned entertained all evening. But now
that I ended the date early…“I’m not.”
“And tomorrow night?” he continues.
I don’t work at Coffee and Go, and as of yet, I don’t
have another Escorts and Lovers client lined up, so, “No.”
What’s he getting at?
“Good. I have a royal honorary charity banquet to
attend in Miami tomorrow, and I want you to be my date.”
Jubilation fills my chest and I want to squeal out
loud.
“And in fact, I wanted to see if you’d also
accompany me to another event next weekend,” he adds.
“A fundraiser for single mothers in New York.”
“Well, I really need to work.” I have next weekend
off at Coffee and Go, but I’ll have to be available for my
escort job in case someone hires me. And then… fuck.

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Marilyn Cruise

Then I realize there’s the issue of my shady job
profession. Erik doesn’t realize that if he goes out with
me, his reputation will be at stake.

“Is there any way you could request the weekend
off?” he asks.

It would be unfair of me to accept any of his offers.
“Erik, I don’t think you want to ask me out.”

“No, I really do.”
My insides ache, because goddammit I want to see
him again! But I shouldn’t want it. And I don’t! Because
things between a prince and me, a lowly escort, could
never ever work. I’d be an idiot to accept. “I really need to
work so I can earn money for my sister’s prosthetics.” I
hate using her as an excuse, but it’s true.
“Tell you what. Whatever you need for the
prosthetic legs, I’ll pay for it. I’ll cover half of it tomorrow,
and the remainder the second weekend.”
I’m speechless for a moment, breathless, too, the
generosity overwhelming. But I can’t accept for so many
reasons. “I—”
“And don’t pull that ‘I can’t accept your money shit.’
You’d be doing me a favor by saying yes. Let’s see this as
a mutually beneficial deal.”
What the hell does he mean I’ll be doing him a
favor? “I’m sure there are hundreds of other girls who
would love to go with you. Thousands even.”
“So, are you saying no?” he asks.
“No, I just mean, it’s weird that you’re so set on me
going when there are like a gazillion other girls who

The Prince and The Escort

would live happily ever after if you just asked them out
on one date. And you wouldn’t even have to pay them.”

He laughs, a low, deep grumble that makes my
insides flutter. “Money is not a concern for me. And
besides, you’re exactly what I’m looking for in a date.
You’re normal,” he says.

“Normal?” Ugh.
He continues. “If I were to ask another girl out,
she’d be beside herself all evening, and I need someone
who can show up and not freak out or act all crazy about
the fact that I’m the prince of Norway. So please, for
Christ’s sake, accept my offer,” Erik says with an
exasperated growl.
The possibility of quitting my escort job after
today’s geriatric non-Highlander fiasco sounds
particularly appealing. But… “I don’t have anything to
wear. And my sister, she needs someone—”
“Don’t worry about the details; we’ll work them
out. Just answer me. Will you, or will you not accept my
offer?”
Oh, God. I should call Claire and ask her about
what the hell I should do. But then again, I already know
what she’d say. She would have slapped me by now for
resisting his offer at all. So why in heaven’s name am I
hesitating? I take a deep breath and throw caution to the
wind. “Ok, I’ll come.” I’m so going to regret this.
“Excellent!” he says.
“Don’t you want to know how much the
prosthetics are though?” I ask.

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Marilyn Cruise

“No matter the amount, it won’t be an issue for me.
Now would you prefer I come pick you up, or meet you at
my hotel?”

“Wait, we’re going now?” I ask.
“Yes. We need to get you outfits for the events and
we’ll fly out tonight. There’s no time to waste.”
“I don’t have any things. I mean, my toothbrush,
make-up…” I let my voice trail off.
“I’ll make sure you have everything you need when
you arrive at the hotel in Miami,” he says.
I glance at my surroundings. “I’m kind of… out
shopping at the moment.”
“Give me your whereabouts and I’ll come get you.”
Oh, my God I can’t believe I’m doing this. I ask the
clerk for the address and I repeat it to Erik.
“Ok, the GPS says I’ll be there in fourteen minutes,”
Erik says. “See you soon.”
”Ok.” Oh shit. This is really happening.
“And Jennifer?” he adds.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” His words linger in space between us,
and I can hear the sincere appreciation in them.
Why does his voice have to be so goddamn sexy?
“You’re welcome.” I hang up and stuff my phone in my
purse.
Is this really real? Yes, yes it is.
A prince. An escort. A deal. My heart sinks a little
at the deal part. It’s going to be so very challenging not to
fall for him in like two seconds flat. But who can blame
me? How could I not be dazzled by him? He’s a god of a

The Prince and The Escort

man. A real prince. And in a way, my savior. My sister’s
savior.

I just have to remember that this is for my sister.
Not for me. And I’ll keep my distance from the prince. He
just needs a normal date. And I can be that. I can just see
him as a common dude-friend.

I can so do that.
There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to do that.
My will is stronger than my heart.

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Marilyn Cruise

CHAPTER 4
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Am I really going to do this?
Yep. And I can imagine it will be amazing. And
what’s even more amazing about it is that it will be
freaking awesome for me, but it will also afford my sister
her prosthetics.
While I wait for Erik to show up outside on the
curb, I message Claire.
Prince Erik called me and I’ll be accompanying him
to two different charity events. One tomorrow, and one
next weekend.

The Prince and The Escort

She replies right away.
You can thank me now for giving him your phone
number and tell me I was right that he was going to call
you.
I chuckle, and reply.
You were right. And thank you.

My phone pings with her next message.
Need any help with Gabby? I’d love to watch her.
There’s no one else in the entire world I’d trust
more than Claire to watch Gabby.

Actually that would be great. But don’t tell her what
I’m doing. Maybe just say I’m out of town for work or
something.

She replies after a minute.

K. I’ve got it from here. You go have a blast! Eeeee!
I laugh.
I head outside. My phone pings again and I check
the screen. Another message from Claire.

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Marilyn Cruise

You’re so going to marry him.

#I’mAlwaysRight

Oh, my God. I’m not even going to acknowledge
that ridiculous comment. I type up one more text and ask
if she and Jeremy can pick up my car at Lenny’s. She’s got
my extra set of car keys. She agrees to do it.

A few minutes later, a black limousine pulls up, and
Erik steps out. He greets me with a scintillating smile
that immediately has my insides fluttering with
excitement.

Wow. I can only stare—stunned. Last night he was
a sight for sore eyes in his tuxedo, but in jeans and a
cobalt blue T-shirt that hugs his muscular physique and
reveals bulging biceps, he’s absolute eye candy. As I stare,
he runs a hand through his messy, wavy hair.

“I don’t know whether I like you better in a dress or
in jeans,” he says with a smirk.

I have no idea what to say to that, but fortunately
he speaks and seems not to notice how I am completely
dazzled by him. “Ready?”

I nod.
“Good. Shall we?” He holds the door open for me
and I climb inside.
I’m surprised to find a petite, gorgeous, bright-eyed
blonde inside. She wears an ivory skirt suit, and she
smells of rose perfume. Not quite sure what to make of it,
I smile at her. There’s also a bodyguard sitting in the
corner, but he doesn’t look at me, so I assume I’m

The Prince and The Escort

supposed to ignore him. “Hi. I’m Jennifer,” I say to the
woman.

“I’m Sylvia.” She holds out a hand. “I’ll be your
clothing and make-up coordinator for the next couple of
days and for next weekend.” Her accent is British, her
tone nasally and high-pitched and confident, and she has
this energy about her that makes me happy.

Obviously, Erik has caught her upon what’s
happening.

Erik enters the vehicle and sits next to me, his
cologne drifting into my nostrils. Why does he have to be
so perfect?

“If you need anything at all, ask Sylvia,” he says.
“When I’m not around, she’ll be your yes woman, and will
make sure you are as comfortable and have everything
you need.”

Of course. Erik has other things and more
important people to attend to than me. This is a deal, I
remind myself. Not a date.

“Herbert.” Erik knocks on the window. “Take us to
Saks Fifth Avenue.” He turns toward me. “We need to find
you a couple of gowns.”

“And shoes, and lingerie, and jewelry, and a purse
and perfume,” Sylvia adds.

“And this is why Sylvia has been with me for four
years,” Erik says.

On the way over, Erik tells me we’ll fly to Miami
tonight in the Norwegian Royal Family’s private jet. Once
in Miami, I’ll have my own hotel suite and I’ll be free to
do whatever I’d like until the following morning around

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10:00 a.m., when I’ll need to get ready for the royal
honorary banquet.

We pull up in front of Saks Fifth Avenue, and Erik
says he’ll meet us in the ball gown section with the
gowns Sylvia has chosen for me in one hour. He wants the
final say in what I wear. Yes, of course. He wouldn’t have
time to go shopping with me.

“Let’s go. We have lots to do,” Sylvia says,
squeezing my hand.

We head inside, me trying to keep up with Sylvia’s
peppy pace. She approaches the young café-au-lait skin
colored girl behind the counter.

Reading her golden badge, Sylvia says, “Hi Kim. We
would like to try on several ball gowns. We’ll also need
shoes, lingerie, a purse, and jewelry. Can you have a
jeweler sent over promptly?”

“We’re just about to close in ten minutes,” Kim says
with a look of regret on her face.

Sylvia hands a gold-embossed business card to her.
The clerk reads it and her brown eyes widen more and
more for every passing second. Then her flawless dark
skin flushes red before she looks up with a bright smile.
“I’ll be right back, ma’am,” she says to Sylvia, then
vanishes toward the back.

About a minute later, a slender, middle-aged
woman approaches us. Her shoulder-length salt and
pepper hair is immaculately flat-ironed. She’s graceful
and lovely, and wears a fitted knee-length, short-sleeved,
black dress with a golden nametag attached right above
her left breast.

The Prince and The Escort

“I’m Heather, the store manager. How may I be of
assistance?” she asks, holding the gold-embossed
business card in her hand, peering over her black
rectangular glasses.

Sylvia again explains what we need in dresses,
jewelry, lingerie, and shoes, then adds, “I do apologize for
barging in so close to closing time, but we need these
things tonight.”

“We will make accommodations, of course,”
Heather says with a cheery smile.

I bet a hundred bucks she works on commission.
“A most gracious thanks,” Sylvia says. “His Royal
Highness Prince Erik of Norway would like to have a final
say in the selection of which ball gown Jennifer,” she
gestures to me, “will wear. He will be here within the
hour.”
Her eyes light up a tad. “How very wonderful.”
Heather looks at me, her eyes drinking me in. It makes
me feel uncomfortable being examined with such
scrutiny, and it makes me believe she’s thinking I look
nothing like a princess, more like a bimbo who tricked a
prince into taking her to the ball by flashing her boobs
and wearing the tightest ass-hugging skinny jeans ever
made.
“You’re a size six,” Heather says.
“I…No. More like a size eight,” I say.
“No. You’re a six. Maybe a four. Please follow me.”
She’s going to be surprised once I peel out of these
sausage jeans and this corset-of-a tank top and realize I
am so not a size six.

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We head into the dressing room, a huge, ivory area
with a round, carpeted octagon platform in the middle,
mirrors all around. There’s a breathtakingly beautiful
chandelier above the platform, an ivory velour couch
behind the platform, and ivory and golden Louis chairs
throughout.

“For the first gown, His Majesty has specifically
asked for a red, satin, strapless, sweetheart ball gown
with a floor-length skirt, would you happen to have
something like that?” Sylvia asks.

“I have just the thing,” Heather says with a lilt in
her voice.

“For the second dress, he requested a fitted,
Swarovski crystal-adorned, floor-length gown,” Sylvia
says. “Perhaps in a nude color or white. Something pale.
If you have anything with a low back, that would be
ideal.”

Heather’s eyes brighten. “Just today we received
such a dress. It is a hand-sewn dress of 60,000 crystals
with a backless cut. Might you want to have Jennifer try
that?”

“Price?” Sylvia asks.
“$47,500,” Heather replies.
Involuntarily, a gasp tumbles out of my lips.
“Perfect,” Sylvia says. “Well within the budget.”
Holy shit they have a budget for this? And how high
is that budget? I make like half of the amount of that one
dress per year working full-time at Coffee and Go.

The Prince and The Escort

“I’ll bring a few extra gowns to see if they might
also work,” she says to Sylvia, then turns to me. “What is
your shoe size, my lady?”

My lady? Wow, I’ve never been called that and I’m
not so sure how I feel about that. “Er… I’m a size seven.”

“Perfection. Kim!” she yells over her shoulder.
The original store clerk scurries into the dressing
room. “Yes.”
“May I have some refreshments brought in for our
customers?” Heather says. “Water, coffee, tea, cookies,
crackers, and cheese.”
“Right away,” Kim replies.
“And pick out a few pairs of high heels that match
the red gown and the Swarovski gown. Make sure they
are high-end designer shoes.”
“Yes.” Kim swivels on her heel and vanishes down
the hallway.
“I shall be back with the gowns and shoes in a few
minutes. In the meantime, please make yourselves
comfortable,” Heather says.
I sit on the couch, wondering how I suddenly ended
up here. I mean, I know how I got here, but the more I
think about it, the more everything seems to resemble
one of those unbelievable fairytales. I mean, I’ve heard of
them happening to other people. And I believe they do.
Just not me. Again I remind myself that I need to make
sure I don’t get too caught up in this or too attached to
anything or anyone. This lifestyle would be too easy to
get addicted to. However, in a little over a week, this
arrangement will be over, and I will have to go back to my

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life of a Coffee and Go clerk, making and serving coffee
under Barbara’s vigilant glare, saving for college.

But at least Gabby will have her legs… Her legs. My
surroundings blur as my eyes brim with tears, and all of a
sudden I feel so grateful to the prince.

Sylvia fishes her phone out of her purse and dials a
number. “Yes, I’d like to make a full makeover
appointment for 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.” She
listens for a moment. “Would you be so kind and see if
you might be able to squeeze it in? This is for His Royal
Highness, the Prince of Norway and you wouldn’t want to
let him down, would you?” She listens again. “Splendid!
Yes. All inclusive. Thank you so much.” She waits a few
moments, after which she hangs up and looks at me.
“You’re in for tomorrow for the makeover.”

“Thanks.” Then I wonder out loud, “Will you be
coming, too?”

“Me? Oh, heavens no. I have way too many things to
do than to spend six hours at a spa.”

I swallow hard. “Six hours?”
“Oh, honey. It’s a full makeover. Waxing, peels,
masks, baths, hair cut, manicure, pedicure, make-up…
You’ll have an absolute hell of a time. Prince Erik wanted
to make sure you are thoroughly spoiled and thoroughly
relaxed for the event.”
Oh. Then I wonder out loud, “Does he treat all his
dates this way?”
“That’s not for me to say,” she says.
“Of course. Sorry.”

The Prince and The Escort

Kim waltzes in with a cart filled with refreshments
and parks it right next to the couch. She leaves, and two
seconds later, she returns with a cart filled with boxes of
shoes and situates it by the platform. After she makes her
way over to me, she pours me a cup of coffee and hands it
to me. “Sugar?”

“Yes please.” I wonder if I’ll like the coffee. I’ve
become a bit of a coffee snob since working at Coffee and
Go, and it’s hard to swallow anything that isn’t quality.

“And for you, ma’am?” Kim asks Sylvia.
“Tea for me please. No sugar, but a splash of milk
would sure be dandy.”
I take a sip of my coffee, noting that the coffee is
equal to or better than our gourmet stuff at Coffee and Go.
Heather rolls a wardrobe trolley into the dressing
area, a dozen or so gowns hanging on it. In behind her
walks an elderly man, a cane in one hand, a silver
briefcase in the other.
“Miss Sylvia, Miss Jennifer, this is Mr. Bradshaw,”
Heather says. “He’s the official and most senior jeweler of
Saks Fifth Avenue. I trust he will have the perfect
selection of jewelry you will need for your events.”
Mr. Bradshaw nods and places the suitcase onto the
glass table in front of the couch.
“We’re on a time crunch, so why don’t you get
started with the dresses and I’ll select the jewels,” Sylvia
says to Heather and me.
“Kim, come. Miss Jennifer, this way please.” Heather
grabs the red dress from the wardrobe trolley and I

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follow after her into one of the oversized dressing rooms
to the left of the platform.

This is like having a fairy godmother on steroids!
I wait for them to leave so I can undress, but
instead, they close the door and stare at me. Right.
I’m feeling adequately self-conscious about my un-
matching grandma underwear, but knowing there’s no
escape, I pull the tank top over my head and lay it on the
Louis chair in the corner. Next, I unzip my skinny jeans
and struggle for a moment to get out of them. I wait for
them to break out laughing at my uber unsexy
unmentionables, but there’s not a single chuckle or
disapproving glance anywhere. These women are
professional. Truly.
“I thought this bustier would go well with the first
dress.” Heather holds up a nude bra with matching G-
string lace panties. “You’re a 34-D, right?”
“Uh….yes,” I squeak.
She hands them to me. “The panties are a size
small, though you might do better in a extra small.”
“Small is fine.” Oh, God how I hate it when a G-
strings digs into my butt crack. ‘Cause who can think of
anything else when that part of you is being rubbed raw?
Maybe princesses can, but not me.
Again, I wait for them to leave, but they don’t. What
is this? No privacy? A girl has to be ogled when she
changes her most intimate apparel? I should put my foot
down. I really should kick them out, but then they might
think I’m being weird, so I peel out of my plain black
frayed bra and pink, cotton grandma panties. And just

The Prince and The Escort

like that I’m standing completely butt-ass naked in front
of two complete strangers.

I fumble as I pull the lace panties on in a hurry and
press the front of the bustier to my chest.

Graciously, Heather slinks up behind me and
latches the bustier shut. “Now the dress,” she says to Kim,
and Kim hands her the red one.

Together, they thread the dress over my head and
proceed to hook it shut in the back. For every hook they
secure, I feel like I lose a little more of my capacity to
breathe.

“I knew it,” Heather says, clasping her hands
together in delight when she’s done. “You’re a size two.”

“Two?!” I say, struggling to take in a breath. I can
foresee it now: how I’ll pass out mid-event, being unable
to inhale in this piece. “It’s quite tight. Maybe the size six
will fit better.”

“A size six would be way too big for you. This one
fits like a glove.”

“It’s really tight,” I say as I glance in the mirror. But
wow. The way the floor-length skirt hugs my hips and
flares at the bottom makes my figure look stunning. And
the strapless bodice accentuates my narrow shoulders,
and damn, my breasts look amazing!

“You’ll get used to it,” Heather says. “I promise.
Now, shall we head outside and show Miss Sylvia?”

I nod, and next I know I’m standing on the platform
with a ruby and diamond necklace around my neck, red
satin shoes on my feet, all eyes on me. I try to read
whether or not Sylvia likes the dress on me, or more

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importantly, if she thinks Erik will like the dress on me,
but her expression is just her usual cheery one.

“It will do,” Sylvia says. “Can we try the Swarovski
crystal dress on here perhaps? I’m afraid we haven’t the
time to run back and forth to the dressing room. I want to
make sure we have picked out the gowns we want before
the prince arrives.”

My gaze slides to Mr. Bradshaw. But there’s a man
here! No. I absolutely won’t strip down into nothing but a
bra and a G-string in front of the jeweler. I don’t care how
professional he is.

“Of course,” Heather says. “Perhaps Mr. Bradshaw
can be dismissed if you have decided on the jewelry
pieces you would like?” She winks at me.

Thank God someone else is considering my
modesty and dignity. I suddenly like Heather a hundred
times more.

“We just need to finish up the paperwork. Perhaps
we can do it in the office?” Sylvia suggests.

“Yes, yes,” Mr. Bradshaw says and gathers up his
papers and briefcase. He and Sylvia walk down the
hallway and vanish beyond the ivory walls.

Not a second later, Heather and Kim peel me out of
the red gown. While Kim goes to get the Swarovski
crystal gown, Heather removes the ruby and diamond
necklace from around my neck and places it in the box it
was in before.

I stare at myself in the mirror, scrutinizing every
ounce of fat, every molecule of cellulite. I’m not fat. But
the excess of fat that has amassed on my thighs, and the

The Prince and The Escort

very lower part of my belly is not attractive in the least.
Before I could eat anything I wanted and remained this
rail thin nymph. Now when I eat a cupcake or a donut, it
stays on my hips forever.

As I’m scrutinizing every curve, a personage
appears at the corner of my eye. I glance up and lock eyes
with Erik through the mirror.

Blood rushes to my face. What the hell is he doing
back so quickly? My first instinct is to cover up, and cover
up quick! However, unfortunately for me, I’m standing on
a pedestal, bright lights shining down from above,
illuminating every square inch of me, the mirrors all
around capturing every angle. Fuck. And what’s worse is
that I’m wearing nothing but a bustier and a G-string, my
rear end fully exposed. Oh God. Why does he have to see
me like this? And what’s even worse is he seems to think
this situation is totally normal. It must be a Scandinavian
prince thing—those naughty Europeans and their lack of
shock-factor when it comes to nudity. But I’m an
American. I’m modest.

I could dart back to the dressing room and hide.
But no. That would seem silly, even juvenile perhaps.
What the hell. There’s nothing I can do but stand here
and let him look at me, cellulite and all. Get over it,
Jennifer, I tell myself. Get. Over. It. He’s already seen me.
And there’s not a single thing you can do about it now.

It’s when I fully give into the situation that I notice
his intense gaze on me. His eyes have turned feral.
Hungry. Possessive. Surely, I must be misreading him.
Because he, the goddamn fucking prince, wouldn’t lust

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after me like that, would he? But as I watch him further,
there’s no way I can deny the lust in his eyes. And what’s
even more surprising is that the way Erik stares at me
makes me feel sexy and extremely desired.

I haven’t felt this desired since…well, ever.
He licks his bottom lip and lets his gaze go from my
breasts to the V between my legs. Just with that look, the
most intimate and deepest part of me awakens with
need.
Again his gaze meets mine through the mirror and
it’s as if time and space and everything in between have
vanished. I no longer notice or think about anyone else.
I’m just a woman and he’s just a man. We are alone in
this room and anything can happen.
I should be completely embarrassed about this, but
now I find that I’m not in the least. Instead, some
uncontrollable force has taken over. An inexplicable
power has made me want to stand here before him so he
can drink me in. All of me. Without shame or even the
slightest hint of self-consciousness, I arch my back ever
so subtly, causing my ass to stick out more. I have no idea
what has come over me.
A low, deep groan rumbles in his chest and his lips
part. His eyes flick to mine—two burning, desiring
globes.
I can’t breathe.
“You must be His Royal Highness,” Heather says to
Erik, jarring me out of the hypnotic state Erik captivated
me in.

The Prince and The Escort

“Yes, indeed,” Erik says without taking his eyes off
me. But then he breaks eye contact and shakes Heather’s
hand, then Kim’s. “I apologize for the sudden intrusion.
May I perhaps see the dresses?”

I exhale a long, slow breath, the moment gone, but
the memory of his hungry stare on me still very much
humming through my body. God, it’s been so long since I
was turned on like this. What is it with him that makes
my body come alive with just a glance?

“We were just about to have her try this one on.”
Heather holds up the Swarovski gown.

“I can imagine Jennifer will look stunning in it.”
Moving with grace, Erik walks over to the couch and sits
down.

“Can I offer you coffee or tea?” Kim asks. I can’t
help but notice that she has flushed bright red. Is it the
situation, or is she just as dazzled by Erik as I am?

“Tea, please,” Erik says.
While Kim pours Erik a cup of tea, Heather helps
me into the dress and zips the side up. The crystals catch
the light, and the dress is like a glowing gown made of
sun. Never in my life have I or did I ever imagine I’d wear
anything this exquisite and expensive. The gown is lined
with satin, making it extremely comfortable, and not only
that, it is slightly stretchy and moves with my body as it
hugs me with utter perfection. The front of the bodice
has a daring V-cut, accentuating my breasts, and the back
is dangerously low, just covering my ass. The fitted skirt
reaches to the floor, and there’s a slit that reaches
halfway up my thigh.

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“Naturally she will need to be braless for this
dress,” Heather says, referring to how the bra is visible.

“Braless?” Did she not see the size of my breasts? I
wonder. I need at least some sort of support.

“Or we do have some adhesive cups designed
specifically for low-cut dresses,” she says.

“Yes please,” I say.
Erik sips his tea before setting the cup down onto
the table beside the jewelry. “Turn around, Jennifer,” he
says.
God, he makes everything sound so sexy. Slowly, I
swivel until I end up facing him. His gaze goes from my
shoulders to my chest to my stomach and hips, all the
way down to my feet until his eyes make their way all the
way back up again to my eyes.
“Don’t you think it’s too sexy for a fundraiser?” I
ask, half teasing, half sincere, but one hundred percent
buzzing on the inside.
“You’re right,” he replies. “The dress isn’t suitable
for that event.”
When he says it, my stomach drops a little. This
gown is amazing, and already I can’t imagine not getting
to wear it. But I reel myself in quickly, reminding myself
that the whole purpose of me going to these events is to
pay for my sister’s prosthetics.
“However, I have already fallen in love with the
dress and you wear it to perfection so we will take it
anyway,” he says.
A shrill of delight shimmies up my spine. But
reality quickly chimes in, reminding me I will never find a

The Prince and The Escort

place to wear this dress. “With all due respect, your
highness, I too love the gown, but I’ll have no place or
event to wear it to.” To spend nearly $50,000 on a piece
of clothing that will do nothing but hang in my closet
seems far too wasteful. How the hell did I suddenly
become so annoyingly reasonable?

“Then I suppose we’ll have to find another event to
go to,” he says, giving me an impassive look.

Another event? I would like that. Too much,
perhaps. But I need to be careful and keep my distance. I
refuse to fall in love with someone who I just know I
would never be able to get over.

And right in this moment, I don’t know whether
meeting Erik is the best thing that has ever happened to
me, or the cruelest.

“Now change into the red dress,” Erik commands.
“I’d like to see you in that, too.”

Oh, my how him commanding me makes me come
completely undone.

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CHAPTER 5
The red dress is the winner for the fundraiser.
But we also purchase the far-too-sexy-for-a-
fundraiser Swarovski gown. After I have squeezed back
into my ridiculously tight jeans and tank and Sylvia has
paid the bill, Sylvia, Erik, and I head back to the
limousine, which waits for us outside.
Once on our way toward the airport, Erik says,
“Don’t be alarmed, but my parents will be on this flight
also.”
I recall his father’s scowl, and his mother’s look of
subdued horror when she looked me up and down. I
cringe inwardly, not feeling particularly excited about
being under her disapproving ice queen glare. “Do they
know I’m coming?”

The Prince and The Escort

He shakes his head. “Just try and ignore them as
best you can.”

Right. Ignore. Ignore the king and queen of Norway.
Yup. This is going to be an amazing flight.

Twenty minutes later, we arrive at the Orlando
Airport. Instead of driving to the front general drop-off
area, the limousine takes us to the private aircraft section
of the airport and parks in front of a small white jet. On
the side of the jet is a red coat of arms with a golden lion
holding an ax, a crown upon its head.

The chauffeur opens the door and I step outside
after Sylvia and the bodyguard. A red carpet has been
rolled out between the limousine and the aircraft, and I
follow Sylvia as she heads toward the plane.

Without a coat to protect me from the cold breeze, I
scurry toward the plane and up the short stairwell.
Ducking, I walk through the small entrance, and a young,
bearded man greets me with a warm smile. I head into
the cabin, and Sylvia vanishes into the cockpit with the
bodyguard joining the captain.

A black leather sofa stands at the end, and
oversized leather chairs and a dining table set with fine
china and silverware are located to the right and left.
There’s a fully stocked bar at the back behind the sofa,
and a flat screen TV attached to the wall behind me. The
floor is a modern rug that reminds me of something
Picasso would have painted.

Queen Maud gets a puzzled look on her face when
she sees me. “You’re that girl from last night,” she says.
“Why are you here?”

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Oh hell. Just what I needed. A warm welcome.
“I invited her to accompany me to a couple of
charity events,” Erik says as he enters the cabin. “And her
name is Jennifer.”
“But Victoria—” his father starts.
“It’s over between us,” Erik interrupts. “And there
will be no more talk of her.”
“Perhaps not now,” King Lars says.
“Ever,” Erik snaps.
There’s a moment of awkward silence where I just
want to sink into the ground and vanish for like, forever.
“Come.” Erik shows me to my seat and two seconds
later the steward approaches me. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Karl.
May I offer you a drink, perhaps? Or anything else that
can make this flight more comfortable?” His back to
Queen Maud, he winks at me.
Valium? A great big wall to separate me from the
ice queen over there? “A Lemon Drop would be great.”
Perhaps alcohol can make this flight a little less…
awkward. Or less hostile.
“And get her a blanket. She’s shivering,” Erik sits in
the chair beside me.
Huh. That was sweet. Sitting so close to Erik, I can’t
help but notice his palpable energy and sexual
magnetism. My body wants to move—away from him or
closer to him, I can’t tell which one.
“How do you like the dresses?” he asks.
I sense his gaze gliding over my profile, but I force
myself to keep my eyes on the table in front of me.
“They’re stunning. Do you like them?” When he doesn’t

The Prince and The Escort

answer right away, I make the mistake of looking at him.
When our eyes meet, my heart races in my chest and my
breathing turns to shallow little puffs.

“I liked them very much, Jennifer. If I hadn’t, we
would have been there all night to get you the right
dress.”

Oh, God. His determination and stamina make me
weak in the knees. To keep my wits about me, I think
about the granny panties I’m wearing beneath my
clothes. Those I’m certain he wouldn’t like on me. I crack
a smile.

“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“No, it really is nothing.” Fat chance if he thinks I’m
going to tell him about my ridiculous un-sexiest
underwear ever.
“Fair enough. I suppose I can’t make you divulge
your secrets.”
“Really, it’s not a secret. It was just something silly.”
He squints. “About me?”
“No, no. It’s just something embarrassing.”
The right side of his lips quirk up. “Now you have to
tell me.”
I glance at his parents who have taken their seats
on the other side of the walkway.
“Some other time,” I say.
He nods, as if getting my drift.
Karl brings me my Lemon Drop, and I sip it slowly
as the plane taxis toward the runway. Erik inhales a shot

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of whiskey, leans his seat back, and closes his eyes as the
plane takes off. Soon we’re up in the air, and the secure-
your-seatbelt sigh turns off.

I unbuckle my seat belt to head to the restroom.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Erik asks, his
eyes still closed.
“To the restroom. Is that all right with you?” I tease.
He smirks without opening his eyes, then nods.
“Don’t be gone too long though.”
I head to the restroom, and once I’m done, I open
the door. Right outside, Erik leans against the wall and is
looking at me. I avert my gaze immediately, the magnetic
draw too intense in this confined space. I try to move
past him, but before I can, there’s sudden turbulence that
makes me lose my balance, and I grab hold of his
shoulders to steady myself. God, his shoulders are so
firm. And normally turbulence makes me feel uneasy, but
when he steadies me by grabbing my waist, I feel
completely safe.
Once the turbulence has passed, I look into his
eyes. His eyes are ablaze.
Oh, dear Lord. Kiss me. Please.
He brings his cheek to mine and his breath is heavy
in my ear. A shiver goes through me. Everything else
ceases to exist, and I am no longer on a plane with his
parents, but in a room with Erik. Alone. Desiring.
Wanting. God he smells so good.
His closeness makes me want him. Bad.
My lips part and I lick them.

The Prince and The Escort

“Erik? Erik?” I hear Queen Maud’s voice on the
other side of the curtain. “Are you in here?”

We look at each other, and thinking I don’t want
any more drama or disapproval from Erik’s mom, I step
away. It takes me a moment to gather my mind, but when
I finally manage, I can breathe again. I didn’t realize I was
holding my breath.

He nods at me once, then opens the curtain. “Yes?”
“Would you like your dinner now?” she asks.
“Yes please. Dinner sounds wonderful.” He makes
his way over to his seat again. “And another round of
whiskey, please.”
“Oh, Karl!” Queen Maud hollers. “Dinner!”
Just as I pass her, I think I see a triumphant smile
on her lips. She’s as sneaky as she is cold.
“Straight away, your highness.” Karl bows toward
Erik, then turns toward me. “Anything for you, Miss
Dawson?”
“I think I’ll have a whiskey, also. Make that a
double.” Might be good to drift off into an oblivious
intoxicated state.

***

After dinner, Erik stands up and says he needs to
discuss a few details with Sylvia. Queen Maud
immediately slithers into the seat beside me.

“So tell me about yourself, Jennifer,” she says with a
forced smile, her eyes scrutinizing.

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I’m not sure talking to her is such a great idea,
especially since I’m definitely feeling the whiskey kicking
in, but I don’t want to be blatantly rude. The damn
woman intimidates the hell out of me and who knows
what she’ll do if I give her a real reason to dislike me. “I,
um…I work.” Why am I nervous all of a sudden? Why isn’t
the alcohol working like I thought it would? “And I like to
draw and paint and write poetry. And dance.”

“Interesting… Do you like to read?” she continues.
“Yeah. Mostly fiction though.” I swallow hard.
“I see. So how do you stay informed about
important world events?”
Here we go. “I—I don’t really,” I admit. “I mostly am
just trying to get by and support myself and my sister.”
“Where do you work?” she asks, her gaze intrusive.
“At a gourmet coffee shop called Coffee and Go,” I
say, making sure to emphasize the “gourmet” part.
“Oh.” She frowns. “So you’re a server?”
“A barista.”
She waves a hand in the air, flippantly, dismissively.
“You seem smart enough to realize that ‘barista’ is just a
fancy word for server to make the lowly servers feel like
they’re important.”
A compliment wrapped into an insult. How
thoughtful of her.
“And what do you plan to do with your life?” she
continues.
“I’ve always wanted to become a lawyer,” I say.

The Prince and The Escort

“Well, wouldn’t you have to read non-fiction books
then? And wouldn’t you have to have ambition to do
that?”

God, I so fucking hate this woman. “Well, I’m
working on that.”

“People don’t change, dear. Take Erik for instance.
He’s been a player his entire life. We have introduced him
to some of the most classy, well-educated, beautiful
princesses in the world, like Victoria, and he tosses them
away as if they’re nothing but commoners. All because he
hasn’t yet learned to appreciate quality in a woman. Just
make sure you don’t fall for his charm. He’s used to
getting his way with women and then dumping them the
moment they fall in love.”

I see right through her sham. “And you’re telling me
this because…?”

“I wouldn’t want a poor innocent one like yourself
to be hurt. And he will hurt you, my dear. He’s thirty one
years old and he hasn’t been able to settle down yet, and
he’s only got a string of girls with broken hearts to prove
it.”

I’m not buying into her story at all. “Thanks for the
warning. I think I’ve got it under control.”

She stands up. “That’s what they all say.” She takes
her seat over on the other side and just as she buckles
up, Erik returns.

Erik’s gaze goes from his mother to me. He takes
his seat next to me and leans over. “Are you ok?” he
whispers.

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I try not to show the uneasiness and anger I feel on
the inside on my face. I don’t want to give Queen Maud
the satisfaction of seeing how much she affects me. “Yes.”

“She said something, didn’t she.”
“Yes, but it’s fine.”
His nostrils flare. “Don’t listen to a word she says.”
“She loves me,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.
Well, my mood.
“I’m serious. I’ll try and keep her away from you
but she’s really good at wedging herself into every
situation, into all my relationships.”
“In about five minutes we’ll start our decent into
the Miami area,” the captain says over the speakers. I lean
back and close my eyes, trying to relax a little. I got this, I
tell myself. If I can just get through this next week
without murdering Erik’s mom, or without her
murdering me, my life will be so much better.

The Prince and The Escort

CHAPTER 6
A limousine waits for us when we arrive at Miami
International Airport, and ten minutes later, we pull in
front of Hotel South Beach. Queen Maud has been giving
me the evil eye the entire way, and King Lars just ignores
me as if I don’t exist at all.
Invisible and despised. That’s how I feel. But I push
through the uncomfortable feelings and focus on my
sister, Gabby.
It’s dark, but the scenery is absolutely breathtaking
as the stunningly tall and beautiful palm trees lining the
hotel’s entry way are illuminated by spotlights, as are the
tropical flowers that adorn the gardens.
The driver pulls into the overhang, and a doorman
opens the limousine door. Oh, God. There are dozens of

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people gathered at the entrance, as if waiting for
someone. Are they here for the royals?

There are also several reporters waiting with their
cameras, and security guards hold the crowd behind the
lined-off area.

“Of course she’ll be exiting behind the hotel,” Queen
Maud says, shooting me an icy glare that has my bones
freeze up where I sit.

Erik ignores her comment completely. “Jennifer,” he
says. “If you don’t want to be seen with me, and if you
don’t want your picture plastered all over the Norwegian
news tomorrow morning, I can have the driver drop you
off behind the hotel. But it’s completely up to you.”

“It is in the best interest of the royal family to not
be seen with an American commoner so shortly after
your break up with Princess Victoria,” Queen Maud says.
“It’s insensitive to the Danish Crown, and it’s an
embarrassment to us.”

“Mother,” Prince Erik starts.
“You know the media will devise a story of the two
of you,” Queen Maud continues. “And I know that’s not
what you want, Erik. Especially in light of the sensitive
circumstances surrounding Princess Victoria. Have some
discernment about this situation.”
“For the love of…will you please stop?” Erik says, an
edge of anger in his voice.
“I’d prefer to be dropped off at the back of the
hotel,” I announce. No need to make this weekend any
harder than it already is. Or make Queen Maud hate me
more than she already does.

The Prince and The Escort

Which I’m wondering is even possible.
“I’m glad you have enough sense to know your
place,” Queen Maud says, looking at me.
Oh, my God! I want to murder the woman.
Erik nods at me. “Good plan, Jennifer.” His
approving glance takes me off guard, and I cannot believe
I’m actually going to accompany this god of a man to two
events. Will his eyes on me ever make me not weak in the
knees?
He continues, “I’ll have Sylvia escort you to your
room, and I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.” The
door to the limousine opens, and the crowd goes wild.
Erik slips out of the limousine and bright flashes of light
go off outside. Queen Maud, then King Lars climb out
after him.
I watch as they walk toward the hotel entrance,
their bodyguards all around them. God, I can’t imagine
living a life like this where the paparazzi and random
strangers congregate just to get a glimpse of you. Erik
must have little to no privacy when he’s in public. I hate
being in the spotlight of anything.
The doorman shuts the door to the limousine, and
the driver pulls out of the overhang and makes his way to
the side of the hotel.
“Is it always like this?” I ask Sylvia, letting my gaze
follow Erik’s figure until he vanishes through the hotel
sliding doors.
“Oh, usually it’s much worse,” Sylvia says. “Last
month there was a group of girls that threw themselves
at Erik just as he was getting out of the limousine. One of

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them managed to tear out a chunk of his hair, and that’s
just one of the horror stories.”

“Oh, shit that’s horrible!” I say with a gasp. I think
back to his comment about how he appreciated that I
was normal. At the time, I didn’t find his comment
flattering at all. I suppose being normal around a
dashingly handsome, wealthy, eligible bachelor prince is
quite refreshing to him. And maybe it’s the best
compliment he could ever give me.

“Shall we?” Sylvia says.
The driver opens our door and we step out into the
warm, humid night. Ah… it’s so nice to be surrounded by
warmth again. What a difference a few hundred miles
south makes.
“I will have the gowns and the other items brought
to your room,” the driver says.
“Thank you.” I nod.
Sylvia and I steal toward the side entrance door.
Just as I step up to the door, a bright light flashes in my
face, startling me, blinding me momentarily.
“Have you no respect for privacy?” Sylvia asks the
heavyset reporter. She opens the door and gently shoves
me into the wide hallway.
Slamming the door shut behind her, Sylvia flips the
reporter off with angered passion. “Take your bloody
camera and shove it up your arse!”
I like her more for every minute. She grabs my arm
and lugs me down the hallway. Classical music plays
through the surround speakers, and as I quickly glance

The Prince and The Escort

around, I feel like I have stepped into hands down, the
most luxurious hotel in the world.

“You have to be firm with those nasty bastard slime
balls,” she says, exasperated.

“Do you think the reporter knows I’m here with the
prince?” I ask, moving my feet at unprecedented speed
just to keep up with her.

“He probably followed the limousine around to the
back and waited to see if anyone else was going to come
out. Don’t be surprised if your face is all over the news
tomorrow in Norway, claiming you are Prince Erik’s new
love interest.”

“Oh, sorry.”
She halts and stares at me. “Jennifer. This is not
your fault. It’s just how the media is.” She continues
forward, and soon we arrive at the elevators. She presses
the call button. “But just be prepared for a shit storm.”
She gives me a warning glare. “From the media and from
the royal family. And when you go back to Orlando, the
paparazzi might come after you.”
“But I’m not even dating him,” I say.
“It doesn’t matter. The general public loves a story,
and every opportunity the reporters have, they’ll make
one up. The best you can do is not speak to anyone about
your relationship with the prince. Not even your family.
The media can use them, pump them for information,
threaten to destroy their reputations unless they comply.
And believe you me, it has happened before. In all
likelihood it won’t happen, but I just want you to be
prepared.”

99


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