“Don’t remind me. I’ll just try to get through it. It’ll be my first time in front of the cameras since…” I take a deep breath. “Since I left for the retreat.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
I smile sadly. “I don’t think so. I just have to prepare myself for the internet trolls who talk about how much weight I’ve gained, and how my agent dumped me, and how my sponsorships are falling through. You think you have thick skin until you read comments online.”
Dante laughs. “Just try not to throw up on yourself. I can say from experience that the comments on that video are vicious.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I stand up, smiling at the Prince. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
As Dante follows me into the kitchen, I’m surprised to note that the tension in my body has eased. The Prince offers to make pancakes.
“I won’t say no to a prince cooking for me,” I say, sliding onto a bar stool at the kitchen island.
Prince Dante smiles, spinning around in the kitchen and opening cupboards to look for a pan. I watch him as my heart eases and the panic that had started to mount inside me fades away.
Shockingly, the Prince can cook. He makes me laugh and forget all about my interview for a few hours.
By the time Melissa and my makeup artist arrive at the house, I’m relaxed and confident, and I haven’t let my own mind sabotage me…
…yet.
When Melissa turns the corner and flashes a smile at me, I relax even more.
“Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get you ready.”
I follow my friend into the bedroom and sit down where she directs me. She wiggles her eyebrows at me in the mirror.
“Who was that hunk in the kitchen?”
“No one.” I try to hide my grin.
“Didn’t look like no one.” She winks at me, and another blush warms my cheeks. Melissa clicks her tongue, grinning at me in the mirror. “Look at you, getting back on the horse. I’m proud of you.”
I force a smile as my thoughts flick to the baby inside me. Getting ‘back on the horse’ doesn’t seem like such a great idea for me right now.
“I think you need a good orgasm,” Melissa says, focused on my hair. “Something to take your mind off things. When was the last time a man like that made you come?”
I force a smile, laughing awkwardly in response.
The truth? Years. I haven’t actually had pleasure from sex or intimacy in a long, long time. Before sleeping with Prince Beckett, it had been over a year since I’d had sex.
A part of me thinks that maybe orgasms just aren’t a part of my life anymore. Maybe that ship has sailed. Pleasure has been replaced with anxiety.
But as my thoughts flick to Dante, and the way he makes my body burn, I think that maybe Melissa is right. Maybe it’s time for me to let my hair down.
6
Dante
Margot is whisked away by her team, and re-emerges looking like a different person. Gone are the soft, subtle lines of her face. Instead, she looks glamorous and done up. Her long, blonde hair is carefully curled and swept to one side in a natural, effortless kind of way.
Holding her arms out, she grins at me. “Ta-da!”
Honestly, Margot could wear a paper bag and she would look incredible. Hanging out with her this morning made me realize that she’s not just a vapid celebrity.
“You look beautiful,” I say. It’s the truth. ‘Beautiful’ doesn’t even cover it, but gushing about how fucking hard she’s making me she is doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. My heart thumps as I try to swallow past a lump in my throat.
Margot smiles, blushing. The thought of her blushing at a compliment is funny to me, in a way. I’m sure she gets showered with praise all day, every day—and yet my words have that effect on her.
The team rushes around her, touching up her hair as she walks toward the front door. I nod to her, and something tugs at my heart. Disappointment seeps into my chest as I watch her approach the front door.
Then, Margot pauses. Turning to face me, she tilts her head.
“Do you… Would you like to come?”
I frown. “Me?”
Margot blushes harder, shaking her head. “Stupid question. I know you must hate these things. I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll come,” I blurt out, grabbing Luca’s jacket from the closet.
Margot’s face brightens. “Really? You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Surprisingly, it’s the truth. We walk out to the waiting car, and I slide my hand over her lower back. Tingles flow up my arm, and my breath catches in my throat.
Margot exchanges a glance with one of her stylists—either hair or makeup—and her blush deepens.
When we get in the car, her soft, feminine scent fills my nostrils. I inhale, committing the smell to memory. It makes heat flood my stomach, and I force myself to calm my racing heart.
How is it possible for a woman to have this effect on me? I love it and hate it at the same time. I don’t want to be around her when I feel tongue-tied and clumsy, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
“You sure you want to come? You look nervous.”
“Only because I’m sitting next to you.” I grin as if it’s a joke. I haven’t even thought about the fact that we’re going to a TV studio, or that there will be cameras and microphones and interviewers all around.
Margot chuckles, but it dies quickly. She glances at the driver, and then leans toward me.
“I’m nervous.”
I slide my hand into hers, giving it a squeeze. Margot’s face softens, and a tentative smile spreads across her lips. She lets out a long breath, and nods slowly.
“Thank you.”
We keep holding hands for the duration of the ride. I feel like I’m fourteen years old again, nervous to be around a girl I like. It feels right to have her palm against mine, but it makes my mind jump to all kinds of other situations.
Is my hand getting too sweaty? Can she see the tightening in my pants? Do I have food stuck in my teeth?
I steal a glance at Margot, and my heart takes off at breakneck speed again.
I imagine slipping her out of her sheer, white blouse and running my hands over her curves. I think about the fullness of her breasts, and how they swell with every breath.
My blood turns to fire and my whole body burns.
I want her. I can’t deny it.
But it’s something else, too. There’s something about Margot that I wasn’t expecting. There’s a depth to her that doesn’t come through in her public persona. She’s fragile, and sensitive, and she cares deeply about her sister.
I glance at Margot, who chews her bottom lip as she stares out the window. This is her life—living in the public eye, dealing with interviews and public criticism. Having everyone give their opinion on her appearance, her character, her life, her choices.
I don’t want to get involved with that world. Her life is exactly the one I’ve been avoiding since I was young. All my time staying secluded inside the palace walls and keeping my face out of the media has been to prevent my life from turning into hers.
She is the exact opposite of what I want.
So, why is my body betraying me whenever she’s near?
Then, Margot turns to look at me, and flashes her brilliant smile. It sends an arrow straight through my chest, and I forget what I was worried about a second ago.
We stop outside the studio, and Margot slips her hand out of mine. I miss her skin as soon as she pulls away. When we get out of the car, I can only smell faint whispers of her perfume, and I wish my face was buried in her hair.
I want to be closer.
We’re taken to a dressing room, where a long table of snacks and drinks has been laid out. Margot ignores them all. She sits down in front of the mirror, fussing with her hair and taking deep breaths.
“You okay?” I ask.
She
turns away from the mirror, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
A knock sounds on the door, and we both turn our heads. “They’re ready for you,” one of Margot’s team says through the closed door.
All the blood drains from Margot’s face. She gulps, nodding as if the person can see her. “Okay, be out in a minute.” Margot’s voice sounds strangled, and her chest starts to rise and fall. She’s shaking. Her hands grip the edges of her seat as she starts breathing more and more rapidly, letting out short gasps.
I move toward Margot, kneeling in front of her. I put my hands on her thighs. “Margot, are you okay?”
“I can’t…” she wheezes. “I can’t…”
“Look at my eyes.”
Margot looks at me, and sheer terror fills her eyes. “I can’t breathe,” she finally says. Her hands go to her neck, and panic starts to overtake her face. Margot’s eyes dart from one end of the room to the other, and her body starts to rock back and forth.
I know what’s happening, because I’ve been in her shoes. Not for many, many years, but I’ve been there.
She’s having a panic attack.
“Margot, look at me.” I keep my voice soft, but firm. She drags her eyes to mine. “I want you to slow down your breathing with me.”
I inhale, counting to five, and exhale, counting to five. Margot tries her best to follow, her shaking breaths not quite lasting that long. We do that three or four times, and then I ask her to look at me again.
“Think about the feeling of the chair supporting you. Your breath as it passes through your nose. The warmth of my hands on your thighs.”
Her hands move over mine and Margot nods, inhaling again. Her fingers curl around mine and she clings onto me as if I’m her lifeline. Next time we take a breath together, she’s able to smooth her breath out. Her shoulders drop, and the trembling in her body grows more gentle.
We stay like that for a while. I have no idea how long. Seconds? Minutes?
I try to talk slowly, calmly, as if I were talking to a nervous animal. Margot’s hands curl around my fingers, and she leans forward to rest her forehead against mine. We stay like that, eyes closed, breath mixing, until I feel the panic inside her ease.
Finally, she pulls away. Her eyes mist up, and she shakes her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’m embarrassed. I don’t…” She bites her lip.
I cup her face in my hand, dragging my thumb over her cheek. Her skin is so soft, her eyes so gentle, I wonder how someone like this could ever face the harshness of the public eye.
“I’ve been in your shoes,” I say. “I know how you feel.”
Margot nods, jumping when another knock sounds on the door. “Margot?”
“Coming!” She glances at the door, her eyebrows drawing together.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
Margot gulps, shaking her head. “I do. My reputation is all tied up with Ivy’s business now, so I need to clear my name. For her sake.”
The actress stands up, brushing her hands down her sides. She smooths her hair down, taking a deep breath as she stares at herself in the mirror. Swinging her gaze to me, she puts her hand to my cheek.
“Thank you, Dante.”
“You want me to come out there with you? I can stand where you can see me, and if you ever get nervous, just look at me and remember to breathe.”
Margot’s shoulders relax, and a soft smile tugs at her lips. “I’d like that.”
Nodding, I follow her to the dressing room door. My heart bangs against my ribcage, and I feel a connection with Margot that I’ve rarely felt with anyone besides my family. She glances over her shoulder at me, and a bolt of lightning passes through my chest.
I may have come here for Luca, but I’m staying for Margot…
…and I know I’m in trouble.
7
Margot
When I sit in front of the cameras and feel the heat of the studio lights on my skin, my nerves arc up again. But Dante stands just beside the camera, and the sight of his strong, safe body brings me back down from the edge.
Mel adjusts my hair one last time, staring into my eyes and winking at me. “You’ll do great.”
I smile, trying to believe her.
I do the interview, saying exactly what Felicity told me to say. I talk about my overdose, my recovery, my anxiety, and all the ways that I’ve changed over the past months. I focus on the positives, and deflect any unwanted questions.
I don’t talk about the baby, or my diagnosis, for obvious reasons. I’m pretty sure Felicity would have a heart attack if I dropped those bombshells without warning her.
Whenever I feel the bundle of nerves in my stomach get tighter, I glance over at the Prince. His eyes stay glued on me and I can sense the waves of calm that he sends my way.
We’re connected. It’s odd and comforting—and perfect.
After the interview is over, my publicist is beaming as I’m ushered back to the car.
It’s not until I’m sitting down next to Dante that I let out a deep sigh, glancing over at him.
“Thank you.”
He smiles, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. “That was impressive,” he says.
I just laugh, resting my head on his chest as the car starts moving.
“I mean it,” he says. “I don’t know if I’d have been able to pull myself together like that and look so poised and humble. You did really well.”
“Thank you,” I say softly, inhaling his scent.
I’m not one to feel this comfortable with men—or anyone, really—so soon after meeting them. It takes me a long time to open up to people. The only other man I’ve been sort of close to was Prince Beckett, and that was just a one-night stand after being jealous and fed-up that Luca wasn’t interested in me. It wasn’t real.
I can’t remember the last time I had a boyfriend. It’s too hard to trust people when you’re in this industry. You never know who is genuine and who just wants to use you for publicity.
But with Dante, it’s different. He makes me feel at ease, even when he’s seen me at my most vulnerable. He seems to understand me on a level that I didn’t even know was possible, and I only met him yesterday.
When we get back to the house, I let out a sigh. Dante helps me out of the car and keeps his hand on my lower back as we make our way inside. When he steps away from me to take his jacket off, I miss his touch and the warmth of his body close to mine. I watch him hang up the jacket and then swing his eyes back to mine.
“You doing okay, Margot?”
I smile. “Yeah. Thanks to you. Don’t know how I would have done that if you hadn’t been there.”
“Well, you’ve helped my brother out a lot, making it easier for him to be with Ivy. I guess I owe it to you.”
I smile to hide the twinge of disappointment that passes through me. Is it wrong that I was hoping he was being nice to me just because he wanted to? Not because of some sense of obligation to his brother?
“I need to do a few things for my brother,” he adds. “Will you be okay on your own?”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, putting a brave smile on. “Thanks again.”
Watching the Prince walk away, bitterness coats my mouth. My body is still rattled from my panic attack, and I feel like I need to do something to relax.
Jumping in my car, I ignore the bad feeling at the pit of my stomach when I drive through the mansion gates. I always get this feeling when I go anywhere on my own, but I need to do it today. I need to prove to myself that I’m capable of living a normal life, and not be engulfed by fears of all the bad things that might happen, or the inevitable degeneration of my body.
I have a life to live now. I need to go out and live it.
I drive to my favorite spa, where I know they’ll be able to fit me in for a massage or a facial without an appointment.
Hey, I never said there were
n’t perks to being famous—I just said there are downsides, too.
When I get to the spa, the receptionist smiles at me and leads me to a private room. As soon as the soothing aromas of lemongrass and lavender hit me, a smile drifts over my lips.
I just did the most difficult thing I’ve had to do in a while. That interview is something I’ve been dreading for weeks, and Felicity said it went perfectly. Even Prince Dante was impressed.
Now that it’s done, I can take some time for myself. Hopefully, it’ll take the pressure off Ivy, and we can both just enjoy some down time.
Today’s interview was a big deal. Yesterday’s opening of the bakery was an even bigger deal. I deserve a little bit of pampering.
My usual massage therapist comes in, and I spend the next hour in and out of blissful, relaxing sleep. She massages my entire body from head to toe, and when she leaves the room to let me get dressed, I just lay there for a few minutes to soak up the last few minutes of relaxation.
I have an eye pillow on, and a sheet covering my body when the door opens again. She must have come back in to finish up the treatment. Did I say I wanted a facial, as well? I can’t remember exactly what I ordered.
I wait a few moments, anticipating the soft sound of her voice as she tells me what she’s going to do.
Instead, a man clears his throat.
“Well, well, well…” Hunter says. “Margot LeBlanc is back in front of the cameras.”
I scramble up, clutching the sheet to my body as the eye pillow falls to the ground.
My ex-agent is standing near the door, running his eyes down my nearly-naked body. A slimy feeling follows his gaze as fear ices my veins. My grip tightens on the sheet as I hold it tight to my body.
“How did you get in here? I’m calling security.”
“How quickly things change,” Hunter says, shaking his head. His eyes are beady and black. “I’ve been with you from the very start. I got you your first audition—or have you forgotten?”
“You know what I haven’t forgotten? How you somehow sourced live E. coli bacteria and planted it in my sister’s bakery, hospitalizing dozens of people. One of whom, by the way, was my pregnant sister. I haven’t forgotten that.”
Knocked Up by the Wicked Prince: A Secret Baby Romance Page 4
