"ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ, ɪ'ʟʟ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʏᴏᴜ... ɪ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪꜱᴇ."
In the heart of political intrigue, Princess Selena Gomez, heir to the United States throne, faces a perilous threat to her life. Forced into the protective custody of three enigmatic...
Right then we broke into laughter. Elena held her face in her hands and shook her head. "Please, don't say that. For future safety, don't say that—"
Our laughter cut itself off when someone cleared their throat. The low masculine voice brought us twisting around to find the sound. A guy stood at the end of the section, staring at us. His expression is bland and so expressionless that the word expressions shouldn't even be used.
"I'm pretty sure the whole town can hear you," The guy said sternly. I didn't care about the insult because all I could hear was his deep British accent. This is America, why did I just run into a British?
"Sorry," Elena quickly said, politely smiling at him. We both quickly looked away and stared awkwardly at the books on the shelf. I sneaked back to watch the appealing male breed.
"Shit, we just brought attention to ourselves! We're doomed!" Elena whispered into my ear but I shushed her.
"He's fine," I told her, preferably meant 'it's fine' but the words came out with the eyes. The guy was indeed fine. I've never seen anyone looking like him before, and it's understandable because I come out twice every three months. Either way, is it possible to look anything like that around here?
The guy had better cheekbones than those models in the palace mags. They look so sharp, they might actually cut. His dark well-groomed stubble on the lower part of his face wasn't unnoticeable either as it adds to his dark, mysterious features.
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There was only one thing running through my mind right now. There's no way I'm allowed to date that man. He was everything the palace forbids. He had tattoos all over his arms and brown eyes that could stare directly into your soul. His raven black hair trimmed, faded on the side of his chiseled face.
He was no prince material. He was different— something else, entirely.
As if having a third sense, he removed his eyes from wondering his side of the shelf and caught my gaze. For a second I froze from the sensation of his brown hazel eyes staring into mine but was quickly able to retreat and looked back at Elena, who was busy looking at the blur of a different book. This is crazy ridiculous, I feel like a child. I wonder if he's a model.
My day illusions, staring aimlessly at the books, broke when I felt the warmth of a body heat unnaturally close. My breath held itself, not leaving my lungs nor escaping it. A tatted arm reached out above me and grabbed a familiar book from the shelf. My body stilled at the feel of his rugged t-shirt brushing against the side of my bare arms.
