Courting Royal

Chapter Five

The next morning, I stare at the red dress hanging on the back of my door, looking incredibly out of place in my studio apartment. I snap a picture of the juxtaposed elements that are my current life, before sighing and calling the number Olga gave me.

I dutifully give the courier my address and he promises that someone will be here in thirty minutes.

If only the salon would courier over my jeans and blouse from yesterday to my apartment. Because I do not feel like leaving.

I owe my Huffington Post editor an article, which I absolutely cannot put off any longer, and I have no clue what to write.

I have a feeling that "I Was Offered An Arranged Marriage with Prince Liam" would possibly end with me being fired and recommended to a psychotherapist.

I make coffee, and sit at my small table, staring vacantly at my French press, as if that will make the time for the coffee to percolate go by faster.

My doorbell rings, the noise making me jump a little. I guess maybe the courier lives near me and this was his first stop of the day.

I cross the room to the front door and press the buzzer to let the courier up, then busy myself with putting the gorgeous red dress back into the garment bag. As I'm gathering up the rest of the accessories that came with it, I realize this is what I should have been doing instead of staring at my coffee.

There's a knock at the door, and I yell, "Just a sec," as I gingerly place the jewelry into its soft black velvet box, then load that into the pocket of the garment bag, before grabbing it off the door, and finally, opening the front door.

But it isn't a courier.

It's Liam Davenport.

Just standing at my door, holding a bouquet of peonies and looking like he stepped directly out of my dreams.

"Morning," he says cheerfully, as if it isn't weird that he's here.

"Hi," I say, sounding as dumbfounded as I feel.

"I know I should have called," he says. "But I don't have your number."

"You could have gotten it from Emilia."

He smiles and says,"This way is more fun," before his eyes roam me up and down.

That's when I remember that I'm wearing an oversized T-shirt with my college mascot emblazoned on it, no bra, and teeny-tiny pink sleep shorts that are practically translucent. My hair is piled on top of my head. I have on zero makeup.

It would be slightly embarrassing to answer the door for a courier in this state. It's mortifying to have a prince who has dated actual supermodels give you a once over like that.

I cover my face with my hands and then say, "I need a minute."

I swiftly close the door, and hurry around my apartment, throwing on a bra, jeans, and a shirt that isn't oversized or featuring a cartoon of a bulldog. There isn't time to do anything substantial about my face, but I still take my hair out of its messy bun and do my best to arrange it into a sleek yet perky ponytail.

I then give my place a once over. It's not clean but it isn't terribly messy either. I grab the discarded clothes that are lying on the arm of the couch and throw them into the laundry hamper, then quickly make my bed.

Once that's all done I realize I probably shouldn't have done any of this and invited him in as if it was no big deal. I should have acted like I expected him to show up.

Sighing, I walk back to the door, open it, and am slightly shocked that Liam is still standing there.

"Better?" he asks.