In the world of wealth and make-believe, Royally Kissed follows the tale of Paige Cadwyn, an heiress who believes that no man could ever love her despite her beauty and kindness. And when she falls hopelessly in love with Arthur Huxley, a senior in...
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—fortysix—
the sickeningly hopeful
PAIGE GLANCED OUTSIDE.
There were a couple of men taking pictures of her and Owen, even as they were eating their lunch at Bob's. They hadn't premeditated this when they chose the couch tucked away at the corner of the diner right by the windowpane. Curious stares were surrounding them, of course, as the thunder-like flashes hit them one after the other beyond the glass.
Although she'd expected this way long ago, she didn't really anticipate how much of a change it would cause her. She was all but hunkering down at their table in embarrassment. Paige was overwhelmed where Owen was nonchalant, suffice to say.
"I still don't understand the nature of their job, to be honest," she said to Owen, forking her pasta rather absentmindedly, one hand covering half of her face. "Much less their interest of us stuffing ourselves."
After swallowing, Owen shrugged as he wiped his napkin around the rim of his mouth. "You have to get used to it, though. But remember one thing–be careful about what you show to the world. What appears to be good to you might be the worst thing for other people."
"Yeah," she rolled her eyes, "they thought I was seeing a commoner when I was just visiting my friends. And what is it to them if I'm meeting up with someone who holds no title? What is wrong in being friends with them, anyway?"
Owen pulled his eyebrows together. "And who are these friends, if you don't mind me asking, amore mio? Sorry, I haven't been aware of the news lately."
Her lips tugged up fleetingly. It had been more or less two weeks since they got into an official relationship. But there was always something so new whenever he addressed her that way–amore mio, Italian for 'my love'. Perhaps because they'd been friends for so long that she almost couldn't get used to the fact that they were now together. However, Owen would call her 'potato' if he was more inclined to be playful and less romantic for the day. She liked both.
"You remember Cain?"
"Yeah. He was at the ball, I believe."
"Yes. I'm friends with his family, too, so," she jolted a shoulder, trying not to glare at a paparazzo who'd just basically hurt her eyes with the flare of his camera. She cleared her throat, and she didn't want to dampen the mood; but her voice gave away as she remembered the promise all too vividly, "His father's...ill."
Owen reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze. "I'm sorry to hear that. You can visit him anytime you want. Just try to be discreet about it, I'd suggest. We don't want them barging into your friend's house."
An ache had crawled its way into her chest, but she managed a tight smile at him eventually. This was the good thing about having Owen–he was more of a partner than a boyfriend. He always met her halfway when the situation called for it. He'd proven himself to be responsible enough to take care of her as if it were his duty.
