ALEC
I met her eight hours ago and she's been my only thought since.
It's seriously fucked up.
I am lying down in my bed and can't close my eyes. All I think about is our conversation on the rooftop. The way she was standing there. She was by far the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. That blonde hair, those big blue eyes, her flawless skin, the few freckles around her nose. She looked more than beautiful. She was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous.
Although she didn't know my name, I recognized her. It only took me five seconds to figure out she's the princess. She wasn't wearing any tiara or so, but her clothes screamed royalty. And money. She had a white cardigan on, with black margins and white buttons, a black skirt and white knee-long thighs. Her feet had black loafers on. She had pearls on. Many pearls. Around her neck. As earrings from her ears. As I said, money.
She seems to be all innocent, but there's a feistiness there. She knows how to respond to comments. She likes the thrill. She's Foxy. The world can call her however, for me, she's Foxy.
And I want her to be mine.
During lunchtime, I kept on searching for her. Her eyes make my heart kick in a way I didn't think as possible before. My body responds to her. She doesn't even have to try.
She on the other hand looked away every time or eyes met. Doesn't want us to look at each other. She's probably afraid of me. I'm afraid of what she can do to me.
No one noticed my search for her. No one but Adam. As we were outside, he took me into a corner and said: "Forget her, Alec. She's untouchable. Even for you."
I hardly stopped a punch. I showed him the middle finger instead.
I know he was right. The girl is untouchable. She even has a bodyguard to protect her from anyone who tries to come too close.
However, I find myself opening my laptop and searching her name. There are many photos of her online. In each one she looks perfect. The articles also agree. All articles headlines are like: Her Royal Highness Sofia Estair of Cordelia, the fairytale princess we all love. Or: Picture-perfect: Princess Sofia of Cordelia spotted walking around Broix. I know where Broix is. Cordelia is a small European country between Italy and Switzerland, with the capital in Broix. The official languages are English and French. I've never been there but my parents have partnerships with businessmen from there. Because although the country is small, it's damn important. Many companies have their headquarters there and Broix is one of the biggest financial centres in the world. Figures that the princess is dressed head-to-toe in Chanel. It makes me wonder if her underwear is Chanel as well. And then I wonder why the heck I already start thinking about her underwear.
As if I were possessed, I read every article I can find about her. She is perfect, in every single one. Hasn't ever done a mistake. Hasn't been involved in any single scandal. Only her father has. The King has cheated on the Queen with his secretary, a woman called Gillian who's twenty years younger. What the heck?! The journalists even interviewed the at the time fourteen year-old Sofia, asking her about her opinion. Her answers were all very diplomatic, protecting her parents. I wouldn't have done that. But that's also because the only thing that ties me to my parents anymore is the company I'll inherit. Nothing else. I feel no love for those people.
When I can't have it anymore and realize how mental I am stalking her, I go back to bed and try to close my eyes. Yet my dreams are also about her.
It's official. I'm fucked up.