Reality TV Bites by Shane Bolks Page A

releases me, and I whirl around and look straight into the stunning blue eyes of Prince Nicolo Thierry Ferdinand something-something Bourbon-Parma. “Nicolo. You made it.”
    He takes my arm, draws me expertly away from Dave, and kisses my hand. Suddenly I feel like I’m once again in control, no longer transparent with my feelings and emotions on display. “I could not stay away,” Nicolo says.
    My cheeks warm. “I’m glad. Nicolo, these are my friends. I think you spoke to Rory on the phone.” I gesture to Rory, who’s standing beside Hunter, staring at the prince like he’s—well, like he’s a prince.
    â€œHi,” she says.
    Nicolo takes her hand and kisses it. “Enchanted.”
    Hunter sticks his own hand out, right under Nicolo’s nose. “Hunter Chase. I’m Rory’s boyfriend.”
    Nicolo shakes his hand, their grips hard enough to turn their hands white. “Lucky man.”
    Men. Everything is a competition. Nicolo looks at Dave, then me. “So, those are my friends,” I say, ignoring Dave. But the jerk refuses to be ignored. He shakes hands with Nicolo and says, “Hi, I’m Dave.”
    â€œNice to meet you.”
    I watch Dave and Nicolo shake, trying to discern how hard they’re squeezing. But it looks like a normal handshake, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Hunter was jealous simply because Nicolo told Rory he was enchanted. But Dave, who’s taken me out and kissed me (and rejected me), doesn’t appear jealous in the least. And Nicolo, who’s here because it was the only opportunity I gave him to see me outside of work, isn’t exactly green with envy after he walks in and sees me in Dave’s arms. Okay, have I completely lost my touch?
    â€œWant a beer, Nicolo?” Dave asks.
    â€œSure. A Hasen Bräu would be good.”
    â€œWhat the hell’s that?” Dave asks.
    Nicolo frowns. “Then a Kölsch.”
    â€œI think your foreign beer choices are limited to Heineken or Corona,” Hunter offers.
    Nicolo glances at me, as if I can shed some light on the beer question, and I hold up my glass. “The gin and tonic isn’t too bad. If you don’t like gin.”
    â€œAh, nothing then.”
    â€œSure?” I ask. “Dave’s buying.”
    Nicolo laughs, a deep sound that gives me goose bumps. “Money is not the issue. Unfortunately I cannot stay long.”
    â€œWhy not? Nicolo”—I pull him into a corner with the neglected dartboards—“you’re not going to leave me here with these— sports fans, are you?”
    â€œI am left with no other choice. Work.” He brings his hand up, and at first I think he’s going to touch my cheek. Instead, he caresses a lock of my hair, lifting it to the light when he reaches the ends. “Like golden fire,” he murmurs. “I am sorry to go, especially as I will miss you more than you will me.” He leans close and brushes his lips over mine.I forget to breathe for a moment as Nicolo’s hand meanders down my back, finally settling on my waist.
    â€œI don’t know about that,” I say when he pulls back. “Nicolo, I know who you are.” I glance at the floor, wondering if he’ll be unhappy that I’ve found out his true identity. Maybe it was part of the reality show, and now I’ve gone and ruined it. When I glance up, Nicolo’s got one brow raised.
    â€œWho I am?”
    â€œYou’re a”—I glance around and lower my voice—“a prince.”
    He grins and leans close. “It is not a secret.”
    Yeah, right. That’s what the writers of the Reality TV Addict’s Guide to What’s Real said he’d say. “Then why didn’t you say so before? Why’d you have Yamamoto introduce you as Mr. Parma?”
    He tucks a tangle of hair behind my ear. “Because that is who I am.