Royal Date by Sariah Wilson Page B

put a smile on his face. “Both of them?”
    “Yes. It was terrible. My sponsors were sorely disappointed.”
    “Didn’t that interfere with your studies? Social work, wasn’t it?”
    I nodded. “What about you? Where did you go to school? What did you major in?”
    “Oxford. International relations.”
    That sounded sort of useless. “How’s that working out for you? Spending a lot of time relating to internationals?”
    He grinned. “I’ve been enjoying it recently, yes.” It took me a second before I figured out that he was talking about me, but before I could respond, he continued. “My studies focused mainly on means of building up my country’s infrastructure. For too long we’ve been reliant on mining done in the mountains. We need other ways to help our economy. One of my plans now is to offer lower taxes to technology companies. We have a low cost of living comparatively to other European nations, and the lower taxes will help to bring in companies and jobs and encourage the growth of small businesses, which is vital to our success. Increasing tourism is also essential to bettering the lives of my citizens and keeping our young people here in Monterra.” He stopped. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?”
    I don’t know what he thought he saw on my face, but it wasn’t boredom. I should have been bored. I should have been Chairman of the Bored. But when he talked, I found myself fascinated by him. The way his mouth moved, how his eyes lit up, the deep, smooth quality of his voice. “Not at all. I can tell you’re really excited about this stuff. That’s so . . .”
    Cute. Sexy. Adorable. Hot. Endearing. Rar. “Never mind.”
    My ice cream was nearly halfway gone and had gotten to that slight melty stage where it tasted even better. “It sounds like some good planning. I am all about a good plan,” I told him.
    “Oh?”
    I licked some chocolate off of my spoon, but I stopped when I noticed him watching me intently. My heart rate kicked up a notch. What were we talking about again? Plans. My plans. Right. “My life is one carefully orchestrated plan. I am a firm believer in creating a plan and sticking to it.” I liked the way it made me feel in control of my life, especially when everything else felt out of control.
    “And you never deviate from your plans, bella ?”
    Tonight had been one giant exercise in deviating from my master plan. My life up to now had been moving from set point to set point. I would graduate in five months with a master’s degree in social work. I had already been offered a full-time position at our county’s Department of Family Services once I graduated. I had an apartment picked out; I had put the first and last months’ rent down. I knew exactly what my life would look like in six months. In five years. In ten.
    And not one of those projections had a prince in it.
    “What is this, Twenty Questions?”
    He looked puzzled and then said, “Is that one of those games you play at American high school parties?”
    I hadn’t gone to many parties. “All the kids at parties in my high school just got drunk and then pregnant.”
    He pushed off from the cabinet and came over. I might have gasped when he jumped up onto the counter next to me, sitting closer than necessary, making our shoulders touch. It made my pulse pound. “Maybe you could show me how some of those games were played.”
    We were not (NOT) going to play any game that involved kissing. “Twenty Questions is easy.”
    “So I ask you twenty questions, and you have to answer them truthfully?”
    He was wrecking my concentration. “No, you think of something and then I ask you twenty questions that have either a yes or no answer until I guess what it is or I run out of questions and lose.”
    “I like my version better.”
    “You can’t just change the rules.”
    “I’m the crown prince of Monterra. I can make whatever rules I want.” On someone else that might have sounded conceited, but with