His Royal Highness(73)

“Did you reserve a table for five at dinner?” I ask later, sitting at the window to use the natural light to apply my makeup.

“Yes. Avery might bring a guest.”

No. She won’t. I suggested she do that because I’m a wimp and haven’t told my parents about Derek. Even now, as we stand on the sidewalk, underneath the theater’s marquee, I still haven’t spilled the beans, and I realize this was slightly poor planning on my part right as Derek steps out of a car, stands to his full height, and straightens his suit jacket.

My heart leaps into my throat.

He really came.

He flew all the way to New York to be here for me tonight.

I glance over at my parents and they’ve noticed him as well. Everyone has. The carpet that leads from the street to the theater entrance has been roped off for arrivals. We, of course, came in off the sidewalk, ushered by a coordinator who immediately marked us as unworthy. Sort of. She did tug my arm as I passed.

“Who are you? A blogger? Do you act? If you want photos, you’ll need to enter from the street.”

I decided to take the compliment before setting her straight.

Some of the other guests arriving to the theater are milking that short walk up the carpet for everything it’s worth. Step. Pose. Smile. Smoldering glare. Flash, flash, flash. Derek ignores the photographers as they start snapping away frantically. He ducks his head down and keeps his eyes straight ahead.

I doubt the paparazzi know exactly who he is. After all, he’s not a fixture in New York society, but that doesn’t stop them from angling to get a good photo. Snap now, research later.

With quick strides, he moves past them, heading to the door of the theater, then he looks up and halts. A few feet from him, I stand with my parents.

He smiles. Flawlessly suited, hair freshly trimmed, features in perfect harmony. Warmth spreads through me, and for half a second on that busy sidewalk, there’s only the two of us, exchanging a silent greeting.

His eyes quickly scan down my dress, a short simple black thing, unassuming except for its tight fit. I have a wrap covering my shoulders, not enough to battle the cool New York temperatures, but at the moment, I don’t feel a thing.

My parents look at each other, then over their shoulders, trying to determine who he’s looking at because surely it can’t be me. Then he turns, walks straight for me, and leans down to plant a kiss directly on my mouth. It’s unexpected. Brief, but sweet. And just like that, the last two days are wiped clean. They’re nothing compared to how he makes me feel. My cheeks grow hot as the cameras continue flashing. Derek wears a proud smile. I want to poke his side and berate him for drawing so much attention to us, but then I realize we’re being watched by more than just the press.

My parents are gaping, eyes wide, utterly confused.

“Um…Mom, Dad…this is Derek,” I say as he turns to them.

My mom shakes her head. “Are you…I’m sorry, are you a friend of Avery’s?”

She apparently missed the part where we exchanged saliva.

Derek smiles and stretches his hand out toward her. “I’m Derek Knightley, Whitney’s boyfriend. It’s good to meet you both.”

After shaking my father’s hand, he suggests we move inside—since the cameras are still flashing away—and my parents do exactly as they’re told. I’ve never seen them so awestruck.

“I’m sorry, did you say you’re Whitney’s boyfriend?” my mom asks, trying to clarify things once we’re in the lobby.

Does she have to look so surprised? Honestly.

My dad is even more confused. “Whitney didn’t mention anything.”

My neck grows hot. I rip off my wrap and tuck it under my arm.

“How about a drink? Does anyone want a drink?” I ask, scanning around the lobby for a bar. There, across the room.

I don’t wait for replies. I just smile and say, “One for everyone? Okay! Be right back!” then dash in the opposite direction. Leaving Derek alone with my parents after the world’s most awkward introduction is cruel to say the least, but I make a silent promise to make it up to him later.

Once I’m in line at the bar, I glance back and see the three of them are carrying on a conversation just fine. Or rather, Derek is. My parents look utterly enraptured.

By the time I return, carefully balancing four glasses of champagne, everyone seems like old friends.

“I could have helped you,” Derek says, quickly taking two of the glasses out of my hands before I accidentally spill the whole lot down the front of my dress.

“It’s okay.”

“So Derek.” My mom stares up at him, eyes twinkling. “You said you’re staying at The Plaza? Avery was just there last month for a meeting with her agent.” That segue back to Avery is impressive even by my standards. “I wonder if you know him? Martin Branch?”

“Why would Derek know Avery’s agent?” is the question I ask in my head before downing half of my champagne.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“But you must know quite a few people in New York City, what with your family…”

Being so rich and all is what my father is hinting at.

Another big gulp of champagne slides down my throat. At this rate, I won’t be able to walk come curtain call.

“You grandfather is Charles Knightley?” my mom asks when the conversation lulls.