Gamble on Engagement (12 page)

I paused, you know, for effect.

Mattie sighed. “If you say Prince Leo, I’m
going to be sorely disappointed. That boy is not on the cutting
edge of fashion.”

Hmm, I thought, Prince Leo always looked
good to me.

“No, I’m not going to tell you that. It’s
the closet of … Melania Devoe!” I had to hold back from
squee-ing.

Which was okay, really, because Mattie did
enough for both of us. “Get out!” he yelled.

“Seriously, you would not believe the shoes
alone!”

“But, I thought they broke up like, a year
ago.”

“They did, but she left all her stuff
behind. She apparently wanted a clean slate or something.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Luckily for me, I’m totally not!”

“You may be the unluckiest woman alive, but
you sure know how to even it out by being the luckiest too.”

“I know, right?! Anyway, I gotta go. I’m
supposed to be using Melania’s stuff to create a disguise so that
Leo and I can head out on the town without anyone knowing who I
am!”

“Whoa, hold on there a minute, McMaster.
What do you mean you’re heading out on the town with him?”

“What? What’s wrong with that?”

“Don’t you think it might tick Jake off just
a little bit?”

“Why? It’s my job to hang out with the
Prince.”

“So, why all the secrecy then?”

I could not believe Mattie was going all
suspicious on me. “Mattie, you know I can’t be seen with the
Prince, no one can know that I’m ghostwriting his book. It’s
supposed to be an autobiography.”

“I guess…” he said, sounding less than
convinced.

“Sorry Mattie, but I really gotta go.”

“Okay hon, but be careful.”

“Of course. Bye!” I said, staring at my
phone, confused as to what he was so worried about.

I mean, it’s not like anyone was ever even
going to know it was me. And it’s not like I wasn’t going to tell
Jake all about it the next time he called or anything.

And besides, I had a great big, giant wall
of closets to get to.

Nothing was going to bring me down.

~ 10 ~

I swear, I could have spent twenty-four
hours straight in there, and hated that I only had one. I mean, how
was I supposed to choose just one outfit, one wig, one palette of
makeup? It seemed impossible as I stared at the once exciting, but
now almost overwhelming wall.

My head started spinning just looking at
everything and I knew I had to do something. I started shutting
doors until just one set of doors was left open.

Good.

This was much, much more manageable. The
shoes. Just the shoes.

But dear God, there were a lot of them.

First step, check what size Melania wears.
Please let her have small feet, please let her have small feet, you
know, for the six foot Amazon woman that she is.

I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers and
stepped up to the wall of shoes.

Holy couture, there was a shoe God. Size six
and a half.

Okay, I was going to a club. With a Prince.
What kind of shoes would I wear if I were going to a club with a
Prince. ‘Cause, you know, I was. I shouted out a little squee in my
mind and continued my perusal of the shoe closet. For some reason
the silver ones seemed to be calling my name. I mean, I don’t
recall ever having worn silver shoes in my life and I guess it just
seemed like the right time. When you think about it there really
isn’t a whole lot of reason to wear silver shoes when you’re a
regular person, so tonight, when I wasn’t going to be just any old
regular person anymore, silver shoes were a perfect fit.

Of course, there were still about ten pairs
to pick from, but at least I had begun to narrow it down. Three
minutes later and my feet were cradled in a pair of Manolo Blahnik
rhinestone buckle sandals. Very dressy for a club, but I figured
you only live once, right? Well, you only live inside a
supermodel’s closet once, that is.

I closed the shoe closet and moved on to
what to wear with the shoes. Because the shoes were so fancy, I was
thinking something a little less so for the dress.

A slinky little black one, perhaps?

Of course, there were about two dozen of
those too, so it still wasn’t going to be the easiest thing in the
world. Spaghetti Strap, halter, fringed, glittery… my head was
spinning with the choices. Of course, the sheer skimpiness of most
of them ruled them out, I mean, I did my yoga every morning, but I
was no supermodel.

I finally settled on a simple tank dress,
figuring I could dress it up with a belt and various other
accessories. Goodness knew there were enough of them to be had.

By the time the hour was up, I was almost
ready. My makeup was perfect, and fairly caked on given the fact
that I was supposed to be in disguise. I’d created a purplish smoky
eye and deep burgundy lips. A look that I’d probably never wear out
if I were being myself, but actually didn’t look half bad, if I did
say so myself. The dress looked great and the shoes were, of
course, my favorite part. I couldn’t get over how much more
comfortable designer shoes were than the knock offs. Of course, I
could be changing my mind a couple hours down the road, especially
if the Prince was into dancing, but for now, it was literally like
walking on a cloud.

But I had yet to decide on the most
important part of the whole outfit.

The wig.

Who knew it was such a chore to choose
between being a blonde, brunette, redhead, or raven-haired.

There was a quiet knock on the door. “Josie?
Are you just about ready? We should probably get going soon.”

Shit. I was already late. “Uh, yeah, just a
minute,” I said, and made a split second decision, grabbing the
long dark, soft curls with side-swept bangs.

I’d already pinned up my own hair, so it was
a fairly quick procedure.

It was almost shocking what a difference the
hair made. Suddenly, I was no longer Josie, but looking almost Eva
Mendes-esque. You know, minus all the best curves, but I had to
say, the effect was not too shabby.

I almost rushed back to the makeup table for
a perfectly placed mole, just like Eva, but I figured that might be
slight overkill. Plus, if I were to accidentally ruin my makeup job
now, it would be a tragedy of epic proportions.

I ran to the door… okay, more like tiptoe
scurrying, considering the shoes, and opened it to find Leo still
standing there.

“Whoa,” he spit out, then quickly cleared
his throat to cover the outburst.

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take that
as a compliment,” I said, secretly loving that I’d drawn something
like that out of a guy like him.

Mind you, it wasn’t really me, but I’d
certainly take it.

Finally he chuckled. I guess he figured he
wasn’t having any luck covering it up. “Err, sorry about that. You
just look so different. And very beautiful by the way.” His smile
quickly turned into shock as his eyes opened wide, realizing what
he’d said. “I mean, not that you don’t normally look beautiful….”
He searched for the right thing to say.

I just laughed, letting him off the hook.
“Don’t worry, and thank you.”

His relief showed immediately and I was
rather flattered that what I thought even mattered to him. Of
course, I suppose I was the person responsible for making him look
good in his book, so that was probably a big factor.

“Shall we?” he asked, ever the gentleman and
held his arm out for me to hold while he led me to the front
door.

Which, I gotta say, was a really good thing.
I mean, the shoes may have been comfortable and beautiful, but they
were not the easiest things in the world to walk in. Cripes, what
would they be like to dance in?

The trip to the city was quicker than I was
used to, given that we were driving the Prince’s Aston Martin, and
he apparently wasn’t all that concerned with the posted speed
limits. Even in the city. Traffic lights seemed to be somewhat of
an option for him as well, instead of, you know, the law.

Once we got to the club, as expected, there
was no waiting in line for Leo, and we got VIP treatment as we
moved inside. A special area for us to sit was quickly cleared,
much to the chagrin of the girls who had been sitting there. Of
course, they didn’t give the Prince any dirty looks. No, those were
reserved just for me. I suppose Leo must have been used to that
sort of thing, and maybe all his dates in the past were too, given
that most of them were models and actresses. But I had to say, it
was not my cup of tea. I was a bit more used to people being
friendly. Although maybe it was the outfit. I mean, did being
well-dressed and giving off an air of wealth actually make people
treat you like crap?

“So, what do you think?” Leo asked.

I actually hadn’t had much time to think
about the place, but now that we were sitting, I took a good look
around. The music was pounding, as you’d expect in any club, and
the whole place had a feeling of movement to it. And not in a good
way. More like in a creepy-crawly wormlike kind of way. It was like
the walls and ceiling were even moving with the bass vibrating the
lights and the strobe show completely messing with my equilibrium.
And apparently the fire code laws must be different in England or
something, because what I would have once thought was crowded, did
not hold a candle to whatever the heck this was.

It was positively sardine-like.

But around our table there was a teeny bit
of breathing room, thank God.

I kept trying to talk to Leo, but with the
music and everything, it was pretty much impossible. We did,
however, have a lot of awkward eye contact and fake smiling. It was
so weird, the guy was normally so easy to talk to, but in a club
like this, when talking was out of the question, all our comfort
went shooting straight out the window along with the light from the
laser show.

Leo did have quite a few people come up and
talk to him though. Friends or acquaintances or whatever, and
somehow he seemed able to hold short conversations with them, but
about the only words I exchanged with anybody was shouting my drink
order to the waitress. Of course, once she had it, the drinks just
kept coming whether I ordered them or not. Honestly, it was a good
thing I’d been so in the mood for Appletinis, because that’s what I
was getting for the duration whether I liked it or not.

I had no idea if the Prince was paying for
our drinks or not, but I had a feeling they may have been
complimentary. I wondered if I should ask Leo, to gather some info
for the book, but figured it might be rude.

God, how was I ever going to get this book
off the ground?

I had to make a decision. Either I was going
to continue along as I was doing and be scared of always doing or
saying the wrong thing, or I was going to write a damned good book.
I just had to suck it up and ask the bloody questions that needed
to be asked.

Of course, when I opened my ginormous trap
and asked (yelling to be heard over the music), “So, do you get all
this stuff for free?” it might have been nice if the music hadn’t
chosen that exact moment to go silent.

Leo looked mortified.

But not quite as much as me, I was sure.

He cleared his throat and gave the friend
who’d been sitting there at the time a sheepish smile. “Don’t you
worry your pretty little head about anything babe. I’ve got it
covered.”

I. Could. Have. Died.

I closed my eyes, hoping it would make all
the stares go away and took a sip of my drink. A very long sip.

Finally, after what seemed like
approximately one thousand and three years, the music started up
again and I let the pounding bass take over my brain and shake it
around for a little while, while I continued to enjoy my
Appletinis, more quickly now.

I cursed myself for being such an idiot. I
mean, I was sure the Prince didn’t actually think I was worried
about the money or whatever, but I’d kind of put him in a bad spot
too, considering he couldn’t just tell the guy who was sitting with
us—not to mention the gazillion other people who had been in ear
shot—that I was just his ghostwriter asking questions for the
secret book that
he
was supposed to be writing.

By the end of the night, I think I may have had one
too many Appletinis… okay, maybe six, and the Prince was not far
behind me. Thank goodness he’d been smart enough to call Reginald
to come and get us. I was certainly in no mood (or stomach
capacity, for that matter) to drive back the way Leo drove. I
couldn’t even imagine how terrifying it might be after he’d had a
few drinks.

On the way back, I was nearly asleep in the
back of the car, and I actually thought Leo was too, when suddenly
he screamed, “Reginald, stop the car!”

My head whipped up and I braced myself for
what might be ahead. I’d been thinking we were about to crash into
a cow or something, but we actually slowed to a nice, smooth stop
on the side of the road.

In the middle of nowhere.

“What? What is it?” I asked, scanning the
landscape in every direction, wondering what on Earth the problem
was.

It hadn’t even occurred to me, given the way
I’d been half asleep—okay, I might have been all the way to
drooling—that there might not be anything wrong at all.

“I just had to show you something,” he said,
getting out of the car.

I scrambled to get out my side, fumbling in
my half-drunken stupor. Leo was already making his way around to my
side of the car and proceeded to walk directly into the ditch.

I went to follow, but stopped myself,
shedding my shoes and tossing them back onto the seat. I may have
been drunk, but I was nowhere near drunk enough to risk messing up
a pair of perfectly good Manolos.