Who Made You a Princess? (9 page)

I remember Brett sucking in a breath as he looked at Carly. And the scent of the freesia in a big bowl at the bottom of the
steps.

But mostly I remember Rashid in a flawlessly cut Savile Row suit and tie, gazing up at me with those dark brown eyes as though
I were some Olympian goddess, about to give him a golden apple.

“You look ravishing.” He picked up my hand and kissed it, and goose bumps tiptoed all the way up my arm to my neck and up
the back of my skull.

Whoa.
And that was just your hand.

I couldn’t think things like that. I’d blush and go all weird, and he’d wonder what was wrong with me. I had to play it cool.
Princes were still guys. I’d treat him like…like the friends we could have been, if we hadn’t lived on opposite sides of the
planet.

Except the way he looked at me didn’t feel like “just friends.”

The limo waiting in the sweep of the driveway was so big, I hardly registered the presence of the BGs—Farrouk and Bashir,
I mean, though I couldn’t tell who was who. Brett opened a couple of sparkling waters, poured them into glasses, and squeezed
fresh lime into them from a dish of ice waiting at his elbow. I could have ridden around all night like this, but it takes
longer to park a limo this size than it does to drive to TouTou’s.

The driver got out to open the door and I caught Carly’s eye.

Statement
, she mouthed silently, and grinned.

Because Mac was right.

I don’t know how they’d got wind of it, but a cloud of paparazzi coalesced out of nowhere. I took a deep breath, put my shoulders
back, and slid out of the limo Pradas first, pushing off with my leg muscles instead of getting out head and torso first.
That, you’ll remember, is how the paparazzi got that big old cleavage shot of Lady Diana at the Goldsmiths’ Hall back in 1981.
My cleavage is my business.

When the prince came out after me and offered me his arm, the evening lit up like a lightning strike with all the flashes
going off. Somehow Brett and Carly positioned themselves in front of us in a protective barrier, and the four of us walked
as quickly as the crowd would let us into the vestibule of the restaurant.

The doorman closed the door behind us and the BGs took up a fighting stance just inside, in case anyone decided to rush the
door for a final shot.

“Wow,” Carly breathed as she let her wrap slide down her shoulders. The diamonds in her ears caught some serious sparkle from
the lighting overhead. “That’s gotta be a first for me.”

“Consider it practice for the movie premiere,” I murmured.

Brett stepped up to the glass table where the hostess smiled, waiting. “Loyola, party of four.”

She glanced at the leather book. Just a formality, I was sure. Because of course the whole restaurant had already been reconned
by the BGs, and everyone had probably brushed up on their royal protocol once they knew the prince was coming.

The hostess looked up. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid there’s no table for you.”

“There is,” Brett said. “I booked it myself a couple of days ago.”

“Sir, we book at least a month in advance.”

“I was assured we had a reservation. I’m Brett Loyola, from Spencer.” He lowered his voice. “And Prince Rashid of Yasir is
in our party. Even if there is some kind of mistake, I’m sure you know about that.”

She looked over at Rashid and me, and her face paled. “One moment, sir.” She vanished into the back, behind a huge vase filled
with flowers.

“Is everything all right?” one of the BGs asked Brett. “I did the security check myself, yesterday. You were to have the corner
table, between the two windows.”

I leaned over to look into the dining room. “That table’s empty. And there’s even a waiter standing next to it. They seem
to be ready for us.”

Brett moved as if to go in, when a man in a suit came around the vase, the hostess right behind him. “Mr. Loyola?”

With a smile, Brett said, “It’s okay. I see our table. We’ll just go in now.”

“Mr. Loyola, wait, please.”

Both Brett and the prince raised an eyebrow. It would have been funny if I hadn’t felt so uncomfortable. There was something
in the man’s tone I didn’t like.

“My name is Antonio Edgardo. I’m the manager of TouTou’s. I’m afraid I have some…unfortunate news.”

“Did something happen?” I couldn’t help it. I had to ask.

He glanced at me, then at the prince. “No, miss. But I am afraid we’ll be unable to serve you today.”

All of us stared. The dining room was only three-quarters full, and our table was ready and waiting. Brett found his voice
first. “What do you mean? Our table’s right there.”

“That is reserved for another party.”

“But the prince’s security said it was for us.”

The manager nodded toward the BGs, who were both frowning. “I’m sorry. The gentleman is mistaken. We are unable to serve you
today.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Brett said. “What I want to know is, why?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Who’s the other party?” Carly asked suddenly. “At that table, I mean.”

The manager looked relieved, as if here was a question he had an answer to. “That table is reserved for the Talbot party,
miss.”

“Talbot,” I repeated. “As in, Vanessa?”

“Yes, miss. Now, may I ask you to leave?”

“You may not.” The BGs’ frowns were nothing to the one Rashid was sporting. “My party cannot be turned away. It is impossible.”

“I apologize, Your Highness.” The manager actually half bowed. “I deeply regret our inability to serve you. I hope you will
enjoy yourselves very much at another establishment.”

“I don’t believe this,” Brett breathed.

I gripped the prince’s arm and tugged. “Come on. We’re out of here. I’m not going to give Vanessa Talbot the satisfaction
of seeing pictures of us getting kicked out. Who’s for Lori’s Diner?”

“Me!” Carly said with a bright smile. “I’d kill for one of her burgers.”

Rashid looked as though he was about to declare World War III. “I am not leaving. I wish to speak to the owner.”

I looked him in the eye. “We’ve been set up, Rashid. Vanessa did this to embarrass us. To embarrass you. She probably called
the tabs and told them to be here, too.”

Carly stepped closer, eyes snapping. “We’re going to act as if we just came for a soda, and we’re going to climb into that
limo looking like we’re having the time of our lives. Total jealousy-making pictures will result. She’s not going to win this
one.” She glanced at the manager, and the snap in her eyes turned to withering scorn. “Everyone knows they serve alcohol to
minors here because of her, anyway.”

Before Brett and Rashid could say another word, the BGs flung the doors open. I pulled Rashid out beside me and pasted on
an “I’m living the high life and don’t you hate me for it?” smile. We trooped out onto the sidewalk, laughing and talking
while the flashes popped and somebody gabbled descriptions of our dresses into a handheld recorder.

When the doors shut behind us and the limo pulled out into traffic, I drew a deep breath and sank back onto the leather cushions.
“And the Oscar goes to…”

“I have never been so humiliated in my life.” Rashid’s tone held deadly calm. The kind that comes before the storm. “If it
had not been for you, I would have ordered the owner to explain himself to me—and then serve me himself. On his knees.”

“It’s not their fault, Rashid. Vanessa obviously has some serious clout there. This might be your only visit, but she’s there
constantly. They’d probably go out of business without her.”

Rashid turned to Carly. “What was that you said back there? About alcohol?”

She shrugged and glanced at Brett, then back at Rashid. “They serve alcohol to minors. I’ve been there when they’ve done it.
That’s why Vanessa always has her meetings and things in the upstairs room. So no one sees.”

His eyes narrowed. “So this is illegal, then?”

“Very much so.”

“Ah.” He sat back and didn’t say another word until we arrived at the diner.

We may have been insanely overdressed for it, but in San Francisco, a woman—or a man—can go to McDonald’s in sequins and a
feather boa and no one looks twice. The BGs requested a separate table and settled in with glasses of iced tea a few seats
away. We ordered up our burgers and when they came, I felt relieved when Rashid made no moves at all on my ketchup.

In fact, he behaved like a normal guy—if normal means perfect manners and interesting conversation. Okay, so he’s messing
up the bell curve. I still appreciated it, even if all we were talking about was school.

“So what concentration are you working on?” he asked me. “If Carly’s is history and Brett’s is math?”

I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Technically, it’s an individual concentration, but what that works out to is economics.
They’ve let me build my own out of math, political science, and history.”

“In order to do what?” Carly asked. “Sounds brutal.”

I nodded. “It is, but it’s interesting. My dad runs this massive petroleum company. I haven’t really talked it over with him,
but I figure once I bag my M.B.A. at Northwestern or Harvard Business School or Stanford, I can go to work for him.”

“You’re really looking out there into the future.” Brett bit into his kosher pickle. “I figure I’m doing good knowing when
midterms are.”

“Yeah, I worry about those, too. What about you, Rashid? What do you want to do?” The second the words were out, I wanted
to kick myself. What else was he going to do but run a country?

He smiled at me in a way that made me feel as if my question wasn’t so stupid. “A ruler must know many things. Politics, economics,
languages. I am here for two reasons. One is to take a term of computer science, with tutoring every week from experts in
Silicon Valley. I plan on a doctorate from Oxford in political science, even though my father would rather I went into the
military.”

“I’d stick with Oxford,” Brett said.

“We are in agreement.”

“What’s the second reason?” I asked.

Rashid smiled at me. “To see my childhood friend again, of course. I am glad to see we share an interest in politics and economics.
I do not doubt you will be running your father’s company when I am running my father’s kingdom.”

I had to laugh at the thought. “Maybe when we’re fifty. But first things first. College apps and scores and all that red tape.”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Carly said. “It’s Friday night, we’re out on the town with two hot men, and we can sleep in tomorrow.
It doesn’t get better than that.”

“Yes, it does.” Brett patted the chest pocket of his jacket. “I happen to have four tickets to Luna’s, if anybody feels like
going.”

“Who’s playing?” I demanded, hardly able to believe it. Luna’s brought in the coolest acts for intimate performances. People
lined up for blocks, but you either had to be on a list or have a look the bouncers liked. And sometimes even that didn’t
work. Then another thought hit me. “Not that it matters. You have to be twenty-one to get in.”

“Not on nights they don’t serve alcohol. Which would be tonight, because it’s a family show.”

“Whose family?” Carly asked.

“Oh, just the Dylans.” Brett grinned as album covers flipped in our heads.

“Dylans,” I said. “As in Bob and Jakob?”

“Yep.”

Carly and I shrieked and leaped up to hug him. I knew for a fact that show had sold out to subscribers before the box office
even opened. I’d never seen Bob Dylan live before, and how cool was it that being in the prince’s party made sure we had seats
on the edge of the stage?

The evening was like something out of someone else’s life. I mean, I’ve had some pretty good seats at concerts before. Season
tickets on the court at Bulls games. But I’ve never been escorted to my table by the club manager himself, or been taken backstage
to meet a legend and his son at a whispered request.

When we finally fell into the limo at one in the morning, chattering a mile a minute while the final encore still played in
my head, I had to conclude that dating a prince definitely had its perks.

The limo pulled up at Spencer’s front steps. As I got out, I felt like Cinderella coming home after the ball, or, to use one
of Lissa’s sci-fi references, Luke coming back to boring old Tatooine after saving the galaxy.

The prince and the BGs climbed out after me. After a second, I realized Carly and Brett weren’t following, and a second after
that, I realized why.

My face heating in a blush, I practically ran through the doors.

The BGs marched up the staircase, presumably to flush bad guys out of Rashid’s dorm room, which left the two of us standing
in the reception hall. The normal weekday curfew of lights-out at ten p.m. was suspended on weekends. The only light came
from a couple of the wall sconces and the upstairs hallway. The stairs were a swath of shadow.

I paused on the bottom step. “Well. Um. Thank you for a wonderful evening. I’ve never had one like it. Even being kicked out
of TouTou’s turned out to be fun.”

“I am glad you had a good time.” He leaned on the banister, one shallow marble step below me. This put our eyes on the same
level. “I, too, have never had one like it.”

“Really?” I whispered. He stood close. Closer. “Rashid?”

His eyes held pools of darkness. “I love the sound of my name on your lips.”

Oh, my. What a romantic thing to say. But I had no business getting romantic with him.

You want to.

I shouldn’t. I told Danyel I liked him.

Danyel isn’t here.

“Rashid, did you mean what you said before? That you came to Spencer partly because of me?”

“Yes. Our families have been connected since the sixteenth century.”

I blinked. Is that what Mom had meant by “a bunch of history”? The mistress of the understatement, my mom.

“And you and I played together as children.” He paused. “Of all the schools in this country, I wanted one where I knew a friend.
School can be a very lonely place for someone in my position.”