2. Hailey

CHAPTER 2

HAILEY

I rush through the gleaming lobby of the Chelsea Hotel, my heels clicking against the marble floors. This is the biggest interview of my career so far — Prince Luca, heir to the throne of Werdenfeld — and I can’t be even a minute late.

No pressure or anything.

Taking a deep breath, I go to the front desk and introduce myself. Heart hammering against my chest, I catch my reflection in a mirror and quickly adjust a stray flyaway.

It took me forever to get ready this morning, since everything I tried on just seemed wrong. I want to look good for the prince, but not like I’m trying too hard.

Which I understand is a little crazy. I’m a professional, and so is he. I shouldn’t be undone to this degree. I mean, he is extremely famous, and… extremely attractive.

Attractive enough to make anyone lose their head.

But not me. I know where my priorities are, know what side my bread is buttered on. Thanks to a few strokes of luck and a whole lot of dedication, I’m in my third year at one of the most prestigious news outlets in the world. A job like mine doesn’t leave time for getting caught in fantasies about European royalty.

“Right this way, Ms. Warren,” the concierge says, as he shows me to a private meeting room.

Inside, sunlight streams through the windows overlooking a garden courtyard. A table with two chairs sits in the center, an elegant tea service laid out. I’m fifteen minutes early, which to me is right on time.

“Thank you.” I set my purse on a chair.

The door opens behind the concierge, and I stiffen. Is Luca here already?

But it’s not him. It’s a woman in a suit.

“The royal security team will need to check you as a safety precaution,” the concierge says.

“Oh. Right,” I say. “Of course.”

I’ve been through security scans before, but never anything this involved. The woman pats me down, making sure that I don’t have anything hidden beneath my clothes. Once she’s satisfied that I’m good to go, she and the concierge both leave the room.

I check my recording app and notes, heart pounding. This is my chance to show what I can really do as a journalist. Luca’s been kept very sheltered by his father King Girard, rarely giving interviews. Landing this exclusive will prove I deserve more high-profile stories. And not just at The Morning Star . With an article like this under my belt, all the outlets will be chomping at the bit to hire me. They’ll?—

My phone rings, pulling me out of my thoughts. I look down, smiling when I see it’s my best friend Millie. I answer, already prepared for the familiar background of her kids shrieking as they play and bicker.

“Hey! I’m just waiting on Prince Luca now,” I tell her excitedly.

“I still can’t believe you’re interviewing royalty!” She laughs. “You have to tell me what he smells like, okay? Make sure you take notes on that.”

“Millie.” I sit down at the table and pick up one of the tiny sandwiches. There’s some sort of green paste in it — I’m not even sure what. “This article is about his role as prince. Not about what cologne he uses.”

“Yeah, but it’s for the readers, Hailey. They want to know everything .” Millie’s mischievous tone rings clear through the line. “Make it a whole sensory experience.”

I laugh, even as my heart races with nerves. “Okay, okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Good.” She sounds satisfied, and I can imagine her smug grin. Millie loves vicarious thrills, and there’s nothing more thrilling than a romance with a prince, even if it’s all in her head.

“I should go,” I say, checking the time. “He’ll be in soon.”

“You’re gonna do great.”

I laugh. “Thanks. Wish me luck!”

We hang up, and I take a deep breath and check my makeup in my powder compact’s mirror. Time to focus. This interview could change everything. I just have to stay cool and get him to open up.

There’s the sound of footsteps outside of the door, and my breath hitches in my throat. Here we go.

I stand up, ready to greet Prince Luca with my most professional smile. But as I do, my heel catches on the leg of the table. I stumble, knocking into the tea service and sending it crashing to the floor. Silverware clatters, tea splashing across the carpet.

“Oh, my God!” I gasp, immediately dropping to my knees.

My face burns with embarrassment as I frantically gather spilled teacups and scattered spoons. This is not the polished impression I imagined.

Behind me, an amused voice speaks. “Please, allow me to help.”

I freeze, still crouched on all fours. Slowly, I look over my shoulder. Prince Luca is standing in the doorway, an eyebrow raised as he surveys the mess I’ve made. Our eyes meet and heat rushes to my cheeks.

With as much dignity as I can muster, I get to my feet. “Your Highness, I’m so sorry about this.” I tug on my skirt, willing my hands not to shake as I offer one to him.

“Ms. Warren, I presume?” He takes my hand, shaking it briefly.

Up close he’s even more handsome than in photos, with sharp blue eyes and artfully tousled blond hair. But his expression is aloof, almost bored. Clearly he doesn’t want to be here.

I clear my throat, adopting a bright tone. “Yes, thank you for meeting with me today.” Time to turn on the charm. I can still salvage this interview. “Shall we have a seat and get started?”

I gesture to the plush chairs arranged by the window, hoping he doesn’t notice my nervousness. He nods, taking a seat. I perch across from him, adjusting my skirt again before opening my recording app.

“I hope your time in New York has been good so far.” I work up a smile, trying to not stare at the way his suit jacket perfectly fits his strong shoulders.

He languidly crosses one leg over the other, inspecting his cufflinks. “It’s been… okay.” His response lacks enthusiasm.

I plaster a smile on my face, hoping my disappointment doesn’t show. Not the most enlightening answer. “That’s good to hear,” I reply, striving for upbeat.

He says nothing. Just looks out the window.

I clear my throat. “I thought we’d begin by discussing your future as heir to the throne of Werdenfeld. What are your plans and vision once you take the crown?”

Luca’s expression shutters. “I don’t expect to inherit the throne for many years. My father is in excellent health.”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “But the people are eager to know what kind of leader you’ll be.”

He frowns. “I have no interest in speculating so far in advance.”

I blink, surprised by his abrupt tone. This isn’t going as I envisioned. Time for a new tactic.

“All right, let’s discuss your recent philanthropy efforts, then. The shelter you opened for homeless youths was wonderfully received.”

Again, he shuts down my line of questioning. “That project was mainly my advisor’s doing. I simply provided funding.”

I grip my phone tighter, frustration mounting. Why is he being so difficult? He’s making this impossible. There must be something that interests him, some way to draw him out. I need to get something usable from this interview.

“Your Highness, what motivates you? What are your passions?” I ask gently.

For the first time, he meets my eyes. They’re a striking blue, but stormy. “I prefer keeping my personal interests private.”

I bite my lip. The interview is slipping away from me. Maybe if I turn on the charm…

I lean forward, softening my tone. “Your Highness, I understand wanting privacy. But the people are eager to truly know the future sovereign of your country. Please, help me show them the real you.”

His expression remains closed. “With all due respect, my duties do not include baring my soul for the press. I’ve cooperated out of courtesy to your publication, but I believe we’re done here.”

Finished? What is he talking about? We just got started.

And yet, he stands abruptly, taking the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had with him. I jump up too, desperation clawing at me.

“Please, just a few more minutes,” I say, hating the pleading note in my voice. “Tell me about your childhood, your interests — anything.”

God, I sound pathetic. It’s like I can’t stop myself, though. The words are coming up like vomit, with me unable to do anything about it.

He pauses, something flickering in those blue eyes. But then it’s gone. “I’m afraid I have nothing further to discuss. Thank you for your time.”

With that, he turns and strides from the room, leaving me standing there, stunned. The door clicks shut behind him with dreadful finality.

I sink back into my chair, staring blankly at the phone in my hand. The interview I’ve been waiting weeks for, my chance to impress my editor, has crashed and burned. I don’t have a single usable quote. After all that anticipation, I’ve failed completely.

Frustration wells up as I realize I’ll have to tell my editor I couldn’t get the story. All that work, wasted. This was my big break, and I blew it.