The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (learn to read books TXT) 📗

“Do you know what your issue is? You’re so determined to seem like you don’t care about me that you become…” He paused. “What is the word?”

“I have no idea,” I said, deadpan.

Olivier said, “Sanctimonious. That’s the word.”

My jaw dropped. “Sanctimonious? The hell I am.”

“I knew disclosing my identity to you would make things awkward.” He sounded genuinely frustrated. “You now find me intimidating, but instead of admitting as much, you’re now lashing out at me.”

Good lord, I did not need this psychobabble, no matter how accurate it might be. Stopping, I turned to look him in the face. “I don’t find you intimidating. What I find annoying is that we keep getting delayed in our objective because you constantly have groupies coming around to ask for your autograph like you’re Harry Styles or something.”

“Who?”

“One Direction? Never mind. It’s not important.” We’d finally arrived at the hotel, thank God. I was sweating like crazy, and I was probably bright red from the exertion. Although I didn’t have red hair, I did have the complexion of a redhead. I blamed my da for that one.

When we checked in, the man at the front desk spoke just to Olivier while I waited. It was only when we went to the elevator and I asked for my key that Olivier said, “We’re in the same room.”

“What? We agreed to separate rooms.”

“They only booked us for one, and there isn’t another one available.” Olivier handed me a second key. When I didn’t take it, he added, “There are two beds, sweetheart. I promise not to compromise you.”

I took the key with a low growl. “Fine. Great. We’ll stay in the same room.”

Because my life was apparently one big joke, when we opened our door, I saw a grand total of one bed. It was a king-sized bed, but still.

“I’ll call for a rollaway bed,” I said.

He lifted one eyebrow. “The bed is big enough for three people. We can share.”

I really, really did not want to share a bed with this arrogant prince, and I really, really, did not want to admit it was because a part of me wanted to grab him and ravish him. He said I wouldn’t have to worry about him getting handsy? Joke was on him, because apparently, I was the one lacking in self-control.

When I sat down on the bed, I had to admit, it was comfortable. The thought of having to sleep on a hard rollaway bed did not interest me. I waited for Olivier to play the gallant prince and volunteer to sleep on the rollaway, but no. He merely placed his suitcase on top of the one stand we had and said that he was going to shower.

I was listening to the water run as I considered my options. Mostly, though, I was just tired. Even though it was early afternoon, I felt like I could sleep for an entire day. What was it about flying and traveling that was so exhausting when you were just sitting for hours upon end? I slipped off my tennis shoes and curled up on the bed, falling asleep before Olivier had even finished his shower.

I awoke at around five PM to find a note left on the table next to me.

I went for a walk. Text me if you need to.

- O

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I felt even sleepier than before I’d closed my eyes. Ugh, this was why I didn’t take naps. I sniffed my armpits, only to grimace when I inhaled. Yeesh, I needed to take a shower.

Standing under the hot water, I sighed happily. I scrubbed the grit of the plane and the sweat that had dried from my body. I was mostly awake by the time I got out of the shower. I wiped the condensation from the mirror and considered my reflection, thinking about that Frenchwoman at the cafe who thought it so strange that Olivier would want to date me.

I wasn’t the type of girl to think of myself as super uggo. I’d had my fair share of men who’d been interested in me. Not that my beauty was based on how men saw me, but I wasn’t a girl who just had no idea how she looked to other people. I’d always liked my hair—dark and full—and my nose was nice. My lips were full.

My eyes were a nice color, but despite my dark hair, my eyelashes were rather pale. I had a bunch of new freckles on my nose and chest, and seeing them, I smiled. I didn’t wear makeup very often, and I always preferred to make sure my freckles were visible if I did. I never understood why people wanted to cover them up. They were cute, like sprinkles tossed across my skin.

But I was hardly a supermodel. It had never bothered me. I’d always preferred wearing jeans and tennis shoes and working on cars. I’d never cared much about my appearance. What had it gotten me? Not much. I preferred people to want me around for my brain or my skills, anyway.

Yet those words from earlier prickled across my skin like little needles. I suddenly felt self-conscious about being on the itty-bitty titty committee (I’d pretty much been its president my entire life) or the fact that my teeth weren’t perfectly straight. My teenage self had balked at how nerdy braces looked, but now my adult self hated that I’d been so self-conscious.

I shook my head. I finished toweling off, feeling extremely silly. Even if Olivier was interested in me, it wasn’t like anything could come of it. He was a prince, for God’s sake. He was going to inherit a literal throne. Did I want the scrutiny that came with that life?

The mere thought of that sort of life made me chuckle under my breath. Yeah, that was about as likely as my boobs turning in to DDDs. Not gonna happen.

I emerged from the bathroom in a robe, only to see that