Page 98 of The Prince Who Loved Me

He whipped his head around the room as if Brandi would pop out from behind the curtains or was hiding behind the deep red sofa. He went back to the letter.

We think this is someone you’d like to meet. If we’re right, you’ll find her waiting for you in the drawing room, wearing her heart on her sleeve.

He tore out of the receiving room and through the entryway on his way to the drawing room on the second floor.

“Your Highness!” Donnarumma called from the entry to the ballroom. “Your niece is about to cut the cake.”

“Save me a piece.” He dashed by the open ballroom and up the staircase with its polished bannister. No way was he stopping for anything. He wasn’t going to give her any opportunity to change her mind.

“Sebastien!” His father’s bellow followed him. Sebastien kept going, ignoring the muted thud of several footsteps on the carpeted stairs.

Where the hell was the drawing room? He certainly never used it to draw. The hallway opened over the entryway, so he had only to glance into the rooms on one side as he sped past.

He nearly missed her standing next to the fireplace. He backtracked and took a deep breath before entering the room. Her lovely blonde hair was in a ponytail, and she wore a t-shirt and jeans.

Jeans.

In the middle of a royal birthday party.

Oh, how he loved her.

She turned when he entered, and she rubbed the base of her finger with her thumb.

Her eyes roamed over his body, a hungry gleam coloring the green and brown, the flecks of gold shining through. If he had any doubts as to her feelings, they were swept aside withthat look. It mirrored his own when he looked at her.

“Hi,” she murmured.

“Hey yourself, Brandilynn.”

Her lips curled up into a smile.

His father the King entered the room, Sebastien’s mother in his wake. Several members of court followed him inside the small room, lining the walls.

“Sebastien, what is the meaning of this? Why is this woman here?” he asked in his mix of French and Italian.

“I suspect I’m about to find out,” Sebastien answered in English. He held out his elbow, and Brandi linked her arm through his.

“I forbid it,” his father said. “We discussed this. She’s unsuitable.”

“Father, if you’re going to insult her, at least do it in a language she can understand.”

“Oh, dear,” Brandi untangled her arm from his, toed the floor behind her, and dipped her body into a curtsey. She spoke in awkward French to his parents. “Jes ravi de vous rencontray.”

Even though she stumbled and the words weren’t all correct, it was the proper, formal greeting, but the King turned to her with a glare. “You will never be a princess.”

Brandi’s eyebrows drew down and she shot a look at Sebastien as she straightened. “That’s fine, sir.”

“Just so you know,” Sebastien said to her. “I’ll never be a princess either.”

“You dare come to this formal affair wearing clothing like that? Where’s your respect? Where are your manners?”

“In my defense, sir, I didn’t know there was going to be a party. Happy birthday.”

“It’s not for me.” The King huffed. “I told you she was unsuitable. She chases after you like a dog.”

Sebastien turned to Brandi. “You could bark now if you wanted.”

“Can I meow instead?”