The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

After we arrived at our hotel, it was already too late to go to the antiques store, so we could either stay in or wander around Berlin. I absolutely did not want to hang around our hotel room with Olivier, so I brushed my hair and said I was going out.

Olivier decided to tag along. Part of me almost wished he’d stayed behind, while the other part of me was glad for the company. Our hotel was in the Friedrichstadt neighborhood, near the famous Gendarmenmarkt square that included the Berlin concert hall.

It was a warm summer evening, and all about us were people walking around and enjoying the weather. Olivier and I bought beers at a bar nearby before continuing our wandering.

Soon, the sound of people talking and cars driving along the streets was replaced by the sounds of music. On various corners, parks, and outside buildings were musicians. Crowds of people listened, while others meandered like we were. There were so many people, in fact, that it was difficult to go far without getting stuck in some huge crowd.

“What is this?” I said over the noise of a trombone quartet playing.

“Fete de la Musique.” Olivier handed me a flier. “I’ve attended the one in Paris but never here in Berlin.”

“That sounds French, not German.”

He smiled. “That’s because it was a day invented by a Frenchman. You don’t have it in America?”

“Probably, but I’ve never heard of it being done in Seattle. Then again, I don’t pay a whole lot of attention to things like this.”

We stopped to grab huge, warm pretzels, and I dipped mine in a spicy mustard sauce as I walked. It was awkward, but even as Olivier laughed at my pretzel-dipping skills, I didn’t care. I might be homesick, but nothing could compare to all of the food I’d eaten while abroad.

The moment I’d noted that Olivier hadn’t been mobbed by his fangirls here in Berlin, a group of no less than six girls squealed and headed straight for us, practically causing a car crash when they rushed across the street toward him.

“Prince! Prince Olivier!” One of the girls shoved a notebook into Olivier’s hands. “Autograph! Please!”

I just kept eating my pretzel. Olivier was cordial, although I could tell he was annoyed at the girls asking for selfies—one for each of them. It got to the point that we began to attract attention.

“Who is that?” said a woman who walked by. “Is he famous?”

I swallowed my bite of pretzel. “Kind of. Have you ever seen that commercial for erectile dysfunction? The one with the monkey?”

The woman made a face. “No. A monkey?”

I kept my expression bland. “Yeah, it’s big in the States. Anyway, girls keep mobbing him now. It’s kind of annoying, but what can you do?” I popped the last bite of pretzel into my mouth. “I’m so happy he’s seeing some success finally.”

I leaned over and whispered, “He’s convinced this will be his big break. I don’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. He sends the commercial to everybody to watch, all the talent scouts. He even sent it to Justin Bieber’s agent and thinks he’ll be in his next music video.” I shook my head. “He has no idea. So sweet, so naive.”

The woman nodded, like she really had some idea what I was talking about. “How sad.”

Olivier approached us, his gaze darting to the strange woman. He then glanced at me. “Niamh…?”

I looked over at my companion. “Oh, this is who I was talking about. Olivier. He doesn’t have a last name. He’s like Madonna, or Cher.”

The woman reached out to shake Olivier’s hand. “Good for you on your success. Don’t ever give up, yes?”

“Um, thank you?”

The woman shook his hand a second time, nodded at me, and took off. Olivier gave me a suspicious look. “What in the world did you say to her?”

“Buy me another pretzel and I might just tell you.”

“If I’d known the moment I first met you that you were so easily bribed, I would’ve used that to my advantage.”

“The first time we met, you weren’t exactly trying to be Prince Charming.”

His smile was wry. “I didn’t know you’d be important enough for me to charm.”

I stuck my tongue out at him, which made him laugh. His laugh felt like golden notes against my skin. It was embarrassing, how easily he could affect me. I thought back to our kiss two nights ago. My cheeks turned red. Olivier’s eyes darkened, and for a split second, I could’ve sworn he was thinking about the exact same thing.

Then the moment ended when a little boy bumped into my leg.

“Let’s get you that pretzel,” said Olivier.

If I were stupid, I could almost imagine we were on a date as we wandered through the heart of Berlin. Except I knew very well that if I reached out and took Olivier’s hand, he’d look at me like I was crazy.

I glanced up at him out of the corner of my eye. He caught me looking.

So I said, “Why did you kiss me?”

He almost collided into an elderly man. To avoid a full-on human crash, he did a little spin that made him look like he was break dancing. It was hilarious.

Olivier brushed off his clothes, like he’d actually tripped and gotten them dirty. He was still spotless, as usual.

“Based on your reaction, you aren’t exactly looking to repeat the kiss.” My tone was acidic.

Olivier gave me a strange look. “What makes you think that?”

“Um, two things: when I tried to kiss you, you acted like I had leprosy. Secondly, after kissing me once, you still act like I have leprosy.” I shrugged. “I mean, I can put two and two together. You don’t think I’m attractive. It’s okay.”

I was lying about that last part. It wasn’t okay. It sucked hardcore. I made me feel like I was about three inches tall and ugly to boot. I knew that as a woman of the