Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
“The mundane part is. People don’t pay for that.” I smile wryly, tucking some hair behind my ear. “I usually do portrait photography. Family sessions, maternity, newborns, stuff like that. I also specialise in professional headshots.”
“Really? Do you have a studio?”
“Regrettably, no, but there are short-term rentals, so it’s not a problem. I’m hoping to eventually get my own space, but like I said, I haven’t been here long.”
Even if two years feels like a lifetime, given the living situation.
“Hmm.” He tilts his head to the side. “Professional headshots, you say? For models and the like?”
“For just about anything,” I answer. “I just shot some photos for company ID card today, but next week, I have a shoot booked for headshots for young twins breaking into acting.”
We arrive at the corner of George Street, and he comes to a stop. “Interesting. Do you have a card, by any chance?”
Michael grits his teeth. “Your—sir.”
“Ignore him,” Prince Finley says. “A card?”
“Oh, yes.” I dig in my bag and pull out my business card holder, then pass him one.
“Hannah Porter Photography,” he reads, plucking it from between my fingers. “Do you have a gallery on this website?”
“I do, yes.”
He eyes the card for a second longer before raising his gaze. It flickers across my face for a moment, and a frown briefly furrows his brow, darkening his blue eyes.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Yes, sorry. You just—never mind.” He lets out a small laugh before making a show of tucking his newly acquired card into his wallet. He puts it back in his pocket and pats it. “I’ll take a look at your work, Miss Porter. I’m afraid I must leave before my hitman gets too upset.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to rein in my smile. “Thank you for walking me here.”
“How will you get home?”
“I’ll call a taxi after my food is ready. Don’t worry.” I smile. “You’re very worried about a stranger, sir. Especially one to whom you didn’t offer your name.”
He opens his mouth, pauses, then laughs and shakes his head. “Just concern for a young lady who’s already been spooked by my muscle. Which I apologise for once again,” he says. “And… Flynn. My name.”
“Flynn?” I raise my eyebrows. “Just Flynn?”
“Just Flynn.” His smile morphs into a tummy-tickling grin, and he takes a step back. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Porter. Hopefully, we’ll speak again soon.”
“Yes,” I reply slowly, clutching my camera. “I very much hope so.”
CHAPTER THREE – HATTIE
“Why isn’t he answering my calls?” Jasmine whines, cradling her cup of coffee. “It’s been days!”
“He’s very busy, darling,” Rosalyn replies, reaching across the table to pat her shoulder soothingly. “It’s not the first time you’ve been unable to reach him. Have you tried contacting Oscar?”
Jasmine sighs. “Yes! All he tells me is that His Royal Highness is extremely busy and he’ll pass on that I called. As if he will! He hates me.”
Oscar is a smart man, I see.
Well, if she’s talking about the future Duke of Lindberg, that is.
Also, what is she complaining about? Crown Prince Finley was the one who said he and I would hopefully speak again soon, and has he contacted me? No. I’m not crying about it.
I’m merely staring out of my window in the general direction of the Askurg Royal Palace, hoping my mental ‘call me’ messages will transcend time and space to reach him.
Also, technically, Crown Prince Finley isn’t calling me.
Flynn is.
That’s almost as ridiculous as me calling myself Hannah.
Fucking Flynn. He didn’t even try.
“You just have to make nice for a little longer,” Rosalyn coos. “Once you’re in the palace, Oscar will be bound to obey you.”
“I’ll make His Royal Highness fire him.” Jasmine sniffs, and I can’t help but snort.
Where does she get her confidence from? And can I get some of it? Because it’s truly remarkable how she believes in herself, and one could make a fortune bottling that and selling it.
“What are you laughing at?” she snaps, turning to glare at me. “Something funny?”
“I was merely marvelling at your boundless confidence,” I reply, sipping my tea. “Do you really think you can make the crown prince fire his right hand? That’s his cousin, you know. They’ve grown up together.”
Her face reddens at the roundabout reminder that I know more about his past than she does. “You—”
“It was said in frustration,” Rosalyn says calmly, pouring another cup of tea for herself. “We all say things we don’t mean, Harriet. Don’t take it to heart.”
“I was only pointing it out.”
“Well, don’t.”
“All right, fine.” I put my empty cup in the sink and hold up my hands. “By all means, stroll into the palace and start demanding things be done your way, Jas. I’m sure that’ll go well for you.”
She scoffs, leaning back in her chair. “Why are you even here?”