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. . . and everything she could possibly want.
She swallowed hard. “I might have some feelings of my own.”
“Yeah?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Okay. I have a proposition for you. A plan, really. ’Cause I know how you like plans.” He cleared his throat. “But I don’t know how you’re going to feel about the idea.”
She looked up at him from under the brim of his baseball cap. He was grinning his lopsided grin. “Go on.”
“Well, to avoid this problem of us missing each other—not to mention the problem of requiring disguises in order to attend important family events—we will spend time in each other’s company, be seen out and about, kiss whenever we damn well please, do other things whenever we damn well please”—he waggled his brows—“and not give a damn whether it ends up in the gossip pages or not.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“Well . . . That’s a lot of damns.” She gave him a mischievous smile.
Behind them, the whispers were growing louder.
“What are they talking about?”
“Can anyone get a good angle for a photo?”
“Are you sure that’s her? It looks like a teenage boy.”
Vicky and Ryder stood stock-still, a breath apart, locked in a staring contest where the stakes felt higher than high.
She could run again. She could probably ask him to distract the crowd while she made an escape, and he would. She could, she realized, do whatever she wanted here. She could even be brave.
She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him against her. They crashed together, his mouth against hers, her body tight against his. A cheer erupted from the crowd, nearly deafening.
A camera flashed. Then another. Not phones, professional cameras. Paparazzi. Probably even the legitimate press, there to cover the wedding.
Ryder’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her in. Her hands slid up under his jacket, and he groaned. His hand pushed the cap from her head, letting her hair cascade down. His fingers combed through it.
More flashes. More cheers. An appreciative whistle.
They pulled away, breathless, foreheads leaning together.
“Damn,” he said.
New York Minute
You. Guys. You guys you guys you guys.
Ryder Prince and Victoria Ashby are officially—officially—a thing.
Seriously, there are about a million witnesses. Plus, Ms. Ashby herself confirms they are, and we quote, “romantically involved.”
Like there was any doubt after the scene in Central Park yesterday (pictures below—but crank up the a/c if you’ve got it because they are steamy).
We also have it on good authority (a.k.a. Cheryl Prince) that the estranged Ryder has reconciled with his family. Does all this mean we won’t be getting any more photos of his royal hotness gallivanting across the clubs of Europe with questionable companionship?
If it means relationship bliss for our new favorite couple, we’ll take it! (And Ryder, baby, honestly, we’d much rather see you happy than scandalous. Well, assuming we have to choose, that is . . . )
Also . . . huge congratulations to Noah Prince and Sabrina Hopewell-Prince, who, of course, tied the knot yesterday (photos of the joyous occasion and Sabrina’s fab-beyond-measure wedding gown in the society section). Apologies for getting caught up in the other Prince couple on your big day. We hope you’ll forgive us . . . But you of all people surely know there is nothing, nothing, nothing so appealing as a happy ending.
