Chapter 19

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Willow's POV

So it's been 2 weeks since the interview and it came out today as tomorrow is the gala. Mom's were pissed when they heard what I did but then they calmed down after realized that question wasn't on the list so my reaction was called for. That doesn't mean I still didn't get the princess speech.

Yes, there is a princess speech we have been hearing the same thing since we were kids, with like a few words changed here and there. I just nodded on the video call as I sat in my office. When the call was above to end I heard mom chuckling and saying 'She's just a Franc' what does that even mean?

It got me curious so I went on google and typed 'Francesca LeMarc interview' pressing enter. I found too many interviews like I expected. Maybe I should add something to it. But if I don't know what I'm searching for then what should I add?

Dating? Sassy?

Maybe that could work.

'Francesca LeMarc interview dating sasses host' Nothing interesting popped up. There was this one interview with Amber in it I clicked on it. Bored enough I clicked on it. Fast forwarding through it I realized they were put on the spot with photos together. I guess this is what mom was talking about Franc getting ambushed.

I just shut off the screen, deciding to take a dip in the pool. It was a pleasant day to swim. I was going to go skinny dipping but decided against it and changed into a bikini. Getting in the pool and taking a few laps.

I kept on thinking about Abby a lot these past few days. We are good friends now but there is no real progress other than just hanging out. She still hasn't kissed me even though I have given her all the signs.

"Joseph?" I yelled out as I got on the edge of the pool and looked up at him as he got down top hand me a towel.

"No, I don't need a towel." I said, shaking my head. This guy was the sweetest person I had ever met. He has white hair and the cutest wife.

I sometimes saw them in the kitchen feeding each other ice cream. So he seems like the most stable, trustworthy and romantic person I could ask this too. Also I couldn't go to my other sources as they wouldn't help me out knowing this is a bet and not like I can involve the grownups.

"How did you make your wife fall in love with you?" I asked him as I swam backwards. He pointed to the lounge chair asking me if he could sit and I nodded. God! He was still soo formal. "Oh boy! Let's see." He said unbuttoning his blazer and then sitting down. "She hated my gut. I had by mistake smashed her car instead of her brother's. So you can see why she hated me" he chuckled lightly. "But then she just couldn't resist my good looks." He said with a shrug. Well that wasn't helpful.

"That's not true." Selina said, his wife as he walked towards the pool with a plate of pasta. She put it on the pool table and then looked at me. "He sent me flowers every day. The tenth flower had a note that said 'Will you go out with me? If yes, keep one flower on your windshield and I will pick you up at 7pm. If no then it's fine I'm still going to keep sending you flowers cause a pretty lady like you deserves all the flowers in the world' " she looked at him when she said this. God they were cute.

"So you said yes?" I asked curious.

"Of course not. He was the playboy of the town. But the flowers kept coming for a month more and then stopped. I got worried and went to his place to see what happened. He had set up a date." She said, closing her eyes as if she was reliving that moment. "He said this was his last try and he would have stopped trying id I hadn't showed up."

"So who is this for Ms. Abigail or Ms. Danielle?" Joseph asked as he got up and kissed Selina's cheek.

"Abigail" I said, scratching the back of my head. Not like I can tell them the truth. "I would have said you should just ask her. I have a feeling she will say yes." Selina said with a sweet smile and left as if Abigail could sense we were talking about her. The elevator doors opened and she walked out. I just looked at her confused and Joseph smiled. "I will leave you to it then." He said and left.

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