When Queen Isabelle offers me a deal to fake an engagement with the Crown Prince, my first instinct is to laugh. I must be hallucinating-blame it on the tea. But as her words sink in, I realize the potential boost this could bring to my tech company...
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"In a world of fleeting moments, sometimes it's the ones we least expect that leave the most lasting impressions." - Jasmine Kingsley
I stood in front of the full-length mirror, inhaling deeply as Amelia, one of Carmen's best stylists, smoothed the final strand of my hair into place. We'd been at this for hours—washing, detangling, blow-drying—until the silk press gleamed like glass. I loved every minute of it. Something about the rhythm of it all—the tug of the comb, the gentle pull at my scalp—felt therapeutic, like pressing 'pause' on the chaos of my life.
Silver pins twinkled through my hair like tiny stars, catching the light as I turned my head.
"Wow," Carmen and Deepti said in unison. They were joining the moment from the screen, their faces projected on the TV like my personal cheerleading squad. Carmen's London boutique might've been her baby, but tonight, I was their project.
"You look like an actual princess," Deepti beamed, her smile soft and genuine.
"Princess Tiana is somewhere quaking in her castle," Carmen quipped, her grin all mischief.
A flush crept up my neck as I smoothed down the fabric of my emerald gown. The color hugged me in all the right places, and for a second, I almost forgot why I was so nervous. "Thanks, guys. I still can't believe I'm about to attend a royal ball. Like... a real one."
"First of many," Amelia winked, slipping a pair of silver stilettos in front of me.
I slid them on, the cool leather molding to my feet, completing the look. A moment of silence hung in the air as I stood, staring at myself, wondering if this version of me—the polished, poised, princess-in-waiting—was really someone I could pull off.
"Are you ready?" Deepti's voice crackled through the screen. Carmen popped up beside her, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, as if she were watching a movie unfold.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, giving myself one last glance in the mirror. The deep green gown, the sparkling pins, the heels... it was perfect. Too perfect.
"I mean... I think so?" I half-laughed, half-choked, but I knew there was no turning back now.
The nervous buzz in my chest only grew as I stepped into the car waiting at the curb, one of the official vehicles sent by the palace. The moment we pulled up to the grand entrance, the world outside seemed to explode. Camera flashes sparked like fireworks, and the crowd's screams were a dull roar, even through the car's thick windows.
"The Princess of Spain has arrived," the chauffeur—Liam, he'd said—murmured, glancing at me through the rearview mirror.
I blinked. "Really?"
"If you're going to pull this off," he deadpanned, "you might want to add a few more words to your vocabulary, ma'am."
"Pull what off?" I frowned, the knot in my stomach tightening.
