Selling My Soul to His Royal Nerdiness.

Selling My Soul to His Royal Nerdiness. (3)

Annabel Taylor

I stood there in shock.

It wasn't the fact that he was a prince. No, I'd met enough celebrities to make me sick of them. Their upturned noses, I'm-so-better-than-you glares, the way they looked at me and Chance as if we weren't anything. With the exception of Drew, my dad, and my friend, Violet, they could all drown for all I cared. So no, royalty didn't phase me.

No. It was the fact that I'd been royally--excuse the pun--screwed over by Walt Disney.

All of my life I'd been shown god-like Disney princes: the swoon-worthy Beast from Beauty and the Beast (you know, after Belle saved his butt), god-like Naveen from The Princess and the Frog, and my personal favorite, Eric from The Little Mermaid. Heck, even Shang from Mulan was hunky, and he wasn't even a prince.

So forgive me if I was expecting some tall dark and gorgeous guy. Who would, preferably, be eternally grateful for my services and throw me onto one of our horses to gallop off in the sunset with me. (So I have an over-active imagination. Sue me.)

Heck, I'd even swiped on a bit of make up and thrown my hair into a loose bun at the back of my neck. It was a bright red, like my mother's, but much less manageable. Stray, renegade curls flew loose and made me constantly have to tuck them back, but oh well.

"Who are you?" He asked, peering at me questioningly.

His voice shocked me. The way he was dressed, you'd figure that his voice would come out all high and squeaky, like a chew toy. Instead, it was deep--not too deep, but deeper than I expected.

"Annabel Taylor, at your service." I stuck out a hand somewhat awkwardly, not sure if I should curtsy or something. The prince looked at Harrison, who was looking at me with raised eyebrows.

He took it, studying me as if I were some new specimen. I glared at him, taking my hand back. "What?" 

He looked at Harrison then at me again, the stood up. Again, his height surprised me. My head was nearly to his chest.

"I'm, um..." He looked at Harrison. Harrison wiped an invisible piece of lint off of the rifle, feigning disinterest. He looked at me, blushing suddenly. "I'm Noah."

He didn't know whether or not to tell that he was royalty because he didn't want me to treat him any differently. I completely understood.

So I turned and walked around to the car. "Let's go back to my house. You'll get to meet my mom."

*

"It's the curse," my mom announced after hearing the entire story.

I couldn't help but agree.

Harrison had told the story while Noah had stayed quiet, fiddling with the pages of his book.

Basically, Noah was the heir to the throne of Balencia, a tiny country in Europe. (I'd never heard of it in my life.) Harrison was sent to fetch him and escort him to the country in secret, which meant that he wouldn't be using the big fancy jet that his parents owned. Instead, they were going to go cross country with Harrison as a bodyguard and eventually take a regular plane.

Unfortunately, people found out that the royal bodyguard was someone other than where he was supposed to be. ("I'm quite famous," Harrison said thoughtfully at this part. He'd dated the president's daughter, apparently. West, who had immediately recognized the man, asked if we were living in a hole. We may as well have been. My mom didn't allow anything but the weather report to go in and out of the house. She hated the media.)