The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1) by Iris Morland (book club recommendations txt) 📕

Stefan took off his reading glasses. “I can provide you with the address Sean Gallagher gave me.”

My heart nearly burst inside my chest. “Oh, that would be so amazing!”

Stefan held up a finger. “On one condition.”

I looked at Olivier. Olivier said, “You have a price?”

“Of course I do. We all do.” Stefan leaned forward, and I wondered if he was going to ask us for some absurd amount of money. Or if he needed us to murder his rival, or deliver cocaine to some drug house—

“I want you to come to dinner at my home tonight,” he said finally.

Olivier and I said nothing. Eventually, I blurted, “You want to poison us first?”

Stefan blinked then let out a hearty guffaw of a laugh. “Poison you? Good lord, why would I do that? Kill you and then, what, give you the information? My dear, that makes no sense.”

Olivier shot me a look that said, Stop talking, please. I had to chew on the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something biting.

“Dinner is acceptable,” said Olivier finally. “Is that all?”

“Oh no. I’m asking you to dinner because my daughter loves royalty.” His expression turned wily, his smile wide. “And if I were to bring a prince to dinner, I don’t have to buy her the expensive phone she’s been begging me for.”

“How old is your daughter?” Olivier looked green about the gills.

“Thirteen.” Stefan shuffled some papers. “And I’m sure Klara will want to invite some of her friends, too.”

Oh God, an entire gaggle of thirteen-year-old girls fawning over Olivier. I nearly choked on my tongue to keep from laughing.

Grimacing, Olivier agreed to the terms, taking a piece of paper with Stefan’s address and phone number on it, and then proceeded to glower at me the entire ride back to the hotel as I laughed at him.

Stefan lived in a townhouse at the edge of the city. When Olivier and I arrived, the sun was beginning to set, and Stefan ushered us to his rooftop terrace. It was a warm summer night, perfect for eating outside. Before either of us said a word, we were handed beers and shown to a table filled with all kinds of food.

“Wow,” I said to Olivier, “who knew the antiques business was so lucrative?”

“That, or he comes from money.” Olivier popped an olive into his mouth. “Or his wife does.”

Stefan’s wife, Luisa, was taller than her husband, willowy where he was squat. Her English was not as strong as Stefan’s, and after a few minutes of conversation in English, she floated off to speak with her daughter Klara.

Olivier couldn’t avoid the group of young girls who had started giggling the moment he’d stepped onto the terrace. Stefan had brought Klara forward to be introduced, but she was so shy that she’d quickly returned to her friends.

I counted four other girls besides Klara. They all looked about twelve or thirteen. There was one who was especially tall; another was much shorter. The tall girl seemed to find her limbs too long, and she moved with the awkwardness of a girl who was still getting used to her body. The shorter girl kept standing on her tiptoes to get a look at Olivier.

I elbowed him. “So which one will you take as your bridge?”

He nearly spat out his beer. I patted him on the back. “I beg your pardon?”

“One of them would surely accept your suit. Then again, you might just go with Klara. She probably has a huge dowry.”

“Please, please, just stop talking.”

I gurgled. My gaze caught Klara’s, and I motioned for her to come over. She covered her face and then whispered into tall girl’s ear. Then the whole group erupted into laughter.

“You’re going to have to go over there eventually,” I said.

Our gazes went toward Stefan, who raised his drink with a knowing look that said, Make my daughter happy and you’ll get the information you want.

Olivier groaned. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Dude, they’re only young girls. They won’t kill you.”

He looked so glum that I had to rein in my laughter.

“Have you ever experienced the intensity of teenage girls hanging on your every word? Wanting autographs? Selfies? Asking you intimate questions that you absolutely cannot answer?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had that problem.” I tugged on his shirt. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get this over with.”

When we approached, I half-expected the group to turn tail and run. But one of them, a girl with a head of dark, riotous curls, was clearly the leader of the group. She said something in German that sounded like, Don’t be such spineless boobs. Probably. German wasn’t exactly my forte.

“Ladies,” said Olivier gravely. He looked like he wanted to throw himself bodily off of the roof.

“What’s everyone’s names?” I pointed to myself. “I’m Niamh. This is Olivier—”

Group giggle.

“We’ve met Klara. Who else?”

Curly-haired girl thrust out her hand. “I’m Sofie.” Her English was impeccable. She pointed to tall girl. “Astrid.” She pointed to short girl. “Mia.” Then to the last girl, who hadn’t raised her gaze from her feet. “And Anna.”

To my immense amusement, Olivier gave them all a flourishing bow. “My ladies,” he said, his voice entirely serious. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Sofie’s eyes lit up. “What’s it like to be a prince? Do you get to wear a crown every day?”

“Only on special occasions. They’re rather heavy to wear every day.”

“You should wear a tiara,” said Klara, which made all the girls laugh. “What, he should! He’s very pretty!”

“I agree. Olivier would look very pretty in a tiara,” I said.

At that, the group of girls’ gazes swung toward me. I could sense a mutual feeling of who is this girl and why is she with Olivier emanating from them all. I had to admit, I was intimidated. Thirteen-year-old girls could rip you apart with just a few words and a passive-aggressive post on Instagram.

“Are you guys dating?”