"Mushroom ravioli plates for two and one bread basket please. And what else would you like on the menu?" he frowns at the black page with gilded edges, addressing me.

"Jace, you shouldn't have brought me here. This place is way too expensive. And look at our condition. We look like refugees," I hiss at him from across the table. He raises his eyebrows and gives a bored look.

"Done complaining?"

"I wasn't complaining," I reply indignantly, "I am not used to posh places."

"Neither am I," he puts down the menu and looks at me. "Believe me, my family is all for regality but me, I'd rather hang out at a fast food joint than go in to Flurry's."

"So why today?"

"Are you that naive?"

"I don't understand —"

"Ahh!" he runs his hands through his, hair in an exaggerated gesture. "I wanted to impress you, okay?"

"Oh! That was well—"

"Well?"

"Honest! I mean is this a date?"

"It's for you to decide! I mean all business," he puts on a poker face but I can see the slightest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Well, I don't mind coming on a date as long as I get to pay half of the bill." I narrow my eyes at him.

"Not today," his voice has a finality with which I can't argue.

"Maybe next time. That'll give me another excuse of going out with you," he grins. I drag the menu from under his arms and flip it open, "Well — whom am I to refuse a treat?"

"Whoa! I didn't expect you to comply. You're different. Most girls would launch into a huge speech on how they are empowered and they have every right to pay the bill for what they take."

"Would you like lamb chops?" I divert the topic to a safer zone. Women empowerment and my feminist ideals are the last topic I wanted to talk about then.

Soon the waiter scampers off with our orders and left the two of us alone.

"So," I place both hands on my lap, trying to sit straight and show that I'm attentive. That's another of my pass times, reading books on body language. I know I won't become Sherlock Holmes overnight, but hey, I do understand the concepts of what the body says with each move, each gait and posture and I get self-conscious about mine at times.

"So, the reason why I was coming to your office in the first place. I had to give you an invitation." he thrust his hand into an inside pocket of his coat and draws out a rectangular card putting it on the table in front of me.

I pick it up and examine it closely. Expensive, crisp ivory envelope with floral gold motifs. I run my hand over the smooth surface. I looked up at him as if asking for permission.

"Go on, open it." he urges

I flip open the flap and drew out a stiff card in royal violet. It has a smooth velvety finish with words carved out on it in silver.

"Wow! That's extravagant," the words slip out before I censor them.

"Ugh! I know!" he shakes his head, "Believe me. My mother has some taste. She can't forget the status of her ancestors. I try to convince her that the world is changing and minimal is the new regal, but she overdoes everything. I wonder what's more in store for me at the actual occasion."

"It's a ball?" I look at the card in shock. "A ball in the middle of London? I mean how big your house is?"

"I live in Hampshire." he informs. "And well, my parents" house has a fourteen step entrance. "

"Fourteen step entrance?" I can't help smiling at his description.

"And why are you inviting me over? Does you mum know? "

"Nope. You're coming in as my guest. I would've invited my friends over if I had one, but —"

"You don't have friends? "I can't believe my ears.

"No, I don't. I have a past and that past has left me without any friends. I was young and rash and —" he breaks off mid sentence." Nothing you need to worry about. I found a friend in you. So thought to invite you. "

"You can speak to me. I won't tell —"

"No."

That one word confirms that it is the end of the other discussion.

"Fine. But I've never been to a ball. I don't have a dress, or know the codes and all. I've never been brought up in this way." I mumble.

"I never go to my mother's parties but she isn't leaving me this time. So I'm taking you along so that I don't get bored." he winks.

"So, what are you? I mean your family? Are you some kind of descendant of a nobleman?" I say jokingly.

"I'm a prince."

"A what?" I probably mishear him.

"Well, I am a prince. My official title is Crown Prince Jason Matthew Fitzgerald. Our family was one of the most influential of Britain back then before the monarchy changed. We became the nobles under protection of the Queen of England, but never lost our title."

I close and open my mouth, gaping like a fish, unable to say a single word.

"Oh! " I manage at last." So, ummm—"

"No need to get flustered. I'm not half impressed by who I am. It is too much of a burden to keep up the family name and attend stupid family meals and try to gulp down your food in the midst of diplomatic tensions. I hated that as a kid. So I fled to my Grandma's house and been practically brought up by her."

"But your mum wants you to take up the responsibility now?"

"Yes," his face is contorted with pain. "I can't bloody hell do it? I have a life to lead." 

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️