Prince Rainier

Week One. Day Three.

Let me be very clear about something here: I do not believe in love at first sight. I never have. It's a stupid trick of the mind. I do, however, believe that sometimes certain people can see certain things in certain other people who draw them in, like whatever it is that I see in this girl.

I kept my eyes peeled yesterday, but I swear she wasn't here. It wasn't easy, alright? I went maybe four hours without pausing to check my reflection in a single mirror. I've never gone that long without checking my hair before.

I had thought, after a while, that maybe I'd imagined her, that she was just some trick my brain had pulled on me because I'd been so bored stiff by that other girl. It takes real boredom to bring back the Black Morning—the Bolbec hangover.

But now we're rotating partners and here she is, spinning around with me, and her touch is real. I squeeze her gloved hand and her eyes are sparkling. I swear she's real.

"I've seen you before," I say.

She nods. "Hello, stranger," she says.

"Were you not here yesterday night?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Are you—are you real?" I ask. Stupid question. But it just doesn't seem so. Something about her is just so…strange.

"I certainly hope so," she says.

"What is your name—?"

But the rotation has taken her away from me, and I'm left at the mercy of another girl.

Throughout the night, I can still feel the fabric of her glove on my hand, I can still smell her perfume distantly. What is it about the way that she carries herself that makes her so odd? There's something that seems so…melancholy about her. Some great and distant storm brews in her mind somewhere. Her eyes look like they've seen a thousand years, but she can't even be twenty. There's an old soul within her, sealed shut from view by eyes the color and hardness of diamond. I feel oddly eclipsed by the mere shadow of her memory. I know when I'm looking at a gem. And this girl is a gem. She's a diamond.

Now this is an interesting situation. I can only remember two or three women who have ever caught my attention this way. I'm eager to add another to the collection. But in both of those instances I had been in great danger of falling in love. Perhaps I ought to stay away.

But I am Prince Rainier Edmund of House Harrington. I am the charming, sweet, well-mannered, considerate, extraordinarily handsome prince—with perfectly flawless hair if I do say so myself. I've dealt with ambassadors and foolish foreign royalty and politics. I think I can manage one girl—no matter how much she reminds me of a hurricane.