First Public Appearance Disaster

Amelia Hartley was going to throw up in a £10,000 dress.

She gripped the sides of the ridiculously elegant gown, trying to ignore the fact that she was standing outside a palace limousine, about to make an absolute fool of herself in front of the British aristocracy.

Beside her, Nicholas was the picture of relaxed confidence—dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, smirking like he was about to put on the performance of a lifetime.

"Relax, sweetheart," he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "You look stunning."

Amelia glared at him. "If I trip and take you down with me, just know it'll be entirely on purpose."

Nicholas grinned. "Knew I should've worn knee pads."

Before Amelia could retort, the chauffeur opened the door. The roar of cameras and murmuring of the crowd hit her all at once.

Oh. Hell.

Nicholas stepped out first, all effortless charm, and turned back to offer his hand.

Amelia hesitated.

Then—

She took it.

The moment their fingers touched, a fresh wave of camera flashes erupted, journalists scrambling over themselves to get a shot of the prince and his mysterious girlfriend.

Nicholas leaned in as if whispering something sweet.

Except what he actually said was—

"Smile, love. Let's give them something to talk about."

Amelia bit back a groan and did her best to plaster on a natural, non-panicked expression.

They walked up the carpeted steps toward the grand entrance of the gala, cameras still going off like a battlefield of flashbulbs.

The moment they stepped inside, the murmur of aristocratic disapproval hit her ears.

A few noblewomen gave polite, stiff nods.

Several older men raised their brows like she was a stray cat that had wandered in.

And Lady Penelope Fitzwilliam, of course, was watching with the coldest smirk Amelia had ever seen.

Ah. Fantastic.

Nicholas, unfazed as ever, guided her through the crowd like he had not a single care in the world.

"Just breathe," he murmured, keeping his hand lightly on her waist.

"Breathe?" Amelia hissed. "You didn't tell me I'd be walking into a den of posh wolves."

Nicholas chuckled. "You're doing fine."

Amelia was not doing fine.

She could feel dozens of eyes on her, judging every step, every breath, every tiny mistake she was bound to make.

She could already hear the headlines.

Commoner Stumbles into Royal Gala Like a Newborn Deer!

Prince Nicholas's New Flame: Charming or Catastrophic?

Will She Last Longer Than the Tea Incident?

They stopped at a lavishly decorated reception area, where an elegantly dressed noblewoman turned toward them.

"Ah, Nicholas," she purred, offering him her gloved hand. "Lovely to see you. And… you must be Miss Hartley."

Amelia attempted a curtsy—which, to her horror, felt more like an awkward squat.

Lady Margaret blinked.

Nicholas bit the inside of his cheek, definitely trying not to laugh.

"Lovely to meet you, Lady Margaret," Amelia said through gritted teeth.

Lady Margaret gave her a long, appraising look, before smiling politely. "Well. How refreshing."

That was not a compliment.

Nicholas stepped in smoothly, beaming. "Amelia's a natural, isn't she?"

Lady Margaret's eyebrow twitched. "Indeed."

Amelia mentally added noblewoman's disapproval to her ever-growing list of failures.

And then, of course—

Lady Penelope arrived.

"Darling," she greeted Nicholas, voice like silk laced with arsenic. "What a surprise."

Nicholas smirked. "Is it? I do live in this country, Penelope."

Her eyes flicked to Amelia. "And this must be… your latest distraction?"

Oh. Oh, here we go.

Amelia smiled tightly. "You must be Penelope. Nicholas mentioned you."

Penelope arched a delicate brow. "Did he? How fascinating."

Amelia nodded. "Said you were terribly ambitious."

Penelope's smile did not falter, but her eyes sharpened. "And what exactly is your ambition, Miss Hartley?"

Amelia shrugged, feigning innocence. "Currently? Not spilling wine on any dukes."

Nicholas let out a sharp cough, covering his mouth—definitely hiding a laugh.

Lady Penelope, however, did not look amused.

"Well," she said smoothly. "I do hope you enjoy your time here. However brief it may be."

Amelia's jaw tightened.

Oh, she hated this woman.

Nicholas, still grinning like a menace, leaned down to whisper, "You handled that brilliantly, love."

She elbowed him. "Stop enjoying this."

"Impossible," he murmured. "This is better than television."

Before she could respond, a voice called out from the press section.

"Prince Nicholas! A quick word?"

It was Ellie Watson, the nosiest reporter in Britain.

Nicholas, forever a menace, grinned and pulled Amelia close.

"Of course, Ellie," he said smoothly. "What can I do for you?"

Ellie's gaze flicked to Amelia, eyes sharp with curiosity. "The country is dying to know—who is Amelia Hartley?"

Nicholas tilted his head. "Well, she's clearly my date for the evening."

Ellie's smile was all sharp edges. "And yet, she seems… a bit out of her depth, wouldn't you say?"

Amelia forced a sweet smile, even as she imagined launching herself into the nearest potted plant to escape.

"Well," she said, tilting her head. "That depends. Would you say you were out of your depth the first time you interviewed a royal?"

Ellie's brows rose slightly, as if she wasn't expecting an actual response.

Nicholas grinned. "Now, now, Ellie. You wouldn't be doubting my impeccable taste in women, would you?"

Ellie's smile tightened. "Of course not, Your Highness."

Nicholas, ever the showman, took Amelia's hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

The flash of cameras was instant.

Amelia squeaked.

Ellie's eyes gleamed. "How romantic."

Nicholas smirked. "Always."

And just like that, the public swoon-fest had begun.

---

After the Disaster

The second they were out of sight of the press, Amelia ripped her hand away.

"Don't ever do that again."

Nicholas laughed. "You mean the hand kiss? It was perfect!"

"It was a nightmare."

"Please," he smirked. "You handled Penelope, you mildly threatened Ellie Watson, and you haven't fallen over once tonight."

She huffed. "There's still time."

Nicholas grinned, offering her a glass of champagne. "Here. Celebrate your victory."

Amelia sighed, accepting it.

"That was a disaster," she muttered.

Nicholas clinked his glass against hers. "Welcome to royal life, love."

She took a long sip.

God help her.

She was in way too deep.