The man standing in front of me is what I imagine a modern-day, rough around the edges prince would look like. He’s impossibly tall—probably 6’4” or so—and has the build of a professional soccer player. He’s muscular but not bulky. His thick dark hair matches his long lashes, which are the only thing about him that’s remotely feminine. He has a small amount of stubble—enough that if I were to kiss him, I could imagine him scratching my cheek. I think about kissing this man, and I melt a little.
“Jacqueline?” he asks.
For once, I’m lost for words. I nod.
“Did you miss my instruction about the red scarf?” he asks, raising one thick eyebrow.
Oh, f**k. In my rush to get ready earlier, I’d totally forgotten. I’d even had it laid out on my bed.
I feel my cheeks turn beet red as I blush. I h
