Page 37 of The King Contract
“Don’t call him that!” I hiss. “He’s not even that famous! It’s not like he’s a Hemsworth or a Kardashian. This is insanity.”
“He’s plenty famous.You’vefailed to realise that because you don’t care about anything Hollywood. He’s wooed you with his playboy charm.” Ellis flutters her eyelashes.
If only you knew the mess I signed up for.
“Honestly, I love this for you,” Ellis says, not realising my inner turmoil. “You deserve a bit of excitement and you’re dating Noah King, for God’s sake. I still can’t believe it.”
I force a smile, trying to play it off as sheepish rather than guilt-ridden. The fact Ellis believes Noah and I are a couple is the most surprising. We are so different it’s laughable. Not to mention, I don’t race into relationships. I never have.
“We’re taking it slow,” I remind her. “We’re not even official. We’re seeing if we like each other first. Not that I can tell the world that. Five seconds on national television sitting next to each other and we’re already engaged.”
Ellis grins. “Maybe you’re the change Noah King needs.”
“And what if I’m not? What if it’s over in a matter of months?” I swallow down the lump in my throat.
Ellis looks at me, bewildered. “Would you enjoy it while you can? That’s what I’m doing with Dahlia. Live in the moment.”
Ellis has been saying that ever since she and Dahlia, aka Lioness, exchanged numbers at the barbecue. Dahlia is famous in her own right, but regular day-to-day people wouldn’t recognise her, so the two of them have been able to start a very fun, yet very low-key, summer fling of their own.
I hide my face in my hands. “I’m not very good at living in the moment.”
“Is he a good kisser?” Ellis asks.
I peek between my fingers. “What?”
“You heard me,” she says. “Is he? I bet he’s got a magic mouth and magic hands. Tell me he’s the throw-you-against-the-wall type?”
I close my hands over my eyes again. “You’re meant to be on my side.”
“Iam,” Ellis insists. “And because I’m on your side, I should get the details.”
“No one is getting any details,” I tut, moving past her.
“Youhavekissed him, right?” she presses. “Tell me you’re not being Padlock Pants with this guy.”
I lift my chin in the air. “There is no shame in being Padlock Pants.”
“I’m all for making them work for it,” Ellis agrees. “But you’ve got to give him something. A little sugar. A little taste.”
“Well, maybe he’ll get lucky at dinner tonight,” I deflect.
Ellis squeals. “Ooh, second night in a row? Where’re you going?”
I duck my head as a couple of people point their phones at me from across the room. “Somewhere quiet I hope.”
Everyone stares at us.
That’s not an exaggeration. From the minute Noah led me into the restaurant, I have felt eyes burning holes into my skin. Apparently, going to a local hot spot for dinner means the chances of getting spotted are way higher than an event which broadcasts around the country.
After a bit of arguing, well,a lotof arguing, Noah agreed our next date could be lower key than something with camerasstreaming to every corner of the country. An outing that’s seemingly normal by all accounts. Dinner. A simple dinner, which I thought would be an unassuming task, where we would be left alone. Nope. We are the talk of this entire room and then some.
Not only do we have spectators for dinner and people swinging by Beans,but my phone keeps blowing up from people I’d forgotten I had phone numbers for. Social media is having a field day speculating about who the ‘real Millie’ is, and nearly every article I’ve read focuses on the fact I’m going to have my heart broken.
The video of us at the cricket has been cut into bite-sized footage. We look convincing. Even I’m impressed with my acting abilities. The comments, however, are a mixed bag:
Cuties.
Da fuq is this chick dating my future husband?
