Page 89 of That Prince is Mine
Michel:
You took French in high school?
Emma:
Yup. For four years. But they never taught us how to say I miss you. I know how to say grapefruit, though. Le pamplemousse.
Emma:
I know. Very useful.
Emma:
Anyway, when can I see you?
He lifted his wrist and glared at his watch, willing the numbers to stop moving around. It was somewhere in the vicinity of three to five—he glanced out his window—in the afternoon. He could probably sober up by—he counted the numbers off on his fingers—eight o’clock?
Michel:
Eight clock clock
Emma:
Umm… eight o’clock?
Michel:
Yup
He’d never typed yup in his entire life. He’d never used the word yup before. But it was so adorable when Emma did, he hoped she thought he was adorable, too.
Michel:
Now am I missing from you?
The ellipses rolled and rolled, making his eyes cross.
Emma:
Michel? Are you okay?
Michel:
Yup
“Hey,” he cried as his mobile was taken out of his hand.
“Are you drunk texting?” Sophie took a quick look at the screen, then arched an eyebrow at him. The eyebrow was telling him to feel embarrassed, so he obediently glanced down at his shoes.
“Let me see.” Gabriel peered over her shoulder. “Who was he texting? What did he say?”
Sophie quickly pocketed the mobile and gave Gabriel a withering look. “You will not invade the prince’s privacy.”
“But you just read it,” Gabriel pointed out.
“It’s my duty to protect the prince,” she said icily.
“Come on.” Gabriel wielded his smile like a weapon—a weapon of irresistible charm. “Just tell me one thing he said. He must’ve said something hilarious.”
