Page 419 of Bad Prince
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Stella
By Friday night, I have officially lost my mind.
That is the only explanation for why I am on my hands and knees changing sheets like the FBI is coming to inspect my bed.
Not just changing them.
Freshly washed.
White.
Crisp.
Hospital corners sharp enough to cut a man.
I stand back, hands on hips, and stare at the mattress like I’m trying to convince myself this is normal behavior for a girl with a bye week, a mountain of reading, and absolutely no business preparing for Tristan Vale the way some women prepare for weather disasters.
Then I smooth the comforter again anyway.
Because I know what’s going to happen the second he gets back.
Or at least I think I do.
Actually, no.
That’s a lie.
I don’t know anything.
I just know what my body expects.
So yes, maybe I have also shaved everything worth shaving, moisturized within an inch of my life, blow-dried my hair, and spent twenty full minutes rejecting outfit options that all somehow made me look either like I was trying too hard or not nearly hard enough.
This is humiliating.
No one should have this much power over my nervous system.
I cross to the mirror over my desk and inspect myself again.
Oversized soft gray lounge set.
Tiny gold hoops.
Gloss.
Mascara.
Skin still faintly warm from my shower.
Not desperate.
Not obvious.
Just… available.
Which is, somehow, more embarrassing.
