Sixty-six:
Prince Henry
I wanted to dance with my fiancé. I was looking around for her when I was spotted by the last person that I wanted to be seen by. Poppy Blythe. Poppy Blythe was a beautiful girl, with blond hair, an upturned nose, and blue eyes. But she was obsessed with one thing: being royal. It made her utterly repulsive to me, and most other royals unless they liked the idea of being used.
Poppy was an heiress, but having more money than God wasn’t enough for her. She fancied herself the next Princess Grace and was only invited because her father donated millions to our charity every year.
“Henry,” she said, “you look well for yourself.”
She was older than me, Derek’s age. Back when I’d been stupid enough to be flattered b
