How to Love a Prince

SIX

Roselia

The morning light, filtered through the sheer, expensive curtains, was a pale, unfamiliar silver. I blinked, the remnants of the dark blue pill still clinging to the edges of my consciousness, blurring the sharp edges of reality.

Ah yes. Today is the start of my new job.

I pushed myself up, the silk sheets rustling softly. “I hope I woke up just in time,” I mumbled as I squinted my eyes, adjusting to the morning light as I looked for my things—there, beside the closet, my meager bag of contrasts, the designer clothes behind the closet its leaning on.

Hitting my cheeks repeatedly to wake me up, I stood up and stretched to liven up my body. “You chose this, Rosie. Don’t go crying over it.” I spoke to myself, repeating the same words over and over again my head.

.

.

.

I was on my way downstairs to cook and show gratitude through breakfast, but the soft clinking sounds tell me Alistair is already there.

“Sh*t.” scared he will end up criticizing me for sleeping in, I hurried went in the kitchen and found him dressed in a simple dark t-shirt and sweatpants and was leaning against a marble counter, sipping from a mug, his gaze fixed on a tablet in his hand.

“Good morning.” I spoke, trying to draw his attention as I padded softly towards his direction, my heart thrumming hard in my ribs as I felt small the more I come closer to him.

He didn't look up immediately, seemingly immersed in whatever was on his screen. The awkwardness was a palpable thing—a thick, invisible wall between us.

“Uhm, hello.” I spoke again.

He finally lifted his head, his deep blue eyes meeting mine. There was no surprise, no recognition of my presence beyond a fleeting glance. “Morning,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the charming lilt he used for the cameras.

“Yes, good morning,” I replied, my voice feeling strangely loud in the quiet space. I hesitated, unsure of what to do, where to stand. This was his territory, and I was merely a temporary, unwanted guest. “Is there… anything I can do?”

He lowered his tablet, taking another sip from his mug. “No. My assistant will be here soon with a schedule. Just try not to get in the way.” His gaze swept over my casual attire, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, before returning to his tablet.

“And oh, next week, we will be living with my family in the mansion so you can start your task for real.” He nonchalantly added, causing my jaw to drop on the floor.

“So soon?”

Instead of responding, he looked up at me, and the intensity from his gaze immediately made me shut my mouth. Faking a cough, I moved a few locks of my hair at the back of my ear. “I will make us some pancakes.” I mumbled, changing the subject.

***

The first glimpse into Alistair’s “real” life began a few hours later. While I am reading a book in the living room since there’s literally nothing for me to do, his phone buzzed, and when he answered, his voice instantly shifted.

“Liam. Good morning. Yes, I saw the early reports. Excellent. Keep the narrative focused on the fairytale aspect. No loose ends, so make sure that little piece about the charity donation gets prominent placement. It’s crucial for the public image.”

His tone was sharp, authoritative, brimming with a professional efficiency that was almost terrifying. So this is how he works off-cam.

As I stared at him, my book fell off my hand, making me gasp and earn a subtle glare from Alistair whow as momentarily distracted. I mumbled a small ‘sorry’ and then picked up my book, and even with that moment, my ears are still focused on him.

“Yes. You can schedule the interview this Thursday, just make sure to inform them that I will be bringing my wife with me.”

When I heard that, I looked up, now listening intently. His eyes are focused on his tablet while he kept speaking on his phone. “No, she won’t be a guest. Save her a spot in the front seats and have the camera pan on her. That’ll be the first promotion of my wife in public, so make sure it’ll come off as natural of her to support me.”

“Camera,” I whispered, feeling a little excited on the thought of being part of something.

.

.

.

Just after we had our lunch, a young woman, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, entered, carrying a tablet and a discreet leather briefcase. This must be his assistant.

“Mr. Deveraux,” she greeted, her voice calm and efficient. “Good morning. Your schedule for today.” She barely spared me a glance, as if I were part of the furniture.

Alistair nodded, taking the tablet from her. “Thank you, Sarah. And ensure the catering for the afternoon meeting is handled personally by Chef Antoine. I want no mistakes.”

“Of course, sir.” Sarah’s eyes flickered to me, a hint of curiosity now. “And… Mrs. Deveraux?”

Alistair looked at me, a flicker of a decision in his eyes. “My wife will be accompanying me to the charity dinner, so ensure she has appropriate attire delivered. I’ll handle the briefing on the attendees myself.”

My heart lurched. Oh wow an expensive party—one I used to attend as a waitress, now as a real guest.

Sarah nodded, her expression professional. “Understood, Mr. Deveraux. I’ll arrange everything immediately.” She left as quietly as she arrived, leaving a faint scent of expensive perfume in her wake.

Alistair turned to me, his gaze assessing. “The dinner is at 8. It’s a key event for my foundation that we just launched before our wedding. You need to be presentable, Perignon. I trust you leanred something from guests off the parties you work at?” he asked, his bluntness somewhat offensive.

“Yes, I’ll do my best.” I mumbled, looking away.

“The only thing you have to do in there is be charming. Don’t speak unless spoken to, and if you are, keep it brief and positive. And if anyone asks about our ‘honeymoon,’ just say it was private and magical.” He delivered the instructions like a drill sergeant.

“Right,” I mumbled, feeling a surge of anxiety. “Private and magical. Got it.”

He walked over to a large, sleek desk, opening his laptop. A moment later, a video call connected. This time, his face softened, a genuine, almost tender smile gracing his lips.

“Hello, mother,” he said, his voice sounds warm and affectionate, but the sharpness in his eyes tell me he’s on bad terms with his mom.

“How’s that girl you picked up, son?” The tone of her voice sounded sarcastic and rude.

Yep. They hate each other. I am just standing a little beside the desk, so I can’t see who he’s talking to.

“My wife is doing great. She’ll be a good mother to my kids if you teach her your ways.”

The woman scoffed. “She better be.”

He glanced at me, and for a split second, his eyes held a hint of something I couldn’t quite decipher – a warning? “She’s right here, actually.”

“Come here, darling.” He gestured for me to come closer. I walked stiffly, feeling like a puppet on strings.

“Roselia, this is my mother, Eleanor.”

I forced a smile, leaning into the camera’s view. “Hello, Mrs. Deveraux. It’s… lovely to meet you.”

Eleanor Deveraux was a vision of elegant grace, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, her smile warm and devoid of signs she was being rude earlier.

“Roselia, dear! It’s wonderful to finally see you. Alistair has told me so little, but you truly are radiant. Welcome to the family.”

Dang. She’s a good actress.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice a little breathless.

Alistair interjected smoothly, “Mother, we have a busy day ahead. Roselia is accompanying me to the charity dinner. We’ll speak later, okay? Bye.”

The call ended, and Alistair’s face instantly reverted to its impassive mask.

“She’s my stepmother. When we start living in the house, she’ll be the first one you have to get close to, so win her over as soon as you can.” He spoke, now tapping on his phone. “I have a step-brother too and he’s as nasty as his mom. You’ll meet him one of these days so you better get your act right when that time comes, Perignon.”