Cindersmellya 1(31)

There are even waxing parties going on, every girl certain they’ll be the one he picks, wanting to be bare and smooth for when they get to fuck the prince. Sorry, ladies, I want to shout, the only one getting a piece of him will be me!

The day of the ball, I take a break from my own preparations to grab a drink at the hotel bar. My blonde hair is already in fancy curls, makeup applied by an elite makeup artist. I wonder what Derek will think of my blonde hair. He’s only seen me in that brown wig.

How will he react when he sees me? I sip on my wine and imagine what it will be like. Will he sweep me up in his arms, carry me off into his palace and fuck me all night long? God, I hope so.

Will we dance the night away? Hopefully my kind of dancing, if so. The thought makes me need to press my thighs together to relieve the pressure building. I know one thing. There will be plenty of orgasms tonight.

Suddenly, I’m hit with a terrifying thought.

What if he doesn’t recognize me? Surely he will. He’s my soul mate. He has to know me on sight. Right?

A hundred different scenarios play out in my head as I drink my wine, lost in a perfect daydream of my happily ever after with my prince.

“You must be dreaming about the ball tonight.” A girl nudges me with her shoulder, pulling me from my fantasies, a smirk on her face.

She’s all dressed up, too. Her and hundreds of other girls around the kingdom.

“Yes, I am,” I say with a naughty grin, thinking this girl has no idea.

“Well,” she huffs. “Don’t even bother.”

I frown. What the fuck? “Why not?”

“I mean, of course everyone’s going to go. How could you miss a chance to go to a real royal ball at the palace? But let’s be real here.” She cocks an eyebrow at me, her gaze telling me just how much of a chance she thinks I have with Derek.

I want to stand up and set the bitch straight, but she just keeps right on talking.

“Here’s the thing. Yeah, they’re having a ball, and yeah, they say the prince is picking a woman to marry. But I don’t buy it. I think it’s all just publicity. They’ve already picked out who he’s going to marry way ahead of time.”

I think about that for a second. Could that be true?

“But really,” she keeps right on going, “in what universe would a royal family that’s had a dynasty for more than fifteen hundred years ever agree to let the prince marry a commoner like any of us?” She gestures around at her group of friends and I, apparently lumping me into the commoner category.

She wouldn’t be wrong, but I don’t like the way she’s so matter-of-fact about it. It reminds me of what the lady in the hotel lobby said about this old royal family that the kingdom prides themselves on. What if this girl here is right? What if they won’t allow Derek to marry outside of their elite society? Where does that leave me?

A knot forms in my stomach. I feel sick. It can’t be true … can it?

The girl grabs the wine the bartender just set down in front of her and clinks it against my glass with a laugh. “My advice? Go to the ball, have fun, eat and drink as much as possible. Enjoy an amazing night in the palace. But don’t get your hopes up.”

I slide from my barstool as she tips her glass back, unsteady as I make my way back to my room. I don’t know what to believe anymore. Was coming here crazy? Did Derek only come back here because he has to get married to someone who has been waiting for him all along?

It feels all wrong, our night together burned into my memory so clearly that I don’t see how anything other than us ending up together could be possible. But I just don’t know.

I sink down onto the plush overstuffed chair in my room and tuck my knees up to my chest. My entire world has been thrown off kilter since Derek walked into my club. My earlier fantasies of how this night will play out are suddenly replaced with doubts and fears. Should I even go to the ball?

What if coming to St. Albans was one huge mistake?





19





Derek





I shift from foot to foot, already tired from receiving the endless line of guests arriving at the ball. This is going to be one long night.

So far, I’ve seen no sign of Ella. Not a trace. I’ve searched the face of every brown-haired girl with big tits. And nothing. My heart can’t take it if she doesn’t show up.

Another brunette steps forward in a tight evening gown that dips way, way low, revealing a massive expanse of flesh, her tits so huge they look like pumpkins. I frown. I mean, I love tits—a whole fucking lot—love to lick them, suck them, shove my dick in between them, cum on them—but fucking hell. Those are a bit much.

She comes up to me and all I can think about is Ella, wondering when she’ll arrive. I go up on my toes, trying to peer over the heads of the women lined up before me, but this chick gets right in my line of sight, draping herself all over me, whispering in my ear all the obscene things she’d like to do to me.