Who Made You a Princess? Read Online Free PDF

talking.
    “I don’t think so,” I said.
    “Please, miss. His Royal Highness wishes to speak with you.”
    Beside me, Lissa made a choking sound. Gillian and Jeremy stared, their gazes bouncing from me to Secret Service Guy like
     they were watching a tennis match.
    “What?” I blurted. Was I dreaming? That was it. We were still on the highway. I’d fallen asleep in the car and the whole evening—arrival,
     dinner, my tangerine dress—was a figment of my imagination.
    “His Royal Highness wishes to speak to you,” the man repeated. Slowly.
    Lissa’s elbow connected with my ribs this time, hard. “Uh, why?” A legitimate question, right?
    “I do not question His Royal Highness, miss. I am to escort you to his table. That is all.”
    I gave one second’s thought to saying, “Dude, if that’s all he wants, he can come over here and say hey like a normal person.”
     But I didn’t.
    Instead, I got up and hoped I wouldn’t do anything stupid like fall off my Jimmy Choos while I made the long, long walk to
     the table next to the window.
    The whole dining room had gone as silent as a final exam. Tap. Tap. My heels sounded like castanets. Or like that drum you
     hear in movies when people get marched up to the guillotine.
    I lifted my chin. Well, I hadn’t worn a tangerine Herrera because I wanted to hide behind the potted palms. If you had to
     meet a prince you hadn’t spared one thought for in a dozen years, you couldn’t do much better.
    We stopped behind him. Secret Service Guy cleared his throat. And the prince turned.
    Wow to the tenth power.
    Dark eyes. Deeply tanned skin and a hawklike nose. Sharp cheekbones narrowing to a chin that meant business. A nicely cut
     mouth and a soul patch.
    I barely remembered my little companion from the Greek beach. There was nothing familiar in this face at all—but, my oh my,
     there was certainly nothing wrong with it.
    He stood, and I tilted my head up. Even though I had on stiletto heels, he still topped me by a good four inches.
    “Your Royal Highness,” Secret Service Guy said, “may I present Miss Shani Hanna. Miss Hanna, His Royal Highness Prince Rashid
     al Amir, heir to the Lion Throne of Yasir.”
    Long-ago playmate or not, I knew exactly what to do. I hadn’t watched a hundred historical DVDs with Carly for nothing. Not
     to mention gone obediently to the etiquette module every week in freshman Life Sciences. I extended my hand as if I were conferring
     a knighthood, and he took it as I sank into a curtsy that would have made even Mac’s mom, the Countess of Strathcairn, proud.
    A gentle tug brought me to my feet again and he looked down into my eyes. He didn’t let go of my hand. “A very great pleasure,
     Miss Hanna,” he said in a voice like midnight, rough with stars. “I feel as if I have been waiting an eternity to see you
     again. Do you remember me?”
    His eyes were a brown so deep, they looked black, and authority and appreciation sparkled in them. I opened my mouth to say
     something gracious. Something memorable. Something he and the hundred and fifty eavesdroppers all around us would remember
     and talk about for weeks to come.
    “Do you still skinny-dip in the ocean?” I asked.

    “ JUST SHOOT ME now.”
    I fell face down on the bed and pulled my goosedown pillow over my head to shut out the world and the aftereffects of my own
     idiocy. The bed dipped as Carly sat next to me and pulled the pillow away.
    “Get over yourself,
chiquita
.” I could hear the giggle in her voice, even if she was too nice to really let it go. “You were little kids.”
    “Go ahead. Laugh. I know you want to.”
    She toppled over, too, arms wrapped around the pillow, giggling at the ceiling. “I can’t believe you said that to him.”
    “I’m never getting over this. Never. He’s going to think I’m a complete fool.”
    “No, he won’t. He sure knows you remember him now, though.”
    “You just can’t say anything that personal to a future