48 First Dates (Seeking Romance #1)

The Prince of the Ballet

24

The sight cuts me deep.

I swipe up without thinking,

an invitation—

A fter the fiasco at Vino Tinto , I took another break from dating. Brian never contacted me, and I don’t blame him for that. I chased him away with my less-than-rational behavior that night. I got a charm of a broom to remind me of our first date and the way it had ended.

Over the next few weeks, I focused on my studies and patched things up with my friends. I stuck to the plan through the holiday break.

At home, I had a wonderful but difficult Christmas break. My dad wasn’t with us for the first time. We laughed and cried as we made fresh memories. But it wasn’t the same.

I came back to school for the spring semester, and the daily sips started again. I told myself it was fine. I had it under control. It was less than before, and I knew where to draw the line. And I believed that as long as I ignored the truth of the pain festering deep underneath.

I convinced myself to get back out there and seize the day, just in a more responsible way. Mitzi was single at that time, too, so we both headed back to Royal Swype.

“This time, it’s going to work. Our own picks have to be better than Cynthia’s!” Mitzi tucked her feet under her as she leaned back on the couch with her phone in hand.

“Yep.” I nodded as I swiped, mainly down, through the app.

That’s when I saw it. My heartbeat sped up, and I almost dropped the phone.

I was aware of his profile. I was there when the four of us created ours. I saw Cynthia swipe a few girls into his kingdom. I had asked him about one of his dates. But I wasn’t prepared for how much it affected me to find it in real time.

Brenn was out there… being swiped up by other women.

My Brenn.

Correction—my friend Brenn.

It shouldn’t have mattered, but the knot in the pit of my stomach said it did.

That’s when Hunter’s profile popped up, requesting to enter my kingdom. He made no secret that he was a sugar daddy looking for a college girl he could spoil. A girl that would help keep him young.

Before I knew it, my finger swiped up.

“Eww, Adelaide, you can’t go out with him!” Mitzi said with a crinkled-up face.

But Hunter was already texting me, and I wanted to carpe diem , right? So I ignored Mitzi and agreed to meet Hunter for a date the following weekend.

His secretary contacted me on the Monday before, which I thought was a bit odd. I opened the email and found the following:

Dear Adelaide,

Mr. Lambert’s limo will pick you up precisely at 4:00 PM on Friday. The limo will take you to a to-be-determined restaurant in Atlanta. After that, you will be driven to the ballet, where Mr. Lambert has a box.

DO NOT worry about what to wear. I will send an appropriate outfit, complete with accessories. For confirmation, please respond with your dress and shoe size.

Sincerely,

Dora Rhoades

Executive Secretary

P.S. If you have any questions, please send them my way.

Mitzi and Cynthia were less than impressed by the email. Both of them encouraged me to cancel the date. “He’s going to expect something you don’t want to give. Maybe not that night, but eventually, he will.”

They were right, but at that moment, I didn’t listen.

A package arrived on Friday morning. The long, slinky black dress with subtle sequin embellishments fit like a glove. The matching shoes added several inches to my height, and the purse was the right size. There was a note in the box saying a woman would be coming by at 2:00 PM to help me get ready.

“Guys, this is way beyond any other first date I have experienced. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not,” I said as I fingered the dress.

“Not, definitely not.” Mitzi frowned at the contents of the box.

“I agree, Adelaide. He seems a bit like a snake in the grass,” Cynthia said.

“I would return it all,” Mitzi said with pinched eyebrows.

“Well, I think it’s a nice touch. And I want to enjoy a fancy night on the town. Who cares if it happens to be on the arm of a mature, salt-and-peppered man?”

Cynthia and Mitzi both blew out a loud breath before they turned and walked out of my room.

The stylist arrived on time, and she help me get ready for the limo, which arrived precisely when Dora said it would. I met Hunter in person for the first time at the restaurant. Our conversation proceeded with no awkward pauses at dinner. Hunter asked about my interests and told me stories of his travels. By the time we left for the ballet, I was having a good time.

The graceful dancers and exquisite sets enraptured me at the theater. The time passed as quickly as a ballerina leap. Before I knew it, we were at a fancy bar having a nightcap as we waited for the limo to take me home.

Hunter ordered a whiskey neat, and I ordered a decaf coffee. The drinks arrived in short order. I took a sip and set down my cup when Hunter looked directly into my eyes.

He took my hand in his. “Adelaide, I have enjoyed this evening far more than I expected to. I’m a direct man. I know what I want, and I go after it. I’d like you to come with me to Paris next weekend. We’ll go on my jet and stay in my suite. I’ll take you to see the Paris ballet—it’s even more spectacular than what you saw tonight. We’ll have fun together, I promise. Will you come with me?”

“I...” I hesitated, unsure of how to respond to his request. I wanted to see Paris, but I had a feeling that the trip came with expectations I didn’t want to fulfill. “I... need to go to the bathroom.”

I got up in haste and made my way around the square tables to the bathroom. How in the world was I going to answer him?

On the one hand—Paris!

On the other hand—expectations.

My intuition said he would expect that , but he hadn’t explicitly said that was part of the deal. The trip could be innocent.

This is not you , a voice inside my head whispered.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I longed to experience something other than sadness and emptiness. But did I want to compromise at that level?

My nose wrinkled. The fragrance of the air freshener was attempting, but not succeeding, to overcome the ammonia aroma. I turned on the water to wash my hands, hoping the soap smell would cover over the rest. Hoping that this would allow the answers to flow.

This is not you, the voice insisted.

I agree. The girl who stared back at me was a decorative version of the one who greeted me every day.

This is not you, the voice in my head repeated.

But is this who I am trying to become? I argued with it. The live-in-the-moment girl. The have-fun-without-thinking girl. The type of girl that would travel the world.

The voice only echoed— This. Is. Not. You.

But the fairytale-loving version of me only ended in pain...

I winced at my reflection, trying to convince myself that a different course of action was needed.

Once more, the voice reminded me gently. This is not you.

I looked at myself in the mirror and whispered out loud, “What are you going to do, Ads?”

I felt like Ariel trying to decide if it was worth giving up my voice to an evil sorceress so I could find my prince. Would I make a deal with someone like Libby in order to find my prince? It worked out well in the movie but not so much in the actual fairy tale.

“I’m going to Paris.” I nodded to the mirror image.

What are you doing? This isn’t who your parents raised you to be. This isn’t how you see the world. This isn’t the fun you are seeking. My reflection screamed at me.

I stared at the reflection in the mirror and said, “I’m not going to Paris.”

The pendulum of indecision swung back and forth before I reached a final decision. I grabbed my purse and walked out of the bathroom.

When I sat down at the table, I took a sip of my coffee and looked into Hunter’s eyes.

I knew exactly what my answer would be.