When Betty answered the apartment door, the man standing there was one of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Tall, muscular, aquiline nose, dark hair… he looked like he should be riding a white stallion on the beach in a cologne ad.
“Miss Vincent?” he said.
She faltered in the doorway, looking at him. You never know what to expect in New York, and surely this man wasn’t that out of the ordinary, except for the utterly expensive lines of his suit.
“Miss Vincent?” he repeated.
“I really need to get to work,” she said. “I don’t have time to buy anything.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “I’m Aidan, your Prince.”
She didn’t understand.
He smiled at her. “I’m your Prince. I’ve come.”
She really did need to get to work.
Veronica said, “You say he’s a Prince?”
“I think that’s what he said. He wouldn’t go away until I promised to have dinner with him tonight.”
Veronica’s eyebrow lifted. “You could have called the police.”
“He was just so…nice,” Betty said.
Veronica’s other eyebrow lifted. “So are you going to tell him?”
“Of course,” Betty said. “Then he’ll know this is some kind of mix-up.”
On her daily phone call, her mother said, “You lucky, lucky girl!”
Betty tried to interject something but her mother went on. “I mean, we’re all promised that our prince will come some day, but most of them seem to get lost in transit. I don’t know anyone who’s actually gotten one.”
“Mom,” Betty said. “What do you mean, we’re all promised one? Who does the promising?”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “Well,” her mother finally said, “I guess I don’t really know. The world? God? Yes, that’s probably it. God promises if we’re good, someday our prince will come.”
“I think you’re confusing God and fairy tales,” Betty told her.
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