Prince Charming by Rachel Hawkins

Author:Rachel Hawkins [Hawkins, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2018-05-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

I try Isabel’s phone, but there’s no answer. And then I pull up my Facebook app and start messaging her.

Still nothing.

In fact, I almost think she’s purposely ignoring me, which is very much not okay and a sacred violation of our friendship, which I plan on informing her of as soon as I freaking find her.

Which, I realize, means finding Seb.

The palace is a confusing warren of halls and rooms, smaller than Sherbourne Castle, plus there’s the added issue of parts of it being open to tourists and other parts private and for family only.

I know I’m technically “family” now, but I still feel funny creeping the halls of the palace, ducking in rooms, looking for Seb and my best friend. My best friend, whose rights to that title might be stripped if she doesn’t turn up soon.

It’s actually kind of a relief when I run into Spiffy—or Dons (I still have trouble telling them apart)—on one of the staircases.

“Hey . . . you!” I say, trying to seem normal and not at all freaked out. Spiffy-or-Dons stops, grinning at me, hands in his pockets. He’s dressed like a banker in his forties—polo shirt, khakis, shiny shoes—rather than a teenage boy, and I wonder if Miles is the only one of them who ever manages to look semi-normal.

“Lady Daze,” Spiffy-or-Dons says, and, great, apparently I have a nickname, too. How does anyone know who people are talking about around here? “Getting the lay of the land?”

“Kind of,” I reply, resting my hand on the banister. “You haven’t seen Seb, have you? Possibly with a girl?”

It’s the strangest thing, but I can actually see Spiffy-or-Dons shut down. Like a door closing in his face or something.

“Can’t say I have,” he replies, and I know he’s lying.

I press harder. “It’s just my friend Isabel might be with him, and we had plans for tonight. With her parents.”

That part is a lie—Isa’s parents are still in London, coming up tomorrow afternoon—but I’m hoping that invoking parental authority will rattle him a bit.

Doesn’t work.

He shakes his head again and gives me the fakest apologetic look I’ve ever seen. “Maybe she went back to the hotel,” he suggests.

I smile at him. Or grit my teeth, more likely. “Maybe,” I say, but I am pretty sure that’s not the case. Where could Seb have taken her?

And then I realize who might know.

And who would have a vested interest in preventing any scandal involving Seb.

“Is Miles around?” I ask.

Spiffy-or-Dons grins. “Thought something might be afoot there,” he says, then literally nudges me in the ribs with his elbow and winks.

I shake my head. “Ew, no.”

Spiffy—it is Spiffy, I’m pretty sure now—rocks back on his heels, face falling. “Ew?” he echoes. “Monters is really the least ew of all of us, I feel.”

I smile in spite of myself at that but reach out and grab his forearm. “Spiffy. Focus. Where is Miles?”

It turns out Miles has a flat—his own, which is crazy to me—not far from the

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