“Father Benedict!”
Prince William’s booming voice could rival Preston’s, and Niamh felt her ears ringing from the sheer volume.
“Prince William, could you please let go of me first?”
The moment Niamh said this, Prince William realized he’d gotten carried away—again. He immediately released her, looking sheepish.
“Sorry, sorry! I just can’t believe I’m meeting Father Benedict in person! This is incredible!”
Though this was the first time Niamh and Prince William had met face to face, Queen Elizabeth had introduced them via email some time ago, and they’d exchanged quite a few messages since then.
Niamh always kept things strictly professional, but Prince William had a knack for steering the conversation into personal territory.
He’d ask if she was seeing anyone, compliment her photos, and even offer to set her up with friends.
In Niamh’s mind, a prince ought to be dignified, reserved, and the picture of nobility.
The reality, however, was quite different. Prince William was friendly, endlessly curious, and more than a little nosy.
Still, given that he was a bit younger than her, Niamh simply thought of him as a little brother.
“You don’t have to call me that! Just use my real name.”
“Of course! Absolutely!”
In front of Niamh, Prince William acted like a starstruck fan meeting his idol, practically bouncing with excitement.
Marigold, watching from across the room, looked so shocked her jaw nearly hit the floor.
“What on earth is going on with Niamh? She knows Prince William?”
Sprague, standing beside Marigold, stayed silent, his brow furrowed deep enough to cut marble.
Hayes and the others, seeing Niamh not only remain at the party but chatting amiably with Prince William, finally let out the breaths they’d been holding.
Out on the dance floor, Jonathan wasn’t the only one standing stock-still among the swirling couples.
Ramona was there too.
Since Jonathan was her partner, and he refused to move, she couldn’t very well dance on her own and make a spectacle of herself.
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