"Okay! So let me get this straight." I put my hands on the table and lean forward.

"Yes!" he mimics my posture and leans too.

"Ugh! Could you be any less annoying?"

"I did a PhD on how to annoy little Miss Patty-Cake." he winks.

"Shh." I hiss, darting a furtive glance around.

"People aren't sitting around here trying to grasp your nickname. Don't be a baby," he snaps.

"It's embarrassing." I bite back.

"I like the nickname. You're here with me because of it." he sinks back into the cushioned chair with a sigh.

"Anyway! So you're some Prince with a regal past and an extravagant present who's being forced to go to his mother's ball and I'm tagging along to keep company." I say running my hands through my hairs.

"That's a yes! Will you? "

I don't feel like squashing the hope in his voice and a small part of me is proud to be a part of the ball. "Okay!" I mumble, "When is it?"

"This weekend. And come in a gown. We have a dress code," he beams.

"Hmmm—" my mind is already working on what I can actually wear.

"Here's, our food," he snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Don't do that!" I say, irritated.

"Then don't get lost in daydreams!" he is clearly enjoying my annoyance.

I keep quiet and break into my food, realizing for the first time, how hungry I am.

"Do yah like cream or cheddar to top your dishes?" he says with a mouthful of food. "Neither! I love mayonnaise." I say, not bothering with formalities. This man knows so much about me. What if he knows about my atypical food choices too?

I feel comfortable and light. I don't have to pretend. Even Brendan has never seen the weaker side of me. With him, I'm always the stronger, the saner one. I keep him on the line. But with this man, I truly feel carefree. It's like if I fall, I trust him to have my back.

"Earth to, princess!" he comments, breaking my reverie for the umpteenth time. "I don't have anything against your dreaming, but I'm getting bored here."

"Is looking at me not a pastime enough?" I tease.

"Not really. But I like what I see. Hey there's something on your hair," he reaches across the table as if to touch my hair but stops midway and draws back his hand awkwardly. I brush it back instinctively, suddenly self-conscious. I feel something stir in me. Is it disappointment? Maybe a part of me wanted him to touch me.

"Umm— it was a wisp of cotton. It's gone now." he fidgets with his hands.

"Hey," I put my hand on his, "it's okay. We're friends now. I don't mind!"

"Thanks!" he breathes, "I appreciate your care and the fact that you noticed."

I have a sudden urge to tell him about the body-language books that I read. His posture and drawing back, the restlessness, it all means that he is uncomfortable. But think better of it. That's my only secret of conversation and I know when exactly to stop. They say I can read people. But I read the body. Humans give away too much in the way they move. It's fascinating, interesting and totally cool. I get mistaken at times, but generally it's fruitful.

"So, what can I expect from this party?" I break the silence.

"A good question," his face lights up to see my interest. "Do you know how to dance?"

"If shaking your booty to music is dancing then I know to dance." I stab a lamb piece with the fork, putting it in my mouth.

"Very convenient. But I'm talking about the formal dance. The ballroom steps." he taps his fingers on the table, "The soft music —"

"I don't. But if you want, I can take YouTube tutorials and be ready. I have six days in hand to prepare!" I say, brushing aside his fears.

"Or I can teach you. I've been schooled in music, dance and art since I was a kid. But I never had a passion for any of the three." he offered.

"That's not possible. You have a job and me too. It's difficult —"

"Not if you can keep your evenings free. We can practice salsa or waltz—"

"No please!" I gasp in horror.

"I was just joking. All you have to learn is to do a pirouette and not step on my toes." he chuckles.

"Fine. I can spare two hours in the evening after work until I have to do overtime in office."

"They make you do overtime?" he seems scathed.

"Without pay!" I add, "And Mr. Prince, that's all real life away from the glamour of royalty. People like us are throwing away their lives to earn their daily needs in London. It all a rat race." I shudder at the thought of how mean the competition is. "So much back biting, bitching, jealousy and cut throat competition that you can't imagine!" I finish. "Do you have a job?"

"Incidentally I don't. I'm more like a student at the Academy of Arts. We have a chance to join in to the Oscar awards the next year. I actually don't know what the outside harsh world is like. I was protected always."

"Well! I'll teach you that! It's a deal!" I say, holding out my hand, expecting him to shake it.

He leans forward hands stretched out, but plants a quick kiss on my fingers. I swat away his face, stunned. But he's grinning like an idiot, looking at me. A smile breaks out on my face too and soon our laughter fills the gloomy, somber air of the restaurant.

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