Royal Fake

“I’d love a glass.” Her sweet face lit up with excitement.

“Wonderful.” I pulled the chilled Veuve Clicquot from the ice bucket, opened it, and poured two very healthy servings of champagne, then handed her a glass. “Cheers, to making new friends.”

“Cheers,” she said as we clinked glasses. “So,” she started right into the conversation. “You must be doing really well as a diplomat if they put you up in the penthouse and don’t make you pay for your food.” She took another strawberry.

Sensing she was hungry, I opened the lid on the pizza and grabbed two slices putting them on a plate for her. My guess was she’d nibble on strawberries all night and I didn’t mind seeing a woman eat a healthy amount of food. I hoped the gesture conveyed that.

“Well, my whole family is well known, all diplomats. We’re here for trade meetings and social welfare improvements. Your fundraiser was a perfect fit for our agenda. Ireland is looking into their own homeless youth crisis, so this was a great way to get some exposure and help a very worthy cause at the same time. We have also had a lot of boring trade meetings and such… so I’m working hard. I deserve to be a little grand. If my father had come, he would’ve expected much more, so in truth, I’m a bit of a bargain-basement comparatively.”

“You’ve a father? Does he often work with you? Is Irish diplomacy a family business kinda thing?” She clearly knew nothing about foreign affairs and policy, but then again, I should have chosen something else as my cover. “Not usually. Have some pizza.” I handed her the plate I’d made.

“Thanks,” she took a piece of pizza off the plate and began nibbling away at it.

“What made you want to go into fashion?” I decided to steer her away from discussing me as I wasn’t quite ready to reveal my identity.

“I didn’t like the way clothes looked on me when I was a kid. I was pretty picky. I didn’t like the colors, the styles, I was always wanting to change something. I’d buy a dress and hem it shorter or add decorations. Because of this, my mom bought me a sewing machine when I was eleven and I taught myself how to sew. I started making these cool outfits and then my friends wanted them and before I knew it was making clothes and selling them online and at school. Fashion became my thing. I love it. It really allows me to express myself creatively.” She took another bite of pizza. “I think that fashion should be for everybody. It is an extension of our personality, but most designers only work with skinny people. I’m this girl with a huge set of knockers and a pretty small body and nothing ever fits me on top. Having this struggle, I figured other people had issues in other places, so I started making clothes that fit people, not trying to find people who fit my clothes.”

“I noticed the models you put on the runway were each beautiful in their own way. No one had what would be considered a classically perfect body but you of course, though you weren’t on stage.”

“Thanks, but my body is far from perfect. I’ve got strange spots and dimples I don’t love, but it’s part of me. In order to love all of me, I have to accept the parts that aren’t so awesome. That’s my thing. I make clothes for real people. I mean tonight was kind of a show, but there was some wearable stuff in there, cool green streetwear, that pretty green and yellow-flowered dress with the big top hat, that was fun.” As soon as she started talking about fashion her eyes lit up; clearly, clothing design was her passion.

“Your eyes sparkle when you talk about your work. You light up the room, you must love it.” It was time to start zeroing in on her.

“Fashion has been my life for so long, I haven’t really focused on anything else. I mean, I do love it with all my heart, but I’m twenty-six. It’s time to spread my wings and live a little. I don’t want life to just pass me by.” She finished the first slice of pizza and started on the second as her anxiety mounted.

“Imagine being thirty-nine,” I scoffed in jest.

“Is that how old you are?” I don’t think she wanted to look as shocked as she was, but she was very obviously thrown off by our thirteen-year age gap.

“Have you been wondering all night?” I laughed it off.

“No, no, not at all. I mean you look distinguished but not old.” I hope she didn’t really mean to say that, but it was cute that she did.

“Thirty-nine is not old. I still have plenty of good years left.” I drank my champagne, having the sudden urge to fuck her before my decrepit body began to give out… haha, the thought of her innocence and vivaciousness aroused my cock in the worst way.