The Princess Finds Her Match

“I’m sure I can refrain from mentioning our little secret in future conversations with Uncle Rob,” Lexie replied dryly.

Blair pulled on her wig, a beautiful, jet-black bob cut. It was a gleaming piece of work with straight-cut bangs. “Sorry. I’ve got first dibs.” She stood up and made her way to the mirror above the console table on the foyer to preen at her reflection. “I’ve always wanted to look like a china doll. Now all I need is my Pussy Red lipstick and I’m done.” She turned to Lexie and fluttered her eyelashes, coquette style. “Mr. de Mille, I’m so ready for my hook-up,” she uttered breathily.

Lexie chuckled at Blair’s outrageousness. Then she immediately sobered up. “What about the bodyguards? They’ll never let me near a bar. They’ll report me straight to Stefan.”

“You leave that little detail to me.” Blair’s eyes had a twinkle Lexie didn’t trust.

* * *

”I can’t believe you managed to pull that off.” Lexie’s mouth felt dry, and her heart was drumming so loud she was sure the cab driver could hear it above the blaring country music playing in the car. Only the chill on her yet-to-be-acclimatized skin prevented her from perspiring.

“Are you insulting all the hours I spent in drama school?” Her cousin managed to look affronted for all of five seconds. The flickering, dancing neon lights of The Strip illuminated the dark interior in the car and the devilish gleam in Blair’s eyes.

“Didn’t Housekeeping find it odd you specifically requested for the staff to bring a very big trolley and have them clean your suite at this time of night?”

“This is Vegas, Lexie,” Blair said breezily. “I’m a ditzy, rich kid. Weird requests are expected.”

“You have a point.” That shut Lexie up.

Housekeeping sent up a thin blonde woman, who looked strangely disappointed to find two young women in the suite instead of drugged-out rock stars. Blair commandeered the trolley.

“I need you to do something for me, Mary Lou,” her cousin said, reading the woman’s nametag.

“I don’t do threesomes,” the woman snapped. Her face was so gaunt she looked like Mick Jagger.

Lexie gasped, not sure if she had heard right. “Excuse me?”

“At least not for less than a hundred bucks,” Mary Lou amended, sizing up Lexie and Blair as rich tourists.

“This is a reputable hotel,” Lexie said with a hint of frost in her voice.

Blair rolled her eyes at Lexie and warned her to keep quiet with a look. “I’ll give you two hundred if you cooperate and keep your mouth shut. Step back,” she gestured, making shooing motions directed towards the two bemused women flanking the trolley.

“Hey,” Mary Lou protested as Blair opened the doors to the central compartment of the trolley. Peering inside, she roughly shoved the linens to one side.

“Great! The dividers can be removed!”

Blair’s grand idea was to plop one of her sunhats and dark sunglasses on Lexie and for her to go out and talk to her bodyguards outside for a moment.

“Why am I wearing a hat and sunglasses at night?” Lexie’s gracefully arched brows drew together.

“Just do as I say,” groused Blair.

“What do I tell them?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Blair retorted, flinging a hand in the air. “You’re a princess. You’re not required to explain anything if you’re weird.”

“She's a princess?” A calculating gleam appeared in Mary Lou’s eyes. “For real?”

Blair held her index finger and thumb close together. “Tiny, tiny principality. You haven’t heard about it. I doubt it’s even on the map.”

Lexie bristled indignantly. “I will have you know, since the 1600s, the House of Ligueria−"

“That’s enough of this history lesson," Blair cut her off. Royalty or not, Lexie was only her cousin, after all.

“I want a grand.”

“What?!” Lexie and Blair turned in unison to Mary Lou.

“I’ll handle this,” Blair said authoritatively. “Go.” She practically shooed Lexie out of the suite, then abruptly paused. “Tell your bodyguards you will be sleeping in. Make sure they notice you are wearing a hat and sunglasses.”