The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1)

seats on the plane.
One person was already sitting in the row in the middle seat. He was a big guy. When he stood up to let me by, his head nearly touched the ceiling of the plane.
I took the window seat; Olivier took the aisle. Big Guy in the middle proceeded to spread his legs as far as he could, take up both armrests, and then promptly fell asleep and started snoring before we’d even gotten into the air.
Olivier made a face when his arm touched Big Guy’s arm. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.
“Have you never ridden in coach?” I said.
“Of course I have.” Olivier pulled his tray table down, only to make another face when he found it covered in some mysterious, sticky substance.
“Business class doesn’t count.”
“I don’t know the difference.” Olivier pressed the call button. A different flight attendant than the one who’d been drooling over him came by. “May I have a menu?”
“We don’t serve meals in coach.”
I couldn’t see Olivier’s expression, but I had a feeling it was all surprise. “How is that possible? What kind of plane is this?”
The flight attendant, a no-nonsense Irishwoman, gave him a bored look. “Lad, you’re in coach. You’ll get a bag of crisps and be grateful.”
I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing so loudly that I’d wake our snoring neighbor.
“It’s not that funny,” growled Olivier.
“Oh, oh, oh,” was all I could say between snorts and guffaws. “You think you can get meals on coach! You’re adorable. What else? Do you think you get free cocktails and a hot towelette?” I nearly peed my pants laughing.
Big Guy’s right eye opened to look at me. “Loud,” he said.
“Sorry.”
He’d already fallen back to sleep.
“I never drink alcohol on flights,” groused Olivier. He then attempted to lean his seat back, but since our row was right in front of the restroom, he couldn’t. “Are you fucking serious—”
Big Guy opened his left eye. “Language!”
Olivier, for once, seemed cowed. “My apologies,” he muttered.
I, for one, wasn’t going to anger our neighbor. I put my headphones in and started reading, trying my hardest not to glance at Olivier out of the corner of my eye to see if he was going to do anything ridiculous again. Throughout the flight, he kept trying to cross his legs, but there wasn’t enough room. At one point, he’d put his feet somewhat into the aisle, only to have some poor sucker trip over them and cause Olivier to yelp in surprise.
I took out my headphones to hear Olivier apologizing, the tripper apologizing, and even the flight attendant behind the tripper apologizing. It was practically an apology orgy.
I glanced up at Big Guy. He was still sound asleep, a line of drool hanging from his mouth. Sometimes he let out a particularly loud snore that was loud enough for me to hear through my headphones, but apparently not loud enough to wake himself up.
I’d dozed off when I was awoken to a woman’s voice nearby. She kept getting louder. I yawned, turning off my music, half expecting someone else to be raging at Olivier. But, no, it was the flirty flight attendant from when we’d boarded along with another one.
The second flight attendant was no older than me, but where I was straight as a board and not remotely feminine, she was curvy, blond, and wore blindingly red lipstick that complimented her skin beautifully. Despite being stuck in a cramped plane in dry, recycled air and terrible lighting, she managed to look glowy. I’d be annoyed, if I weren’t thoroughly impressed.
“May I get your autograph?” Blond Flight Attendant said, her accent marking her as Irish. “I’m a huge fan,” she gushed.
I blinked. She was asking Olivier for an autograph? Why? Just because he was hot?
The French flight attendant who’d spoken with Olivier earlier said in accented English, “Oh, I don’t know what I should have you sign—”
From where I was sitting, I could just make out French girl’s name badge: Nicole. Nicole was currently searching in her pockets, even going so far as to look down her blouse, as if a notepad would just be waiting in her cleavage to use for this occasion.
“Here, how about I sign this?” Olivier pulled out a journal from his backpack and tore off two pages of what looked like nice paper. “If I’d known you two would be on board, I would’ve brought something nicer to sign.” He winked. Winked!
I made a gagging noise. Olivier shot me a dark look before he returned to autographing.
“Can you make it out to Elsie?” said the blond flight attendant. “That’s Elsie with an ‘ie’ at the end. Oh, and can you sign it as ‘Prince’?”
I could only see half of Olivier’s face, but I could see his smile falter. “I never sign my name like that,” he said, the words rather harsh.
I had to admit, I was watching this with avid interest. Why these women wanted him to sign their autographs like he was some royal prince, I didn’t know.
After the women finally went back to work, I leaned so I could catch Olivier’s attention. “Hey! What the hell was that all about?”
Olivier shrugged one shoulder. “No idea.”
“You’re such a liar.” I tried to lean closer, but that just meant I was pressing my arm against Big Guy’s. I checked to make sure he was still sleeping: he was. “Why did they want you to sign their autographs like that?”
“I’m not discussing this right now.”
“Well, where are you gonna go? Hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight?”
Olivier studiously ignored me after that. But what he didn’t know was that, as a younger sister, I’d learned how to annoy my brother until he cried uncle ages ago. I tossed paper balls at Olivier. When that didn’t make him look at me, I just kept repeating over and over again, “Hey, Prince. Hey. Prince. Prince. Hey. Prince. Olivier. Prince, Prince, Prince—”
“Will you fucking stop?” Olivier exploded. He nearly burst from his