You’re So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance
Publication date: September 12th 2021
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance
Family drama is something Lutéce Choate struggles to avoid. With a mother who’s an award-winning country western song writer, an aunt who’s a Country Music Hall of Famer, and a brother who’s a rock star, it hasn’t exactly been a low-key kind of life, and she’s ready for a break.
Then Lu’s younger sister, Claire, goes off and gets engaged to a prince from Malquar, bringing the dreaded spotlight back to shine on their family once again. Lu wants to go to the engagement party about as much as she wants to yodel the Star Spangled Banner at the Grand Ole Opry with her crazy relatives. Alas, not going, doesn’t appear to be an option.
Alistair George Henry Bere Hale is not the heir, but the spare. Without the weight of the Crown in his future, he’s managed to live the carefree life of a man about town. That is until his younger brother gets engaged before him and their mother starts pressuring him to settle down.
Alistair represents everything that Lutéce has come to despise–he’s a rich, playboy, partier, who’s always in the spotlight… But Alistair doesn’t feel the same about Lu. In fact, he’s quite drawn to his brother’s future sister-in-law, prickles and all.
When Lu and Alistair’s mothers witness the sparks between their children, they start to make plans of their own. Will Lu relax her prejudices long enough to get to know Alistair?
Find out in the fabulously funny fourth book in the Seven Bride’s for Seven Mothers Series.
Slipping my phone into my purse, I give myself one last look in the entryway mirror. Ben’s profile says he’s five-ten, which I know means five-eight. As I’m five-ten, I’m wearing flats so as not to make him uncomfortable.
While driving over Laurel Canyon Boulevard to meet my date at Chow’s—the latest West Side hotspot—I think about how online dating is really performed in code. Men lie about their height, their weight, and their net worth. Women lie about their age, their desire to start a family (men don’t want to hear the word “baby” come up until they’ve been married for five years), and how many boyfriends they’ve had.
Men want a young woman with minimal baggage and no obvious desire to procreate. Women want a guy who isn’t always looking for a better option. I almost turn my car around in the next driveway.
Instead, I flip on the sound system to distract myself from thoughts of bailing on tonight. My favorite Spotify playlist blasts vintage Enya through the speakers, causing my throat to fill with so much emotion I feel like I’ve just swallowed a bowling ball.
I love Enya and her ethereal melodies about memories from past lives where she was a princess and love spanned multiple incarnations. Thank God for playlists. I’ve already burned through five Shepherd Moons CDs.
By the time I pull up to the valet at Chow’s, I’m full-on bawling—damn these hormone shots! Oh, Enya, I long for the love you sing of! I can’t have always been the social pariah I am in this lifetime. Someone had to have loved me somewhere down the line.
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step out of the car.” Am I being arrested?
I look up and am jolted back to the present by a surfer-looking dude in a valet uniform. With a sigh worthy of a Disney Princess, I put my car in park and get out. Then I take my ticket and make my way to the front door.
Weaving through what can only be described as a throng of fashionable people—the extremes Angelinos will go to be seen at the latest, hippest, coolest place is legendary—I finally make my way inside and up to the hostesses stand. “Hi there, I’m meeting Benedict Solomon.”
The Baywatch babe wannabe looks up from her reservation book and excitedly declares, “Are you Bennie’s mom?” I’m either totally delusional about how old I look, or this girl is a cow.
“His grandmother, actually,” I tell her with a smirk. Then I raise my left eyebrow with my most intense I’m-gonna-shiv-you-in-a-dark-alley-if-you-don’t-take-me-to-my-date-right-now look. She takes the hint and leads the way.
Bennie is waiting at a table by the window. From a distance, he looks a lot younger than his JDate profile pic. A lot younger. Like twelve.
The hostess says, “Bennie, your grandmother is here. Remember, order whatever you want, and Jocko will comp the bill.”
Staring at my date, I announce, “I think there’s been a mistake.”
USA Today Bestselling author Whitney Dineen is a rock star in her own head. While delusional about her singing abilities, there’s been a plethora of validation that she’s a fairly decent author (AMAZING!!!). After winning many writing awards and selling nearly a kabillion books (math may not be her forte, either), she’s decided to let the voices in her head say whatever they want (sorry, Mom). She also won a fourth-place ribbon in a fifth-grade swim meet in backstroke. So, there’s that.
Whitney loves to play with her kids (a.k.a. dazzle them with her amazing flossing abilities), bake stuff, eat stuff, and write books for people who “get” her. She thinks french fries are the perfect food and Mrs. Roper is her spirit animal.
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