"Young master!" The stewardess stood there, breathless and wide-eyed. Then her gaze swept over him—disheveled, hair tangled, nightshirt slipping off one pale shoulder—and for half a second, her brain blanked. Too pretty.
But panic quickly overtook aesthetics. "Why aren't you dressed yet?! Do you even know what day it is?!"
Adam stirred, finally rolling over, his eyes half-lidded and glazed with sleep. "…Is it… egg-for-breakfast day?" His voice was quiet, soft, almost musical in its confusion.
"Eggs my ass!" The stewardess stomped over, looking seconds away from shaking him awake. "Today is—the day Her Highness arrives! The Crown Princess! Are you trying to have the Madam skin you alive?!"
There was a beat of silence.
"…Her… Highness?" Adam's tone was still hazy, his pretty brows knitting as his gaze drifted lazily to the clock on the wall.
Tick.
"…"
"…Oh, shit."
