Even in my most far-fetched daydreams, I never expected Prince Charming to be an actual prince.

Sensible, pragmatic people with their heads *not* in the clouds know real princes don’t look twice at poor art students from Pennsylvania who scrub toilets just to afford paint.

Especially when the prince in question is also their professor, who barely looks at anyone *once* if he can help it and is just trying to do his job without inviting further associations with his famously royal family.

I may be a dreamer, a romantic, and a little on the whimsical side, but I’m not totally detached from reality.

Me and Prince Leopold? Never going to happen.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

The thing I didn’t realize is that even when you stifle a dream, it never really dies. It’s always there, an almost-dark ember, waiting for a little oxygen from a soft-spoken prince to call it back to life, and no amount of “knowing better” can save you when it does.

Leopold Ashwell might not think he’s happily ever after material, but I sure do.