The Prince and I

by R. S. Lively

  Cars honk to one another, not in greeting, but to rush the car in front of them. Jesse and I don’t have a car. We can’t afford one, but here in the city, it’s pointless to have one anyway. Why bother? There’s public transportation and it can take you everywhere. A car in the city is a waste of money.

  I’m taking out my keys when I notice the familiar broken bottom step. I run up the staircase and use the key to open the door. After a good kick, it opens, and I walk inside. Our apartment is on the main floor, so I run toward another door. I don’t really trust the neighborhood ever since someone threw a brick at my window. I jiggle the handle and grunt as my shoulder hits the door to give it an extra push.

  “Oh, hey, sis. How was work?” Jesse is in the kitchen wearing sweatpants and making a sandwich.

  “Fine,” I tell him. I don’t want to make him worry.

  “Wait a minute,” he says as he takes a bite of his sandwich, lifting a brow at me as he moves his food around in his mouth. “I know that tone. It wasn’t fine.”

  I throw my keys in the bowl and collapse into the chair. “My boss asked me to go out of the country for two weeks. I told him I would talk to you.” I rub my temples as a headache starts to form.

  “Woah, wait. The creepy boss? Hell no. You aren’t going anywhere with him.”

  “It’s five thousand extra dollars, Jesse. That can really help us. You can take care of yourself for a couple of weeks, right?”

  “I don’t give a shit about the money, Rosie.”

  “Language.”

  He tosses his sandwich on the counter and takes my hand in his. “And you go, and he does something to you. What am I going to do? I just got you back. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You aren’t going to lose me, Jesse.”

  “Famous last words, Rosebud. Famous last words.” He picks up his sandwich and walks into his room. The door slams hard, shaking the entire house and making me jump.

  I take out my phone and tell Mr. Kimmel I can make it.

  “It’s going to be a long plane ride. I can’t wait to get to know you better!” he says, before hanging up.

  “Yeah, that makes one of us,” I mumble and decide to make myself a sandwich before I start packing. This trip is going to be interesting.

  Or be my demise. Who knows.

  Chapter Seven

  Rosie

  A gust of coffee smell hits me in the face when I enter the airport. I yawn, covering my mouth with my hand. The worst part of getting to the gate is the security line. It’s so long, and people are coughing and snorting and wiping their runny noses because they can’t breathe, and it drives me bonkers. It makes me shiver. The last thing I want to do is get sick. This is going to be a long flight, and I don’t want to spend it coughing up a lung.

  “Passport and boarding pass,” the Transport Security Agent asks, holding out her gloved hand. She’s chewing on a piece of gum and staring at me like she wants to be anywhere other than here.

  “Here you go,” I say. I place everything she needs into her hand, and she signs off on the ticket.

  “Next!” she yells, handing me my belongings.

  I give her a small smile. “Have a good day.” Hopefully, the words help her, even if it’s just a little bit. I look for the shortest line to scan all my stuff, but they are all the same length. I take off my shoes, which I think is weird. I've never understood why we have to do that, but I do it anyway. I take out my laptop and put it into a separate container. After they confirm I’m not a threat to anyone, I grab my stuff and head toward my gate.

  Ten minutes go by before I make it to the gate. No one else is here except for Graham, who is flirting with the attendant at the desk. He must hear my suitcase roll closer because he turns around and gives me a huge smile. “You made it!” he shouts with exuberance, pulling me into an unexpected hug.

  “I said I would,” I say as I pat his back awkwardly. I don’t want him to think I want him, but in this situation, I don’t think it matters what I do. I think, somehow, he will make it seem like I do. “Where is everyone?" I look around at the empty space. "Is no one else going to Belgium?"

  “Oh, this is a private flight. It’s just you and me, Rosie,” he says with a wink and holds out his arm for me to go first. “Let me get your bag.” He takes it from me before I can say anything.

  “Okay, thanks,” I whisper and walk as quickly as I can down the boarding bridge.

  “Excited? You are booking it!” he shouts after me.

  I plaster a big smile on my face and turn around. “So excited. I’ve never been out of the States.” Which is surprising considering how rich I grew up, but Tabitha wouldn’t allow us to go anywhere.

  “I can’t believe that.” An attendant takes my bag and puts it somewhere, and Graham sits down in a tan, leather recliner chair.

  Fancy.

  The plane is beautiful. There isn’t a row of seats. It’s open, and there's a bar, too. It truly is luxurious. I sit in the chair across from him and buckle up, leaning my chair back as well. “Oh!" I fling back when the recliner gets the best of me. I cover my mouth with my hands, a bit embarrassed, and I laugh.

  “You okay?” he asks as he puts on a sleep mask.

  Good, I don’t have to worry about making conversation. “Yeah, sorry. The seat took me by surprise.”

  “Well, get comfy. I wish I could stay up and talk, but I had a late night, and we have a very important person to see in eight hours. Rest up.”

  Like I will miss a chance not having to talk to Mr. Creepy. “Sure, will do. Oh, Mr.—Graham? Who are we meeting in Belgium?”

  “I didn’t tell you?”

  I shake my head, waiting for his answer like the best part of a movie.

  “The royal family.”

  I tilt my head and stare at him as he gets cozy. “I’m sorry; what?”

  “The King of Belgium and his family. I wasn’t supposed to tell you until we were technically off the runway, but I trust you.”

  “Holy shit,” I whisper, covering my mouth as I curse. Language, Rosie. I chastise myself for the slip. I’m trying to get better at it, so I set a good example around Jesse, but it is way harder than I thought.

  “Right? That’s what I said. Now, get your beauty sleep, not that you need it. You’re beautiful,” he folds his hands in his lap casually.

  I want to relax and take a nap, but I’m afraid of what he will do to me if I’m asleep. The engine roar and the floating sensation of us gliding down the runway make me melt into a puddle. I glance over at him to make sure he’s actually asleep, but I can’t tell. I don’t know why I bother. I sit back, close my eyes, and remember Luca. The memory of his voice gets me to a deeper slumber. These eight hours might be more pleasant and quick—definitely different from the original idea.

  Eight hours later, the captain’s voice wakes me up, welcoming us to Belgium. I rub my eyes and stretch. Holy cow. I know I’m tired, but not that tired. I’m kind of bummed I didn’t get to look at the window as we landed. Maybe on the way back.

  I look over to see Graham with his mouth open and snoring. I like him so much better like this, but it’s time for the real world. Dream Luca can’t protect me from Mr. Creepy, no matter how hard I try to conjure him up from my memory to create a real person.

  “Graham?” I whisper as loud as I can, but he doesn’t budge. “Graham.” I try again, but nothing. I sigh right as the seatbelt sign goes off and the engines die. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I stand and walk over to Mr. Kimmel.

  I swallow some courage and poke his shoulder. “Graham, it’s time to get up.”

  “Mmm, that’s nice.” He mutters, turning his head in the opposite direction of me.

  I rip the sleep mask off and poke him hard. “Wake up, Graham. We are here,” my voice a little harsher than usual. He is the one who is in charge here. It isn’t my responsibility to wake up him.

  He jumps out of his seat, startled and unaware of his surroundings. For a minute, the wildness in his
eyes reminds me of someone lost. Huh, I didn’t think he was such a discombobulated sleeper. Realization sets in when his wide eyes meet mine and the vile mask that I know him for returns.

  “We are here already? Wow. Well, thanks for waking me. I can really sleep deep sometimes. We must not keep the king waiting, right? Let’s go.” When he stands, he pretends to stumble and falls on me, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me close.

  My face heats, but not from lust, from fear of what he will do next. I put my hands on his shoulders and push away, but his tight grip doesn’t ease. Tears burn my eyes as I start to feel trapped. The plane feels smaller, the air is thicker, and his lips keep getting closer to mine. I push him away again, closing my eyes as I think of Luca. Luca would never do this to me.

  I know he wouldn’t. I feel it.

  “Sorry about that. My damn foot tripped over my bag on the floor. Are you okay?” he rubs my lower back before letting go.

  I move as far away from him as I can and grab my own bag. “I’m fine. Thanks.” I pull on my shirt sleeves, hating that I do that. I try to catch myself when I do, but it is always too late. I try to cover myself up, to be something that fades away in the background, but no matter how hard I try, I seem to always be in the center of everything.

  “Good. Well, let’s get a move on then, we don’t want to keep the king waiting,” he chuckles, running a hand down his tie.

  I expect to walk down another boarding bridge. Color me shocked when we step off the plane, right into the sunlight, and a black car sits alone, ominous, reminding me of something out of an action movie. It seems like the car is about to up and leave, speed away, leaving us in the fog of burning rubber.

  Jesse is right. I watch way too much TV.

  “There’s our ride,” Graham says, placing a hand on my lower back.

  As indiscreetly as I can, I walk a step faster than he does so he can’t put his hands on me. “Mr. Kimmel and Ms. Caldwell?” the slender, middle-aged man asks. He is in an expensive suit, his hands behind his back, standing straight.

  It makes me realize I’m slouching. I pull my shoulder back and hiss when my side cramps. I really need to work on my posture if it’s already starting to hurt. “Hello, I’m Rosie, and this is Mr. Kimmel.” I point to Graham, who holds out his hand.

  I want to roll my eyes at how fake it all is.

  “Hi, nice to meet you. You must be Marcel.”

  “Oui. Bonjour, welcome to Belgium,” he bows with a smile.

  I breathe in deep and fill my lungs with air that isn’t contaminated with drugs and diesel fuel. It feels so good. I almost feel light-headed.

  “Ah, oui. I forget you Americans are not used to our air. Your body will get used to it soon enough. It feels good, Oui?”

  “Oui,” I twirl a piece of my hair around my finger, not meeting his eyes. He knows the king. It is very intimidating.

  “Oh, aren’t you lovely. You will be a good change to the atmosphere. Your shyness is most welcome here. It is… umm, what is the word in English,” he pinches his brows deep in thought.

  “Adorable? Breathtaking? Gorgeous?” Graham chimes in, winking at me.

  “Oui. Adorable. The king will love you. Muah, muah. Okay, let’s go,” he gives me a kiss on each cheek.

  As we settle into the car, Graham leans over and brushes his lip against my ear, causing my breath to stop in the middle of my throat. “I knew bringing you would be a good idea,” he runs his finger over my jaw for a second before placing his hand back in his lap.

  Words fail me, so I give him a small smile before turning to look out the window. Everything is so beautiful here. The sun is setting, causing different colors of blues and pinks to hue the sky. The shadows of millions of flowers flicker along the road before fading away into the night. This is how I imagine my life. Full of flowers and sunshine. It might seem naïve to some, but to me, it’s the dream. I don’t care about money or a lot of success. I just want to be happy.

  “How was the flight? Good?” Marcel asks, meeting my gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “Yes, I mean, I slept the entire time, so that’s good. It means we’re alive, right?”

  Marcel bursts out laughing, and I chuckle along with him, not really sure what the cause is. “Oh, you Americans and your weird sense of humor. It is refreshing.”

  Graham types something out on his phone and he hands it to me.

  This guy is nuts.

  I happen to really like Marcel, but I’m not going to say that. Instead, I laugh at his joke, not agreeing or disagreeing with him.

  “You will have to excuse the bridge that enters the castle. It is currently out of order, and the prince is not too happy at all about it. We will have to take you through the doors the king and his family walk through.” Marcel turns on the blinker, humming a low tune in his throat as we make a right.

  “I’m sorry, Prince?” I thought we are here to only see the king.

  “Oui. The king and the queen have a son. They have to if the throne is to be carried down. Silly, girl. Americans. I love them,” He shoulders lift and sag as he exhales a breath resembling someone deeply in love.

  “Right. I knew that. What are everyone’s names? I’m sorry, I wasn’t allowed to know much due to contracts and such.”

  “Ah, I see. King Addington and Queen Caroline. Their son, Prince Addington,” Marcel quips.

  No first names for the royal family, got it.

  “Here we are,” he says ten minutes later.

  I gasp when I see the beautiful trees lining the road we turn down. They are lush and thick and surrounded by more flowers. I roll down the window to get a better view, and it is everything I imagined it to be and more. The trees break off into a huge plot of land, and right in the middle of it is a lake, and in the middle of that, an island where a castle sits.

  An actual castle. The one from movies and dreams. The one every girl dreams about. It is stunning. It even has a tower. Two towers. “Oh my god,” I say as the breath gets ripped from my lungs by the masterpiece in front of me.

  “It is very beautiful,” Marcel agrees.

  It is something out of a fairytale. The castle must be tens of thousands of square feet. I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life. Marcel parks the car, but screw waiting for him to open my door, I jump out and run around the front of the vehicle so I can have a better look at it all. “People live here?” I ask stunned. They must be rich, so rich, to afford a place like this.

  “All the royal family has lived here. And they always will. It is a family home. Come now; follow me.”

  But I stand there staring at the piece of history in front of me. The details in the stone, the sharp points on top of the towers, the drawbridge, the guards—everything seems so Cinderella.

  “Rosie! Come on. This isn’t an art exhibit. We are here on business,” Mr. Kimmel snaps his fingers at me and then points to the spot next to him, demanding me to come.

  I see the expression that takes over Marcel’s face. His mouth twists into a frown before migrating his eyes from Mr. Kimmel to me. He shakes his head, telling me silently not to do it, like I don’t have to listen to my boss.

  But I do. I’m in a foreign country, and I wouldn’t put it past him to leave me here if I make him mad. I grab my bag and walk forward, but I look no one in the eye. I don’t stop next to Graham or anything. I keep on because I will not accept anything or let anyone ruin my fairytale experience at the Addington Royal Castle.

  Chapter Eight

  Luca

  This day has been nothing but a constant headache. The drawbridge is broken, and my father won’t agree with me that it needs to go. Now our guests have to come through the royal entrance, and on any other day, I wouldn’t have cared, but today my mother has fallen ill. I want her to be able to get rest, not hear people coming and going all day.

  She collapsed this morning after tea, and the doctor said she was dehydrated, but to stay on bedrest for the night. It doesn’t stop my worr
y and a hundred other questions running through my head, thinking of the worst possible outcome. Something tells me it is more than dehydration, and they won’t tell me what it is. It is just like my parents to keep this from me. They think they are protecting me. But what of my heart when it shatters? When will I find out the truth? On her deathbed?

  “Luca. Our guests arrive in an hour.” My father says, walking down the stairs from his room.

  I turn the page to my book and wrap my fingers around the tea cup. “Riveting.” I make sure that I sound less than thrilled. “I don’t know why. Mother is sick. The last thing we need right now is guests.”

  “Your mother is fine, Luca. Stop giving me attitude. I cannot cancel this meeting. It is important for the entire community that we have it.”

  “There you go being vague again. How am I supposed to learn or help with the king himself won’t teach me?”

  The chair scratches against the floor as he sits next to me, but I don’t put down my book. My father has been angering me lately. It seems he only wants what’s best for him. He isn’t even thinking about Mother, and I’m starting to think he isn’t fit to lead Belgium anymore. “I know you aren’t happy with me. You will understand when we have the meeting. I think you will change your tune soon enough.”

  It is times like this where I wish had siblings. I could escape and hang out with them for the day, but my mother nearly lost her life giving birth to me, so having more children was out of the question. I know my father loves my mother. He will give her anything in this world if she asks. The sun rises and sets on her. I love that about him.

  But I don’t understand his way of thinking sometimes. I put down my book and sigh. I might regret doing this, “Okay. Alright. Will you fill me in on the meeting? What’s it about?”

  “I took your advice on making the community better. I brought the best here.”