Once Upon A New York Minute: Part 1

by Sherry Ficklin

  “It wasn’t like that,” he says, clearing his throat.

  He pushes open his door and we all file inside.

  “Hi,” I offer, introducing myself to the slender woman who I see now is wearing a pencil skirt and ruffled blouse that forces her to walk with her knees pressed together. “I’m Haven.”

  I hold out a hand and she takes it, not smiling, but pulling me closer, staring into my eyes from behind her black-framed glasses.

  “Her eyes aren’t blue,” she scoffs, turning to Sarah.

  “They’re sort of blue,” Sarah says, joining in the appraisal.

  “They’re grey,” Liam says, flopping himself onto the sofa. “Steel grey.”

  “And you are?” I press, taking my hand back.

  “I’m Kimma Yee. I’m here to help dress you for the Coronation Ball.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Kimma.”

  “Likewise, likewise,” she says, returning to her rack of bags. She slides them across the bar, stopping from time to time to unzip one a few inches.

  “Kimma’s an amazing designer,” Sarah says.

  “Are you thinking hair up or down?” Kimma asks without looking at us.

  “May I?” Sarah asks, pointing to my hair.

  “Sure.”

  Stepping around me, Sarah grabs the tendrils, spinning them in her hand and pinning them against the back of my head. “Hold this here,” she instructs.

  Once I’ve got it, she rounds me again.

  “Hmm, I don’t know, what do you guys think?”

  “Up,” Tommy says at the same time Liam says, “Down.”

  “You see what I have to work with?” she whispers, winking at me. “Boys are so useless.”

  “I heard that,” Liam pipes up, kicking off his shoes.

  “Try this one,” Kimma says, finally pulling a bag from the rack and holding it out to me.

  Accepting the bag, Sarah points me toward the bathroom. “I’ll give you a hand.”

  We march together to the bathroom and close the door. There’s a large shower, a clawfoot tub, and two carved stone sinks all against a marble tile backdrop. I whistle.

  Carefully, Sarah hangs the bag on the back of the door and unzips it before admitting it with her fingers. It’s a dusty rose color, all lace and ruffles.

  “The beading is lovely,” she muses. “And the color isn’t bad. A bit pink for my tastes, but it will suit you.”

  “I’ll give it a try,” I say, my voice deadpan as I motion for her to hand it to me.

  She sighs, “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Abandoning the dress, she sits on the edge of the tub, “Because most women in your shoes would be having the time of their lives. Flown on a private jet to an exotic island and showered with fancy dresses in hopes of landing a prince? It’s literally a fairy tale. But you look like you’ve just ate a lemon.”

  I sit beside her, “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, really. This is all wonderful.”

  “But,” she nudges me.

  “But, it’s not me. I’m not a ball gowns and fancy parties kind of girl. I’m a ripped jeans, ride roller coasters till I puke kind of girl. That’s the girl Aiden fell for, not this,” I motion towards the dress.

  She stands, wiping her hands on her slacks. “Fair enough.”

  With that she grabs the dress, slinging it over her shoulder and stalking out of the bathroom.

  Afraid I’ve upset her, I go after her. But she holds the dress to Kimma, “Change of plans. Open them all up so she can choose.”

  With that, she spins on her heel, back to me, her voice not angry, but determined. “Forget about what we want, you decide. The dress, the hair, all of it. You should be the one who chooses.”

  With that Liam sits up, leaning over the back of the sofa, “I’ve got news for you, it doesn’t matter. She could show up in a wet paper bag and still be the prettiest girl in the room—and the only thing Aiden sees all night.”

  I bring my chin to my shoulder, “Aww, Liam. You think I’m pretty.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” he teases. “But Sarah has a point. You should pick something you can be comfortable in. You can’t be yourself if you feel like someone else.”

  “But no red,” Sarah says, chewing her thumbnail as Kimma uncovers the last of the gowns.

  “And no white,” Tommy adds. “It’s not a wedding.”

  “And no black,” Kimma chimes in. “It’s bad luck.”

  I laugh, “Ok, ok. Got it.”

  Walking to the rack I let my hand glide across the tops of the dresses. The feel of soft velvet under my fingertips makes me stop, parting the clothes to get a better look at it.

  “It’s green,” Sarah says.

  “It’s sleeveless,” Kimma adds.

  “Can I try it on?” I ask, and they exchange a glance before nodding once.

  “She’ll be the only one in velvet,” Kimma says under her breath as I make my way to the bathroom.

  “That’s not a bad thing,” Tommy mutters. “Is it?”

  Closing the door, I strip down and slide into the dress. It takes a few minutes to figure out the collar and the wrapping pieces, but soon enough it’s on. At first I’m afraid it might be too small, but the zipper goes up cleanly, and I take a moment to admire myself in the mirror before coming out. Liam has his back to me, finishing off the last of the scotch, and Tommy, who was on the chair stands as I walk out.

  Kimma and Sarah say nothing, combing me over with their eyes.

  It’s not just green. It’s a deep emerald shade of velvet that crisscrosses over my chest, leaving my shoulders bare, and wraps around my neck in a choker-like collar. The bottom of the dress hugs my hips before flowing into a mermaid tail around my feet.

  After a few moments of silence, Sarah leans back.

  “Hey Liam, what do you think?”

  He turns, catching sight of me. The empty bottle slips from his fingers and crashes to the floor. Cussing, he bends down and starts picking up the shards.

  Sarah grins, looking back at me. “Yep, that’s the dress.”

  Kimma nods, making her way to me and pinching at the fabric in places. “A slight adjustment here, to accentuate the hips a bit, and this bit around the zipper should come in just a touch.”

  “Don’t pin it yet, Kimma. We should do the dance lessons in it,” Tommy says. “So she can see how it’s going to feel.”

  “Good call,” Sarah says. “Can you find some music?”

  Grinning, Tommy pulls out his phone. “What are you thinking? A little soft jazz? Some Barry White?”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Just find something we can waltz to,” Liam orders, tossing the glass in the trash and wiping his hands on his slacks.

  “Say no more,” Tommy says, hitting a few buttons.

  Soon the music plays softly, an older song, but one I know well.

  Stepping forward, we connect in the center of the room. Liam takes my hand, laying it on his shoulder before picking up my other hand and taking me by the waist.

  “The first step is forward for me, so you step back with your right foot,” he whispers.

  He leads me gently, with his whole body.

  “Now to the left with your left foot. Then together.”

  We move in unison, as if connected by a thousand invisible threads.

  “Now move forward with your left foot, then right with your right foot. And together again.”

  He grins, “That’s it. Easy, right?”

  I shake my head, “Yeah, actually.”

  “Good, let’s keep going.”

  We make the maneuver a few more times slowly.

  He squeezes my hand in his, “Relax, Haven. Deep breaths. It’s just like sex.”

  “Better in handcuffs?”

  He chuckles, “Best when everyone is enjoying themselves.”

  “Play it again, Tommy,” I call out.

  We dance again, and again. Twice more until I’m sure I�
�ve got it. Dancing with Liam is like breathing, I realize. Natural and easy, a flow that happens without having to be forced.

  “Let’s try a turn,” he says, guiding me through the motion. “Perfect.”

  Looking up, I meet his eyes. Hazel, I realize, with flakes of green and gold.

  “You’re a good teacher.”

  “Alright,” Sarah interrupts.

  Honestly, I’d forgotten there was anyone else in the room but Liam.

  “I think she’s got it. Let’s have Kimma pin the dress and you guys need to get ready for dinner.”

  Liam releases me. “I’m always ready for dinner.”

  “You don’t have shoes on,” Sarah points out. “And Tommy is wearing a shirt with ducks on it.”

  I frown, looking at Tommy whose shirt does in fact have a pattern of tiny ducks on it.

  “I thought they were polkadots,” I say.

  “Better,” Tommy grins. “They’re polka-ducks. See? They have tiny accordions.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Sarah mutters under her breath. “Alright, I’ll send word for our food to be delivered to my room, and I’ll meet you there once Liam leaves.”

  “Sounds good, and thanks for all this Sarah. I appreciate it.”

  Her mouth perks up on one side in a kind of half-grin. “It’s the least I can do. Aiden has been more than a friend—to all of us. I don’t think there’s anything we wouldn’t do for him.”

  With that Sarah and Tommy make their exit, leaving me to be poked and prodded by Kimma as she marks the dress. Changing back into my jeans I come out and find Liam putting on a fresh shirt. Though he has his back to me, it’s impossible not to notice his physique. The muscles in his back well defined, his waist slender where it disappears into his slacks.

  I spin quickly, forcing myself to look away.

  “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t realize you were changing.”

  “It’s fine,” he says. “I’m done.”

  I glance over my shoulder to see that his shirt is on, and he’s hunched forward buttoning it.

  “So, Liam. If I weren’t here, who would you be taking to the ball tomorrow?”

  He shrugs, “I wouldn’t. If you weren’t here, I’d ditch it. I hate these things.”

  “Why?”

  He turns to me, draping a silk tie around his neck and flipping up the collar. “I don’t exactly fit in. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I noticed, I just figured it was by choice.”

  He rakes one hand through his hair, “I dunno. Sometimes it is. Other times, it’s a survival mechanism.”

  “How so?” I ask, settling onto the sofa.

  “It’s like, Aiden is the sunshine, right? Everywhere he goes, everything he does, he’s golden. Sometimes it’s just hard to live in his shadow. I love him, and I wouldn’t change anything, but it can be tough feeling like you don’t quite measure up. Sometimes I feel eclipsed by him.”

  “Have you ever talked to him about it?”

  “No,” he points at me. “And don’t you dare repeat any of this to anyone. Ever. Especially not to Aiden.”

  I make a gesture like a zipper closing across my mouth.

  Smiling at him, I tilt my head, taking in the full length of him. “For what it’s worth, she’s out there.”

  “Who?” he asks, his gaze sliding toward the door.

  “The girl who is going to walk right past Aiden and into your heart. You’re a good guy, Liam. And eclipses don’t last forever.”

  Shaking his head, he crosses the room, one hand on the knob. “Whatever you say, Haven.”

  Truly Forked

  As he leaves for dinner, I slip across the hall to Sarah’s room. Brighter than my own—mainly on account of the crystal chandelier dripping from the ceiling—her room is long and narrow a central sitting area with two chairs, a table, and a settee, beyond which is a wall dividing the room.

  She waves me in, and on the table four plates sit, covered in metal domes.

  “Dinner’s already here,” she says. “Perks of eating in the room. We don’t have to wait on each course.”

  I sit, seeing that the table has been carefully laid with a series of cutlery, and I move to lift the lid.

  “Hold on, this is a good time to go over basic table etiquette.”

  “AKA, how not to look like a feces’ flinging primate at a formal meal. Got it.”

  She smirks, “You are so bloody American.”

  “I’ll take that as a complement,” I decide, resting my hands on either side of the plate.

  She begins walking me through the setting one utensil at a time.

  “Traditionally, the King takes the first bite, and the last. The meal begins with his first bite, and ends when he’s done. The queen was a stickler on this, though I suspect Aiden will be less so. The fork goes in your left hand, the knife in your right.”

  I pick up the appropriate flatware.

  She goes over acceptable dinner conversation topics, how to excuse yourself if you have to use the restroom, and how to signal the staff that you’ve finished eating.

  Finally, she sits back. “Now, let’s eat,” she says, lifting her tray.

  I’m not sure what I expect, some weird gourmet dish or something, but to my surprise, cut into neat triangles on my plate sits what looks an awful lot like a slice of pizza.

  Glancing back to Sarah, I grin. “What’s this?”

  She looks down, confused. “It’s pizza, correct?”

  I push at it experimentally with my fork. “Is this what everyone’s having tonight?”

  “No,” she says with a smug tilt of her head. “I asked the kitchen to make it special for you. I thought your first night so far from home, it might be nice to have something familiar.”

  “That’s really kind of you,” I say, shaking my head. I set down my silverware and lift the slice.

  Glancing up, I see she’s staring at me, looking appalled.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  I hesitate before I take a bite. “This is how you eat it. Pizza is finger food.”

  Sarah frowns, “But…the sauce.”

  I smile, taking a bite. The sauce is sweet, more like ketchup with basil than actual pizza sauce, with a thick, doughy crust. The cheese has an intense, smoked flavor, and what I assumed was chunks of regular ham is closer to a prosciutto—dry and salty.

  I’m not sure what this is, but it’s not pizza.

  “How is it?” she asks, navigating the lifting of her own slice.

  “It’s good. Unusual, but good.”

  “Excellent,” she says. Unable to bring herself to take a bite, she lowers the slice and begins cutting off a piece to lift to her mouth on the fork.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nods, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

  “What happens if Aiden doesn’t get married?”

  She frowns, swallowing and taking a sip of water before responding.

  “Well, it’s not a law per-se, but it’s customary for a king to be wed either before or shortly after taking the throne.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  She blinks, “Why what?”

  “Why does the monarch have to be married?”

  “To ensure the continuation of the royal line,” she says, as if it’s obvious. “To secure the dynasty and offer stability to the country. It’s especially important in Aiden’s case, as he’s an only child.”

  “And why the restrictions on who he can marry?”

  She sets her silverware down, “After we won independence from England, people feared bringing in monarchs from outside our own nobility would risk being conquered again, winding up with a monarch with no love for this land or it’s people.”

  “Doesn’t that seem a bit outdated to you? I mean, at best you run the risk of genetic issues from such a close gene pool after a few generations, at worst it’s blatantly xenophobic.”

  She lowers her fork, “I think you’ll find most royal dictates are.”


  “The previous queen, she ruled as a widow, correct?”

  Sarah nods again, “But she’d already been married and produced an heir.”

  “So, if Aiden gets married, and doesn’t have any children?”

  Resting her elbows on the table she folds her hands. “Why do you ask?”

  “Humor me,” I say.

  With a deep breath she sits back, “If he doesn’t have a child, then when he and the queen pass away, the council elects a new monarch. They would look to stay as close as possible to the original bloodline, distant cousins in Aiden’s case, but unless he specifically appointed one of them as his heir, the council would vote in a new king. But he would rule until that point.”

  I set my slice down on the plate, “It’s just barbaric. Forcing someone to marry someone they don’t love? Shouldn’t Aiden get to choose who—and if—he wants to get married?”

  “It’s the way it’s always been,” she says, her tone curt.

  “That doesn’t mean it can’t change. People grow and evolve, maybe your laws should too. Because to be completely honest, if someone proposed to me just because they were on some sort of arbitrary deadline to find a breeding partner—there’s no way I’d agree to it.”

  “Even if that someone was Aiden?” she asks pointedly.

  I let that stew for a minute. To be honest, I hadn’t thought that far out yet.

  “If I didn’t think he cared for me—really cared—then no. Not even Aiden. Marrying someone you don’t love isn’t marriage. It’s servitude. And that’s no way to live.”

  “Well, I don’t disagree on that point. But for people like Aiden, even people like Genevieve who has spent her life in service to her country—as misguided and ill rationed as she can be—servitude is all they know. And love is a luxury that they can’t always afford. Aiden will choose a wife not for love but for the good of the crown and the stability of his country as his forefathers have done before him since the beginning of the monarchy.” She raises her water glass, “But that is why you are here, to offer Aiden a choice he would otherwise not even consider. Aiden would marry Genevieve—or me—if he had no alternative. It’s his destiny to rule, and a part of that is making this sacrifice for his people. He’s accepted that as an inevitability. But you are correct, as a man, and a friend, he deserves better, which is why we are risking so much to bring you together and make you eligible to be his wife. Perhaps someday you can make a motion to change that particular law.”