Just Pretending

by Leah Rooper, Kate Rooper

  “There’s a coffee joint around the corner,” Tiberius murmurs. “I mean, uh, I think there is. I read about it. In my travel books.”

  “If you say so…” We start walking down one of the busy sidewalks, Dwayne trailing behind us.

  “It’s hard to believe we haven’t met before,” I say, staring at my shoes.

  “Yeahhhh,” he says. “Crazy coincidence.”

  “I’ve met your parents, though. They’re more…” I stare at his blond hair and blue eyes and stumble for the right word. “…tanned?”

  “I use a lot of sunscreen.” He turns his pale pink face away from mine.

  “And your accent,” I say. “It’s very…subtle.”

  He coughs. “I watch a lot of American TV.”

  “Oh. I would have thought it was from that American boarding school I heard you attended. Mother always wanted to send me to one…not in America, though.”

  “Oh, that too…” He coughs again.

  I stare ahead. This coffee shop has got to be coming up soon. We pass rows of shop windows, but something catches my eye, and I stop. It’s an art store. The inside is filled with blank easels and rows of every color of paint. A store of possibilities. I touch my hand to the glass.

  Painting—another thing a princess can’t waste time on, much like friends.

  “Do you like art?” Tiberius asks.

  I feel his gaze on me. “When the occasion arises.”

  Suddenly, a bright glint appears in his blue eyes. “What if we deferred from the schedule, just for a little bit?”

  I cross my arms. “I thought you wanted to see the sights of Chicago.”

  “I do,” he says and smiles. “But just trust me.”

  Twenty minutes later, we are at Promontory Point, a speck of green that spits out from the city. A tiny oasis amid the skyscrapers and streets.

  I drop my bag, now overflowing with paints and brushes. Tiberius drops another, his filled with canvases and pallets. Dwayne sets up two tall easels in front of us.

  “I’m pretty sure you bought the whole art store.” I laugh. “The shopkeeper looked ecstatic.”

  “Well, Mrs. Ashwell deserves it.” Tiberius smiles. “Her family has owned that store for years.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Uh, well…” He puts his arm behind his head. “While you were looking at the paints, I was, uh, talking to her.”

  “You continue to surprise me, Ty.”

  A streak of red flushes across his nose.

  “I didn’t know you like to paint,” I say as I set a canvas on my easel.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he says. “I’m guessing not a lot of people know you like to paint.”

  I squish out some watercolors on my palette, opting for blues and grays. We’ve set up on the edge of the park, overlooking the lake. Across the water, there’s a view of the city skyline. “Unfortunately, painting doesn’t make it high on a queen’s ‘To Do list.’”

  “Well,” he says, “today it does.”

  A sense of freedom rolls through me with his words. Here I am, doing exactly what Mother directed me to do. But I’m also doing something that I love.

  Tiberius shrugs off his royal-blue jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt underneath. His shoulders are broad, and his arms strung with muscles. This is a prince who doesn’t lounge around the castle all day. He soaks his brush in water then dampens his whole canvas.

  Interesting approach, Tiberius. “Why did you start painting, Ty?”

  He glances over at me. “Avoidance, I guess. I would always doodle on my homework instead of doing it. I just never stopped. I don’t tell many people. Maybe one day, I’ll open an art gallery and surprise everyone.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

  “For some peace and quiet.”

  “I’m sorry,” he stutters. “I’ll stop talking. I mean, I’m talking right now, but only to tell you that I’ll be—”

  “No!” I laugh and give him a quick smile. “Not you.”

  He lets loose a long sigh. “Thank goodness.”

  “I mean peace and quiet in my own head. When I’m painting, I don’t have to think about what I’m supposed to be doing, or what I should be saying, or what I’m wearing. It’s like my painting comes alive and I can live inside it, even for just an hour…” I trail off, my brush hanging over my palette. I’m not even sure why I’m telling him this.

  “I know what you mean,” Tiberius says and steps away from his easel to be closer to me. “When I’m painting, I can be anywhere I want. An underwater sea kingdom where I can ride a dolphin? Done. A palace in the sky made of clouds? Sure. I can be anywhere and everywhere…at least for a little while.”

  I look up at him, unsure of what to say. He just shrugs and turns back to his painting.

  Finally, I swallow the lump in my throat and add, “Well, Your Highness, let’s see if all that practice will help you paint this city.”

  There’s a sort of candidness about him that I haven’t seen from royalty before. Maybe he’s not quite the suit of armor I thought.

  I look over at him now, so concentrated on his work. Dappled sunlight shimmers over his skin, playing off his hair so it shines as bright as spun gold.

  He’s beautiful, I think. And the thought strikes me still. I’ve been surrounded by beautiful things my whole life—but it’s always a perfected beauty. Stilted and frozen, unchanging through the ages.

  But not Ty.

  He looks as dashing and whimsical as a prince from a storybook. The kind I read about growing up but came to learn didn’t really exist.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  He’s real, and he’s right in front of me.

  And he’s not perfect at all. His shirt is wrinkled and splattered with paint. Curls break free from his slicked-back hairstyle and fall forward over his eyes. There are a million tiny movements I want to study as he paints, from his narrowed gaze, to the way he bites his bottom lip, to the broad sweeping movements of his arms as his brush flies across the canvas.

  He’s beautiful in a way that he doesn’t quite realize—which, for a prince, is a very rare thing indeed. But I know he doesn’t realize it because he flashes that smile of his to everyone, giving it out freely, totally unaware of the effect it has on those around him. Unaware of the effect it has on me.

  He takes a few steps back from his painting and runs a hand through his hair.

  My heart careens against my chest. I might as well send myself to the guillotine now. This is not going to be good.

  The afternoon has faded to a lavender twilight when Tiberius finally steps away from his painting and proclaims, “Done.”

  “You’re done already?” I moan.

  “You’ve been painting for three hours, Your Highness,” Dwayne says curtly. He’s taken up residence a little way behind us on the hill.

  “Thank you, Dwayne,” I growl between my teeth.

  “Can I see yours?” Tiberius steps toward me.

  “No!” I shriek and tilt my canvas away. I add more casually, “I want to see yours first.”

  “Okay.” He gestures to his easel.

  His painting is filled with color. At first, it seems random, all the pinks and yellows and bright blues. But when I look back at the skyline, then at his painting, I can see it’s not random at all. He’s drawn all the colors from the world.

  “Ty,” I breathe, “this is incredible. How did you make it look so…magical?”

  He shrugs. “I guess I have a lot of practice at turning things into something they’re not.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “That blue—you’ve taken it from the sky. And all the pink is from the reflections in the buildings.”

  He looks away, embarrassed. “Let me see yours.”

  We walk over to my painting and I sigh. It’s a wash of whites and blacks, completely grayscale.

  “I like it,” he says, but I can hear the forced tone of his voice.

  “You can
say it,” I moan. “It’s downright gloomy.”

  “Sometimes this place is,” he murmurs. “But look harder. You’ve got color in there.”

  I narrow my eyes at the painting. In the windows of the buildings, I’ve painted the tiniest dots of yellow.

  “What were you trying to capture there?” he asks, his voice light and wondering. He leans in so close, I can feel his warm breath on my skin.

  “I was watching the lights turn on in the buildings, and I started imagining people coming home, seeing their families after a long day. It felt…happy.”

  “Paint that,” he says.

  “How?”

  “That yellow—you could make it bigger, brighter. You’re a queen.” His shoulder bumps against mine. “You can do anything you want.”

  I hand him my brush. “You do it for me. I like what you did on yours, that drippy effect.”

  “This is your painting. I’m not doing it for you.”

  “Please,” I say. “Come on, it’s dreadful.”

  Tiberius leans over me and holds out the brush. I take it regretfully, but he stays close, his hand closing around mine. “I’ll do it with you.”

  We turn to the canvas, his hand over mine, and move together.

  “We need to put the water on the canvas first,” he says, and moves our hands toward the water cup.

  I need to think about my painting, but it’s too hard when I feel his chest pressed against my back, and his breath on my neck, and the steady force of his hand over mine.

  We dab the water over the windows of the buildings. “Won’t all the yellow bleed together now?”

  “Yeah,” he says, and I can picture that smile on his face. “But that’s the point. The light’s all connected.”

  With one dab of the yellow paint, light explodes across the canvas. The painting has come alive.

  I squeal and jump up and down, yellow paint flying off my brush. Ty laughs, too, and drops my hand.

  “See,” he says, “was that really so hard?”

  I turn around, and to my surprise, Ty doesn’t back up. I burst out laughing when I see him.

  “What?” he gasps, face stricken.

  “I may have gotten some paint on you…” I move my hand to his face, trying to wipe the yellow off his cheek.

  “Well then, I’ll have to return the favor.” He grabs the yellow paintbrush from me.

  “Ty, no!” I laugh, grasping his wrist.

  “Come on.” He’s stronger than me, and that yellow brush moves closer and closer to my face.

  “No!” I giggle and push against his chest.

  “Eva, fair is fair.” His other hand wraps around my back and draws me closer to the paintbrush. I shut my eyes, squirming in his grip. Suddenly, my body is flush against his. I inhale a sharp gasp as I feel the hard lines of his muscles, the strong band of his arm wrapped around me.

  He stops moving, and I open my eyes. He’s just staring at me. The paintbrush falls from his hand. My fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt. I’m lost in his beautiful face, the slight part of his lips, the tangle of hair over his forehead. I pull him closer…

  Something wet hits me in the face. I blink and wrinkle my nose. Another wet drop falls. I try to ignore it, but then more of them continue to fall. I look up. “Rain.”

  He pulls away from me. “Our paintings!”

  Ty throws his jacket over our paintings. I gather up the supplies on the ground and Dwayne heaves up the easels.

  “To the car!” my bodyguard yells.

  We dash through the now-pounding rain, quickly throwing everything into the trunk. By the time I fall into the back seat, I’m soaked through. But there’s a smile on my face that hasn’t been there in a long time.

  “I think I managed to save the paintings,” Ty says, collapsing into the seat beside me.

  I turn to him. “Thank you.”

  “I mean, I think a couple drops might have gotten on them, but maybe it’ll add charact—”

  “No,” I say softly. “Thank you for today. It was lovely.”

  The words die on his mouth, and he narrows his eyes at me. “Eva…”

  “Prince Tiberius,” Dwayne turns around from the front seat, “where are you staying? We will drop you off.”

  “Where I am staying…” he says softly. “The place I am staying…”

  “Yes, Tiberius?”

  “The, um, the Grand Ritz,” he gasps out. “That’s it!”

  “Very nice,” I say. “I stayed there my first trip here to visit Dan-Dan.”

  Tiberius is unusually quiet on the way back to his hotel. He’s just staring out the window, a pained expression on his face.

  By the time Dwayne pulls up in front of the Grand Ritz, the sky has faded to black. The hotel glows with a soft buttery light. “The lights remind me of Christmas in Eldonia. Everything’s so bright.”

  “I’d love to see that one day,” he says with a smile.

  “I hope you can.”

  “I’ll get your bag, sir.” Dwayne hops out of the car.

  Ty swallows and reaches for his door handle. “Well, see you around, Eva.”

  I watch the door click shut. It’s done. I successfully completed my royal obligation for this vacation.

  Dwayne gets back into the car. “Back to the hotel, Your Highness?”

  I look out the window, staring at Prince Tiberius who stands apprehensively, looking up at the hotel. I jump out of the car. It’s still pouring, and there’s no one waiting with an umbrella, but it doesn’t matter.

  Tiberius turns to me. “Eva?”

  “Can I see you tomorrow?” I call to him.

  “You want to see me?” he stammers. “You want to see me again?”

  “It would be Eldonia’s pleasure,” I say, “to escort you around Chicago, Prince Tiberius.”

  “Right,” he says, smile faltering.

  “So?” The rain pours down my face. I blink, my vision blurring.

  “I’m in,” he says. “What do you have planned?”

  “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  …

  Tyler

  It’s after eleven by the time I finally get home. It’s three subway rides and a half-hour walk to my place from the Grand Ritz. I already used Daniel’s credit card to buy the art supplies—I wouldn’t have felt right using it to pay for an Uber home…especially when I lost the Prince. I left the suitcase with the front desk. Apparently Tiberius hasn’t even checked in yet. What could he possibly be doing? Daniel did say the prince had traveled all over the world—I’m sure he’s having the time of his life without me hovering over him.

  I know I’ll have to face Daniel soon. As much as I hate to lie to my friend, there’s no way I can tell him I lost the real Prince Tiberius and spent the afternoon pretending to be him. I covered for him, and now the whole charade is over. I won’t have to worry about the prince or Eva anymore.

  My blue uniform is soaked through, and a puddle of water sloshes in the shiny black shoes Daniel gave me. Still, as I stand in my doorway, letting the rain pour over me, I can’t help but stall.

  I don’t want this night to be over.

  Out here, I’m Tiberius. A prince. A somebody. Tiberius isn’t afraid to paint the world. His voice doesn’t get lost in a crowd. Tiberius can splash paint on a queen…and he might have even kissed one, too.

  The wail of sirens shrieks through the night and the puddles of yellow streetlight spark red and blue. It would be a nice painting, but one I could never show to Evangeline.

  And once I step through this door, the mask comes off. Tiberius turns back into Tyler. The painting is finished.

  I picture Eva standing there in front of the Grand Ritz tomorrow, waiting for me. Not me, I remind myself. Tiberius. Will she be sad when Tiberius doesn’t show up? Hurt?

  Or maybe she’ll be relieved she’s free of her diplomatic duty.

  It doesn’t matter. Whatever today was—

  The door flies open, and Millie stands ther
e blinking. “Are you going to stand out here moping all night?”

  I step back, startled. “How did you know I was out here?”

  “I heard you coming up the steps. And when you didn’t come in, I knew you must be out here, languishing over the cruelty of your existence.”

  “What books are you reading these days?” I shove passed her into the doorway. The house is dark except for the flashing light of our old TV.

  “Shh!” Millie says and points to the couch. Dad is asleep, a little trail of drool dripping down his chin.

  I creep after Millie and dart into my bedroom. A second later, Mils follows me in. She throws me a ratty brown towel. “Isn’t it way past your bedtime?”

  She looks me up and down and crosses her arms. “Isn’t it way past the seventeenth century?”

  “Funny,” I say. Just how, exactly, am I going to explain this getup to my sister? A lump forms in my throat. Not only is Daniel’s outfit drenched, but it’s splattered with paint. I hope customary Eldonian wear is machine washable.

  Millie goes to my dresser and pulls out a pair of pajamas. “Get changed, dummy. Or you’ll get sick, and you won’t make your next game.”

  “Fine, Bossypants.” I snatch the pajamas out of her hands and huff to the bathroom. When did my nine-year-old sister start taking care of me? My throat tightens, and I close the door a little too hastily. I know she doesn’t remember much of Mom. Dad and I have tried our best, but still…

  We were both too broken. Now Millie’s grown up picking up our pieces.

  When I come back out, Millie is sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re still here?” I say, sitting beside her.

  “Trust me, this is better than my book.” She blinks her owl eyes at me. “So…what was with the prince costume?”

  I throw myself down on my bed and cover my face with my hands. “You won’t believe it.”

  And then I spill it all—Daniel’s favor, meeting the real Tiberius at the airport, and about Eva. All about Eva. About her love of art, the intense flicker in her eyes as she stared at the skyline, the way the streetlights played in her dark hair, the smell of roses on her skin when she was close to me—