Royal Pain

by Pike, Leslie

  “Your reputation proceeds you. I bet that wink has charmed many women.”

  “What?”

  I’m not sure how to take the comment, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t a compliment. She’s telling me she sees through my typical moves. Not many women have minded or protested.

  “I know you’re in New York for another week. Right?” She veers off topic.

  I take a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “Yes. My father wanted to visit a few old friends.”

  I’m not about to tell a writer, or a stranger, the real reason we’re here.

  “And you’ve discovered The Coffee House, a hidden gem. A brilliant move in my opinion.”

  “I learned to look beyond the common many years ago. I was educated in the United States.”

  “You attended Harvard if I remember correctly.”

  She’s done her homework. Is this all a set up? She knows too many details about the family, and in particular me, to back up a chance meeting in a midtown coffee shop on a side street. I must be wearing my thoughts on my face because she addresses my expression.

  “A few years back I wrote a piece on your country. I cited the success you’ve had as a sovereign state and used your father’s methods of governance as an example of a successful monarchy.”

  There’s a wide smile on my face even though my guard is up. She’s impressive. On an impulse I decide on my next move.

  “Would you like to take a walk? I have another hour of freedom and it would be wonderful to feel the sun.”

  She considers my request for a moment. “Yes. That would be lovely. But you better put your sunglasses back on. I’m not the only New Yorker who can identify you. The tabloids would pay big money for a photo of you in this getup.”

  Chapter 2

  Belinda

  “Just one more block,” I say, navigating the streets of Manhattan with a prince. There’s an image I never considered before. Spring lingers in the city. I’m trying to appreciate the warmth on my skin, because memories of the cold weather with its snow and slush still linger. But today the scent of blossoming trees is in the air and sounds of muffled conversations as people pass by.

  A woman in a bikini top and shorts almost bumps into us. She’s texting. At the last moment she looks up, turns sideways, and squeezes between us. “Sorry!” she says before resuming her message.

  Zan has a contented look on his face.

  “I don’t care if it’s ten more blocks,” he says firmly. “I’m loving just being able to take it in. Being able to walk the streets of New York is a privilege I’m not used to enjoying.”

  I return the smile he offers but wonder if he’s ever able to feel joy. I think about the drama of his life. The horrors he’s seen. The deeply tragic story that surfaced when I was researching my article on Mozia. There was no reason to include it in my piece, and a good one not to.

  It felt like an invasion of privacy somehow, even though the story had been previously published. My focus is current political information, not history. Especially if it has nothing to do with the country I’m writing about.

  Few details of his past were available. I settled for the crumbs I found. But the images brought up were bad enough. How a child’s tragic beginning morphed into a happy ending is only heard of in fairy tales. It’s God’s grace that saved his life to begin with. That’s the only conclusion I could reach.

  I remember reading how he’s become a tireless supporter of children’s charitable organizations that benefit not only his countrymen, but Africa in general. Alongside the praise was reference after reference about the acerbic tongue he can bring out when called for. He’s even been referred to as the Royal Pain. But with a playboy bent and stunning looks. It’s a fact he lives up to the hype.

  Soraya was the one who suggested I investigate more about the prince. She thought my female readership would be interested. I pointed out my column is serious in nature, but she had a retort. Why not see a picture of a handsome sexy man while they’re getting their weekly update? That’s how she put it. Right about now my best friend is looking pretty smart.

  I can hardly wait to call her and say she underestimated his gifts. The bone structure alone would be enough to grab the attention of females fourteen to ninety-four. But the exotic combination of DNA from an Italian American mother and African father sets the stage.

  Black hair, jewel green eyes, and a rockin body sends women over the cliff. Me too. I’m free falling. The mustache is hiding his top lip. The bottom one tells enough of the story though. It’s full and pillowed. So, so soft. And never mind that Out of Africa is my favorite film.

  He’s getting random looks from some of the women as we walk, but not out of recognition. It’s because he’s hot. Thankfully no one realizes who they’re looking at. Good. If I can keep this to myself, I may have a shot at learning more about him for a slant on the article I’m going to write. This is my chance to impress the powers that be.

  Maybe I’ll submit it to Vanity Fair. Oh, just the thought of being published in that magazine raises my blood pressure. The one time a submission got more than a compulsory response was enough to keep me high for a month. Rejected, but a compliment on my writing style was its own reward.

  Wonder if Prince Zan bought my disinterested attitude? Probably not. He’s no inexperienced, sheltered man. What political writer wouldn’t want to interview him? I need to find out specifically why the Royals are here. All of them. That’s unusual business. It’s not as if it’s an official state visit from the Queen of England. These people have no official status with our government.

  Nevertheless, important contacts exist. As in everything, one hand washes the other. Zan’s country is a subject of interest to many African nations that the United States recognize. So, it’s of interest to us. As usual it’s about the money. In this case, Mozia’s mineral rights. I learned that when I wrote my article.

  That small piece of land on the west coast of Africa is sitting on a considerable fortune in gold.

  But why is the entire family here? I think I know, but confirmation is key. He tried to sell me on the idea King Mansa and Queen Ayana were here visiting old friends. But come on, even a rookie journalist would see that excuse for what it is. Bullshit.

  What is more likely is the seventy-year-old king is introducing his heir. Without actually stating it publicly, he’s grooming one of his sons to take over in the near future. Probably Prince Tarik. That would be the best call. It would be a huge mistake for him to choose his eldest, Kwai, and an impossibility to name Zan. He’s not even a blood relative.

  “The rooftop garden is up here,” I say, pointing to the entry of the Diamond Hotel. He takes in the small boutique property, and his expression shows he’s as charmed by it as I am.

  “I may need you as my New York guide. Are you available?” He says it as if he’s serious. Walking through the doors gives me a moment to gather my response.

  “I’m sure you could hire some person more suited,” I chuckle, looking over my shoulder.

  Leading the way into the one elevator, I turn to face him and press the rooftop button. A sly grin shows up on his face. Even with that mustache it’s easy to see. I notice one edge curling away from his lip.

  “Let me fix this,” I say, reaching up.

  He doesn’t flinch as I reattach the offending edge. Think the man’s pleasantly surprised I’m touching him.

  “The truth is I’d like to see you again, but I’m interested in more than your touring or mustache grooming skills,” he says, moving a few inches closer. This man looks like he’s never heard the word no.

  My brain is in overdrive. Is he a good guy or a lech? He’s obviously used to every female falling all over him. Maybe both men reside in him. I inch myself a little to the left, and he reads my body language and backs off.

  If I have any chance of getting an exclusive, or even an interview, I can’t blend the lines between personal and professional. Can’t think with my genitalia. And I’ve got to
somehow let him know it without being insulting. Luckily he lets the subject drop.

  The elevator doors open, and we step into Manhattan’s Little Eden.

  “Wow. Beautiful!”

  The strong response is what I was hoping for. The rooftop restaurant looks like it belongs in an enchanted garden but was dropped in the middle of Manhattan for our pleasure. To remind jaded New Yorkers what the season is really about. Renewal. Rebirth. The décor changes with the seasons.

  “This is my secret garden. It’s about my favorite place in the city.”

  Taking in the entire space, he turns slowly. “Thank you, Belinda. It may become my favorite spot too. Spring in New York just took on new meaning. I didn’t realize you have such a variety of flowers here.”

  I choose the table against the far edge of the patio, overlooking the cityscape. He joins me, pulling my chair out. Gentleman. He takes the seat opposite me.

  “Well, to be fair, you’re not going to find most of these plants and flowers just anywhere. The Diamond is known for this and even though it’s such a short season before the heat comes, they make the most of it.”

  Zan motions for the waitress. “Let’s have breakfast. Do you have time?”

  “Definitely. I don’t have to be anywhere till two.”

  That’s a big fat lie. I don’t have to be anywhere at all. He doesn’t need to know that.

  He’s looking at me, and it’s unsettling to say the least. Those eyes. Holy bat shit.

  “What’s your pleasure?” Zan says.

  My thoughts run wild with visions of the prince giving me the royal treatment.

  “Pardon?”

  “Breakfast. What would you like?”

  Oh shit. My brain is scrambled by his fucking face. Get your shit together.

  “I’ll have Eggs Oscar. It’s my usual.”

  The waitress approaches. Well, actually the huge breasts lead the way. Eyes lock on her new favorite customer.

  “Morning. Would you like a mimosa to start with?”

  The batting of eyelashes commences accompanied by a sly smile. For real. I’m going to wretch. How does he stomach this ridiculous female behavior?

  “Would you like a mimosa, Belinda?”

  “No. It’s a little early for alcohol. I’m going to have the Eggs Oscar and coffee,” I say, shooting Cardi B a dagger.

  “I’ll have the same,” he says, looking up. “What’s your name?”

  This delights boobalicious to no end.

  “Kim.”

  “Well, thank you, Kim. We’ll start with the coffee. And could you bring us both waters?”

  “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  As she walks away I see her look back. He’s watching me watching her.

  “Is she looking back?” he asks.

  “She gave you a second look.”

  “Did she bring out her cell for a picture?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’re okay. She’s just a female who appreciates what she sees.”

  The comment throws me. This one thinks very highly of himself.

  “He says modestly.” I say it with a smirk. I get a chuckle for my observational skills.

  “It’s just fact. I’m sure you’ve noticed men reacting to you in the same way. Don’t pretend you haven’t.”

  He says it with such confidence and leaves no room for rebuttal. But I’m confident too.

  “I won’t pretend period. And yes, I’m not completely oblivious. But I wouldn’t go around announcing my good fortune.”

  “Is that what I did? I don’t think so. I was concerned my cover had been busted. I just mentioned the real reason she was looking. It doesn’t mean I’m vain. I’m well aware of my flaws, Belinda.”

  Okay. Now I feel like a dick. I may have jumped to conclusions just a bit.

  “I apologize for my quick judgment. Forgive me,” I chuckle.

  Oh, that smile. It’s breathtaking, damn him.

  “Tell me something about your life. You from New York?”

  “Born and raised in upstate New York. I came to Manhattan after college and I knew this was my spot. My place in the universe. What about you? Do you live in your spot?”

  He considers the question for a few beats.

  “Without a doubt it’s where I belong.” His eyes twinkle. “Africa is full of magic. The people, the animals, the land. It’s so different from every other place on the planet. Have you ever been?”

  “Not yet. I’d like to go someday.”

  His face gets serious and his voice softens.

  “When you do I hope you give me a chance to return your hospitality. I could be your guide.”

  “Should I come knocking on the palace door?” I chuckle.

  “It would be much better if we’ve established a relationship by then. You know, how normal people do? Then I’d know when you’re coming, and I could prepare.”

  What woman wouldn’t be charmed by the prince?

  “How do you propose we do that? Carrier pigeons?” Teasing him is my new favorite pastime.

  “There’s this thing I’ve heard of called the Internet. Also cells, texting, email, WhatsApp. You familiar?”

  “It rings a bell.” I smile.

  “Seriously. I would love to continue our conversation once I return home. It’s rare that I meet a woman I’m so drawn to. There. I said it.”

  That surprises, and I search for the right response. When it fails to appear, he picks up what I dropped.

  “What say we have dinner tomorrow? And maybe you’d like to meet the king. I’m free in the afternoon for a few hours. And I could introduce you to the subjects of your article. Of course, I’m talking about the one you’re planning on writing.”

  When I don’t contradict him, he continues.

  “My father and mother are always happy to hear a positive piece has been published. Would you be interested in meeting them?”

  Are you kidding me?

  Hell yes, I would!

  My blood pressure just spiked with the idea and my skin is burning.

  “Sounds lovely,” I say in a calm and even tone.

  Chapter 3

  Zan

  My mother was the hardest sell. “I’m not convinced this is such a good idea, Zan. Let’s consider a journalist we already know.”

  The lioness watches over her cubs at all times. Doesn’t matter we are all in our thirties. It’s common knowledge in our country that this elegant regal woman will rip you a new asshole if your actions threaten our peace. Queen Ayana’s suspicions have protected the family more than once. And her ability to stay calm in pressure has left its impression. She’s always teased me by saying I got my cool from her.

  My father was more open to the suggestion we give Belinda a chance. “Zan boy, I trust your instinct. You have my permission.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “Just make it short. I don’t want to go beyond half an hour.”

  I’m not sure he even considered the question longer than the time it took for me to ask. He’s got bigger things to consider lately. We all do, really. This interview would be a momentary distraction from the cold reality we’ve had to face.

  Kwai gleefully points out my dick’s doing the thinking. “Why do I get ridiculed for the same thing Zan gets rewarded for?”

  For once he might have been right. It’s a surprise because he mostly thinks of things from his angle only. When he gets a look at Belinda his opinion will change. Everything will become crystal clear. He’ll make a play. She’ll know how to handle him though. I’ve only just met her, but I sense that. I can hardly wait to witness her take control.

  Tarik saw the advantage of the interview. “We should do it. The positive outweighs the negative.” Then he listed four reasons why. Not the least of which was she’s got the ear of the youth. He was the one who swayed the family vote. As usual, his logic and ability to look ahead won the day.

  We’ve all come to expect that from him now. That’s why he will become
the next king. He read some of Belinda’s pieces last night and the pundits’ take on her abilities to interview. But it was the fact she has so many visitors to her site that made the final argument.

  How he swayed the doubters among us was with undisputed facts. She and the blog had been mentioned more than once on the MSNBC website in a positive light. Her tough questions balanced by her style. She doesn’t go for the jugular or take cheap shots. But her opinions are measured and backed up thoroughly. She always asks the questions that need asking. The ones her readers wonder about.

  Up till now, mostly the American rag magazines or celebrity television shows have requested interviews. There’s no interest in perusing that. Not by the king or queen, and not by Tarik or I. Only Kwai is of the opinion all publicity is good publicity.

  Our trip stateside wasn’t announced because of its real reason. So only a few paparazzi pics have spread the word we’re here. And that’s all because of me and my brothers. Here in New York, we’re minor constellations in a sky full of stars. Kwai is the bad boy, I’m green eyes and Tarik is the up and comer whose young family is photogenic. So far, hearing real interest in the actual monarchy or business of our country is unusual.

  We only have a few days, I pointed out to my mother, and then this opportunity will be missed. Because that’s what it is for us. Opportunity. Tarik is about to be on the world stage, albeit a very small player. But the upcoming transfer of power means a new generation will have its say in our country. I envision a golden era for Mozia. As good a king as my father has been, Tarik will raise the game. He’s that special a man.

  We all see it, save Kwai who is pissed about being passed up. Although, I think even that pushback is show. He’d much rather be holding court in a bar or club than ruling a nation. Too much work for the man. Where would he fit in his drinking and carousing? But he makes appropriate under-his-breath comments, just so everyone knows he doesn’t like the idea of being second choice.

  None of us will acknowledge to Belinda, or anyone else, the changing of the guard is about to happen. Our countrymen and women will be the first to hear the news and it will be a televised delivery from the king. But not yet. Right now as far as everyone knows my father is the healthy, vital man he’s always been. Not as we learned two months ago, a cancer victim whose time is running out. Those words are bitter to even contemplate. The tears well in my eyes and a lump rises in my throat.