His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

  However, as the years passed and my parents’ focus remained on Avery’s health, I started to slowly see my position as something to resent. I know it’s a terrible thing, but there were times I used to wish I were the sick one. Avery seemed to get so much love and attention, not because she demanded it, but because she needed it. It probably wasn’t even intentional, but the fact is, when one child is sick, everyone else goes on the back burner. It’s the only way for the family unit to survive. I understood that, but my hope was that once Avery got better and left the hospital, life would balance itself out again. We could turn into a normal family.

  It didn’t work that way.

  Avery did kick cancer’s butt, and eventually she got to come home to cram into the two-bedroom apartment with us. Still, that didn’t mean she was “normal” the way I was—heavy emphasis on the air quotes. Avery always needed more. She was behind in school. She was fragile and small for her age. She needed a special diet, tutors, routine checkups.

  My parents continued to provide for her the best way they could, and I found a place to survive all on my own: Fairytale Kingdom. I started working there the summer I turned fifteen. My job wasn’t all that important—I sold balloons on Castle Drive—but I loved every minute of it. I was playing the same role I’d played for years: making people happy and providing for others, but this time it was on my own terms. Children would squeal with delight when I’d hand over a balloon, and after that first summer, I knew I wanted to work in the park full-time one day.

  My senior year in high school, my parents started discussing the idea of moving to New York for Avery so she could pursue a real acting career. She’d been bit with the acting bug when she was still in the hospital. Her pediatric unit had put on a Christmas play, and each child was assigned a part. Avery played the sugarplum queen, and on that makeshift stage in the hospital cafeteria, she found her calling.

  After that, she was cast in local theater productions. My parents would drive her to auditions and practices all over the state, gone most nights of the week. She’d recently come home, beaming from ear to ear, eager to inform me that she had an agent! She showed me his business card while I sat in our shared bedroom, reading my history textbook on my bed.

  “It’s real! Touch it.”

  I held the cardstock in my hands. It was thick and embossed with black, bold letters. Real, indeed.

  “He wants me to fly to New York and audition for an off-Broadway play.”

  I had no idea what “off-Broadway” meant, but I acted like I did.

  “You should do it,” I said, holding the business card back out to her.

  Her eyes were bright with hope. “You could come too!”

  No. I couldn’t. I had school and shifts at Fairytale Kingdom.

  Soon after that, the move to New York felt all but inevitable, so I looked into my options for ways I could stay in Georgia without them.

  The Knightley Company has a special college program for incoming freshmen. If accepted, participants split their time between working in the theme park and taking college courses through South Georgia University. The goal is to graduate with a degree in hospitality management while gaining real-world experience. In addition to a small wage, the program pays for college tuition and provides room and board.

  I sent in my application the first day the enrollment period opened, and when my acceptance letter came in the mail, I screamed so loud Avery came rushing into our room, assuming murder.

  A part of me held out a tiny bit of hope that my parents would put up a fight about me staying behind in Georgia without them. The plan was for us all to move to New York, but when I showed them the acceptance letter and explained how competitive the program was, they wrapped me up in a hug and told me how proud they were. No tears of sadness over the fact that they were going to leave me behind, just nails in the coffin of our relationship.

  The day they packed up their moving truck, I settled into my fully furnished on-site dorm at Fairytale Kingdom. Though the halls were noisy and filling with other new interns just like me, I sat alone in my room, sad in a way I couldn’t easily explain. I was at my desk, glancing over my course schedule and trying to conjure up excitement for my new life, when an email popped up on my computer.

  * * *

  From: Info@Knightley.com

  To: WhitneyAtwood@Knightley.com

  Subject: Mentor Program

  Hi students,

  All incoming freshman interns are required to take part in our mentorship program. Each student has been placed with an executive-level staff member who will act as a resource and adviser over the coming year. Mentors will offer shadowing opportunities as well as program-approved assignments. Each student will earn one credit hour for participation in the program.

  Mentors have been notified of their assignments and will be in contact soon. Please establish a consistent time and place for meetings conducive to your schedule. (Minimum of four meetings required per semester.)

  Whitney Atwood has been placed with Derek Knightley, Head of Entertainment.

  * * *

  His phone number and email were provided below that, but I didn’t make it that far. As a longtime employee and lover of Fairytale Kingdom, I knew about the Knightley family. They were royalty. Cal Knightley was the man behind it all, someone rarely seen at the park. I thought I might have caught a glimpse of him once, from afar. His grandson worked at the park as well, but as Head of Entertainment, he was someone I’d never once come close to interacting with either. Oddly enough, my post as a balloon vendor didn’t require much face time with the higher-ups, and yet, here I sat as Derek Knightley’s new mentee.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I received an email from his assistant that same day requesting a schedule of my classes and park shifts. I responded right away, fingers flying, and then hovered near my computer the rest of the night, waiting for directions for where and when I should expect my first meeting with Derek.

  It was planned for one week later at a coffee shop on Castle Drive inside the park.

  I knew next to nothing about Derek outside of his role in the park. Not his age, not his appearance—nothing. Though there were whispers that he was handsome, it seemed more like an urban legend than anything else. How could one human have that much luck? There were also whispers that Cal lived inside the castle, but no one had confirmed or denied that either. There was so much secrecy surrounding the Knightley family, and any rumor could catch fire, from the innocuous (Cal drinks his coffee with five teaspoons of sugar!) to the absurd (He acquired the capital to build the park from the Russian mob. Don’t cross him.).

  The day of my meeting with Derek, I showed up at the coffee shop right on time in clothes I’d grabbed from a resale shop the week before. I was drowning in a navy pantsuit, and though I’d convinced myself I looked professional back in my dorm room, out there in the Georgia sun, I just felt like a sweaty mess. It didn’t help that my flats were half a size too big as well—Avery’s hand-me-downs. They kept sliding off when I walked, and I already had a nice fat blister developing on the back of my right heel.

  My appearance came into sharp clarity when I caught my reflection in the coffee shop window. My too-long auburn hair hung in loose waves. My skin had a healthy glow—thank you, brisk walk in 90-degree weather—but the shade of red lipstick I’d bought at a drugstore the night before wasn’t doing me any favors. It brought out the pink undertones in my skin, resulting in me too closely resembling a cherry tomato. I wiped it off with the back of my hand as quickly as I could, but as I pulled open the door of the coffee shop, I was still conscious of the stain across my lips.

  It was early morning—one hour before the park officially opened—so the coffee shop was empty except for other employees.

  One man sat alone at a table with his attention focused on a laptop. He typed away furiously then paused, picked up a pencil, and scribbled quickly in a notebook.

  He wasn’t just casually attractive. The s
ight of him grabbed me by the collar, as if to say, Look, you fool. Look!

  He wore navy slacks, cool tennis shoes, and a white button-down tucked in and rolled to the elbows. No tie. He had brown hair, thick and trimmed shorter on the sides. There was minimal product in it, just enough to give it a sophisticated look.

  His face was clean shaven. He had a strong jaw and dark lashes that fanned across his cheeks as his attention stayed down on his notebook. His concentration was unwavering. So was mine. I stared for so long I lost track of why I was there in the first place.

  Ah yes, mentorship.

  I jerked my gaze away from him and scanned the shop, looking for stereotypical signs of an executive: paunchy, suited, arrogant. There was a male barista and a man dressed up in a medieval jester’s costume, but everyone else was female. Unless Derek was late, my mentor was the man at the table.

  My stomach squeezed tight as I gave in to the urge to take another look.

  A man in a league of his own.

  So the rumors about him were actually true then. I wondered if Cal was really in the Russian mob.

  “Excuse me,” someone said, cutting around me to get inside the coffee shop.

  I’d been blocking the door since my arrival, and it was high time I made a move.

  There was no chance of Derek looking up at me, no chance of me getting to halfway commit to making a fool of myself before jumping in the deep end. He was too engrossed in his work to notice me until I was at his table, standing a foot away.

  I cleared my throat and was about to speak when a feminine voice spoke up behind me.

  “Iced Americano, no cream. If there’s too much ice, I’ll have them remake it.”

  Derek’s hand shot out for the coffee but instead brushed my arm.

  He jerked back. I jerked back. His assistant, however, did not get the memo, so we collided. Iced Americano spilled down the back of my pantsuit and a cascade of ice made my spine tingle. I yelped and danced around, shaking the coffee out of my clothes. The ensuing minutes after that were confusing for everyone. To Derek, it appeared as if I’d just sprung up from a hole in the ground beside his table. I’m sure he wondered how long I’d been there, quietly stalking him. I hadn’t had time to introduce myself, but we did that in the middle of the apologies and napkins and fresh drinks on the house, but it didn’t help much. When I finally took a seat across from him, I felt and looked like a wet slob someone had plucked from the dumpster out back.

  “So you’re Ms. Atwood,” he said, using a napkin to wipe up the last drops of coffee from the table.

  I nodded as I gathered my damp hair—soaked with coffee—and tried to knot it at my nape.

  As soon as I let go, it fell like a sad lump down my back.

  Perfect.

  “I’m Derek. This is my assistant, Heather.”

  The three of us sat at the table together, the two of them an odd coupling. Heather looked a few years older than Derek with thick-framed glasses, a small tablet, and a baby bump hidden carefully beneath a black sheath dress.

  “I think you have…” Heather’s sentence trailed off as she pointed to the corner of her lips, trying to inform me gently that I had something on my face.

  I swiped aggressively and came away with red lipstick. No doubt it was now even more smeared across my chin.

  In hindsight, I should have excused myself to use the restroom, gathered my wits, and fixed my appearance, but at the time, I was too intimidated. I didn’t want to waste their time, and truthfully, I wasn’t sure I could perform the simple task of walking without my legs buckling underneath me. I’d have looked like a freshly born baby giraffe.

  Derek was a lot for my teenage brain to take in.

  Break him apart piece by piece and it was still a lot to process: heir to an empire, much older, drop-dead handsome, confident, assessing me from across the table in a way that made me want to fidget.

  A ping sounded from Heather’s tablet and she swiped her finger across the screen.

  “Mika wants to move your 11 to 10:15. I’ll see if we can accommodate her. You have twenty more minutes here and then you need to meet Food and Beverage at the north gate for an all-hands.”

  While she spoke, Derek focused on me, conducting a careful study, like I was some rare bird he’d never encountered. Ah yes, this female’s mating habits include smeared lipstick and the stench of coffee grounds.

  I shifted in my chair, slightly uncomfortable, but even still, I didn’t get the sense that he was being judgmental. Just…curious.

  “Thank you, Heather. I’ll meet you outside in twenty,” he said, effectively dismissing her.

  “But you asked me to take notes.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

  Without another word, she stood and left.

  I nearly asked her to stay. We were an awkward trio, but without her, I didn’t have the courage to pull my gaze off the table.

  “I’m sorry again about the coffee,” he said, his voice sure and resolute, confident even while apologizing. “Rest assured, we’ll get you set up with a new suit.”

  My cheeks flamed. Please God, don’t ask where this one is from. He’d assume Goodwill was some kind of nice boutique. Is it pronounced Güdwíll?

  “I had originally asked Heather to sit in on our meeting, but I think I might serve you better one on one. Today especially, we can just chat. No business.”

  I swallowed, the task proving more difficult than usual.

  “Should we start with names?” he continued. “I assume it’s fine to call you Whitney. Or would you prefer Ms. Atwood?”

  The fact that he of all people knew not only my last name but also my first was completely mind-boggling. I’d been in the dorms for a week now. Classes hadn’t started yet. I’d barely ventured out of my room. I was supposed to have a roommate, but she’d forfeited her spot in the program last minute and they hadn’t assigned anyone to take her place yet. I’d spent the last seven days mostly by myself, reading ahead in my textbooks, finishing assignments, listening to voices carrying out into the hallway, homesick for a home that didn’t exist anymore.

  I hadn’t introduced myself to one person, but Derek knew me.

  “Whitney is fine,” I said, my voice shaky. I tried to clear my throat but was unsuccessful.

  “Good. You can call me Derek. I don’t want these meetings to feel formal. The point is for us to develop a personal relationship.”

  The blush on my cheeks doubled down. I wanted to cover my face with my hands to hide the effect he had on me. It was silly. I was being silly, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  If Derek noticed, he didn’t let on. “So you’ve been getting settled in at the dorms. There’s quite a few of you in the program. Have you met any of your classmates?”

  Shame washed over me. “I’ve met a few people.” Met as in passed in the communal bathroom on the way to brush my teeth.

  At this point in our meeting, I still hadn’t made eye contact with him. It seemed like a Herculean task just to glance at his hands, cupping his drink. They were large, tanned, handsome if ever hands could be.

  “All right,” he continued, almost amused. “I think we need to break the ice. I know the last few weeks have probably been difficult for you. I still remember when I first arrived at college. I didn’t think I’d be overwhelmed, but I was. Why don’t we turn the tables? You ask me questions. Anything you want.”

  My eyes finally jerked up as a small laugh escaped me.

  The idea of me interviewing him was hilarious.

  His dimples popped as he leaned back, completely serious.

  “I mean it. Shoot.”

  I tried to think of questions that would make me sound educated and informed, on his level. I didn’t want him to think of me as a silly teenager. So, I sat and I thought. I knew I was smart. I’d excelled in high school and graduated at the top of my class. I’d worked at Fairytale Kingdom for three years already. There were questions I wanted to ask…but my brain
went blank.

  He leaned forward. “Nothing too intense. It’s early and I haven’t finished this coffee. Something simple.”

  “How old are you?” I asked, the question flying out of me on impulse.

  He hid a smirk. “28.”

  Ten years my senior. He seemed even older.

  “Does your grandfather live inside the park?”

  His smirk spread wider. “Yes.”

  “Inside Elena’s Castle?”

  He took a sip of his coffee before answering in a tone dripping with mock severity. “That’s classified information. Ask something else.”

  I was grinning then. Enjoying myself.

  “Did you work here when you were my age?”

  He nodded. “My very first job inside the park was selling balloons.”

  I lit up with excitement. “That’s my job! Well…it was. Now that I’m in the internship program, I’ve been stationed inside the castle. I’ll help control the lines for the meet-and-greet sessions with Princess Elena.”

  He seemed impressed. “That’s a great place to be. You’ll get experience with In Character employees, and come to think of it, managing that line might be one of the toughest jobs in the park.” He tilted his head. “It’s funny, you kind of look like her.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. It was my hair mainly, and the feline shape of my pale green eyes. While stationed at my balloon stand, a few kids in the park had mistaken me for her, but Princess Elena was always played by someone older. Beautiful. Poised. I could have played Princess Elena’s kid sister with my rounded cheeks and the constellation of freckles across my nose.

  I think he confused my silence as a sign of offense because he changed the subject. “You and I will have to figure out this mentorship together. I’ve never had a mentee, and to be honest, I don’t have a lot of time in my schedule, but I’d like to try to be a resource for you if you need one.”