by Grey, R. S.
“I won’t keep you long,” I assure her.
“Yes, of course. No problem,” her line manager answers for her, ushering the last few employees out of the room—everyone except her co-star, the cheek-kisser. He hovers annoyingly close until I smile in his direction. My mouth says I’m a polite guy. My eyes say, Get the fuck out.
“Want me to wait for you?” he asks Whitney.
“I should be fine, Ryan. Thanks.”
Ryan aims a careful glare in my direction—a warning, if I’m not mistaken.
I ignore him and step closer, extending my hand to Whitney. It seems appropriate given the circumstances, but she stares down at it like I’m offering her a piranha. I realize my misstep. Just because her line manager recognized me doesn’t mean she will.
“Ah, right—you might not remember me. I’m Derek, Cal’s grandson.” I tip my head. “I mentored you for a few months, years ago, back when you were a participant in our college internship program.”
“I remember you,” she says, making no move to accept my handshake.
This is going…oddly.
I withdraw my hand and stuff it in my front pocket, untroubled.
“Right. Well, it’s good to see you again. I watched the last half of your shift and this role fits you to a T. I doubt there’s anyone on earth more suited for the position of Princess Elena than you.”
The smile she aims at me is tight. Then she glances pointedly over her shoulder. “Mr. Knightley, it’s nice to see you again, but it’s been a long shift and…”
Wait, wait, wait—this makes absolutely no sense. The Whitney I remember was so eager for my time she would have followed me home had I let her. This new version seems to want nothing to do with me.
I don’t like it, but I convince myself she’s just tired. When I speak again, my tone is cool and professional. I get right to the point. “Right. Well, I’m sure by now Cal has informed you of his plan.”
Her brows furrow, her eyes finally locking with mine. Their full impact take me by surprise. “Plan?”
“For me to work here with you for a while.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” She looks horrified. “Don’t you belong in boardrooms? Running the show? Not participating in it.”
“Well, I’ve spent the last few years in London, as you might remember.” I search her face, trying to determine if she really remembers me or if she was lying before. “Let’s just say it’s a good way for me to get reacquainted with the US park.”
“Why here, specifically? You didn’t request it, did you?”
“It was my grandfather’s decision.”
She lifts her chin, a proud little thing. Call me crazy, but I think she would’ve preferred if I had requested it, which makes no sense given her current attitude. The plot thickens.
“What is there for you to do?” she asks, still sounding bothered by the entire idea. “Julie already manages my line and she does a great job. I’m sure you noticed.”
I smirk. “She’ll continue in that position.” Then, having convinced myself there’s definitely heat behind her curt tone, I narrow my eyes, deciding to cut the shit and broach the subject I’m curious about. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you and I leave things on a good note all those years ago? You seem agitated with me for some reason.”
A blush creeps up her chest and neck. It barely reaches her cheeks, which is a pity. I’ve decided I’d like to see her blush there.
She blinks and looks away, finding a spot to focus on just over my shoulder. “Sorry, Mr. Knightley—”
“Derek,” I amend. “We dropped the formalities eight years ago.”
She swallows whatever memory flashes across her green gaze, and when she speaks again, her tone is ice. “You’re right, we did drop them. So, I’ll just be honest. I’m tired after my shift, and seeing you here…well, it’s unexpected to say the least. Why don’t you just tell me what role you’ll be taking and then you can hurry back to that executive office of yours and I can finally have a bathroom break.”
I laugh because I can’t help it. I’ve always loved assertive women, ones with tenacity and a strong backbone.
“I tell you what, why don’t we just wait until Monday and we’ll pick up this conversation again then. I don’t want to keep you from the restroom.”
I’m already stepping backward.
Her jaw drops. “Are you kidding?”
“I never kid around about these matters. We don’t want you tarnishing that custom gown on account of me.”
“Mr. Knightley! You’re not going to tell me? There are only so many roles for employees that aren’t In Character. Unless—” Her eyes widen at the thought. “Surely you wouldn’t.”
I cock a brow, silent. I pause before turning, only because I want to see her face as realization dawns.
“Cal said he was going to place someone here In Character. I assumed it would be someone like Ryan. Someone less”—her hand sweeps down my body and then back up—“important.”
I’m not sure if important is the adjective I was hoping for, but I’ll take it.
“See you Monday, Whitney.”
I don’t turn around again to see if she’s still standing there staring at me. I know she is.
A laugh escapes me once I’m back outside.
This whole thing is utter lunacy and yet I’m going through with it. I’m going to accept my fate as Fairytale Kingdom’s new prince, and Whitney will be my princess. We’ll work on the happily ever after part come Monday.
Chapter Six
Whitney
Employees don’t have to live on-site at Fairytale Kingdom. In fact, most don’t. However, there are housing options for those of us who prefer it. Everything from modest one-bedroom efficiencies to luxury four-bedroom condos can be ours for a price. The twelve housing complexes are open to the Knightley Company staff only, and discounts are available when employees hit milestones. Lasted two years? Congrats, here’s a 5% decrease in your monthly rent. Carrie loves it. She moved into a small apartment near the Costuming Department right after college. Because of its location, all of her neighbors are also her coworkers—artists, designers, seamstresses. I imagine in the evenings they lounge in the common room smoking, sipping kombucha, sketching nudes. Sufjan Stevens plays on vinyl as someone reads their newest slam poetry entry. I don’t know. My nights are very different.
After college, I opted to stay in the dorms—an unusual choice by anyone’s standards. I tell everyone I stayed because there was a part-time position as a residence hall manager that I couldn’t pass up. The real reason is less clear.
Along with a small monthly stipend, I get to live for free while I help incoming freshman girls navigate the complicated world of dorm life.
Best of all, I didn’t even have to leave the dorm room I used in college. I live in the same cube I shared with Carrie. It’s charming, said no one ever.
I’ve retrofitted the place somewhat since I live alone. Instead of a second twin bed, I have a long desk. Half of it is used for normal desk functions. It houses pens, books, and a desk calendar I thought I needed but never use. The other half contains a state-of-the-art kitchen…if you squint your eyes a little. I have a coffee pot and a drying rack. A shelf, hung at eye level, stores two plates, two bowls, and two mugs—two of each just in case I have company in the form of Carrie. There’s a small sink, a mini fridge, and a microwave, and instead of one minuscule closet, I have two.
The rug (thrifted) and art (also thrifted) on the walls try hard to dress up the dwelling but mostly function like lipstick on a pig.
I would move out, and I will, eventually. Just…not right now.
Right now, this room is a safe haven, a place where problems don’t exist outside of “Jessica stole my Pringles!” and “Candace used my towel again!”
This morning especially, I don’t want to leave the safe confines of my dorm, but I have work. With a woe-is-me sigh, I grab my bag and make for the door, walking right past
a photo of my family. I glance at it wistfully, like I would if they were all deceased and I was staring in a Hallmark movie. But nope, they are alive and well in New York City with Avery.
I spoke to them last night.
“Your sister is busier than ever, rehearsing nonstop!”
Eight years of hard work has paid off. Avery has managed to land a starring role in a Broadway musical. (I now know the difference between “on” and “off” Broadway, thank you very much.) Opening night is only three months away, and I’ve agreed to take time off and fly up to see her perform. It should go the way of all my other visits. I will suppress my deep-seated resentment toward my parents while putting on a brave face for Avery, who most of the time isn’t there anyway because of her demanding schedule. After a few days of strained family time, I’ll fly back to Georgia with a bad taste in my mouth and a stomachache that lingers for a few days.
But now’s not the time to worry about that.
I have bigger, hunkier issues to deal with today.
Derek Knightley and his grotesquely perfect features await me at Elena’s Castle.
It’s cruel the way time decides to play favorites. Before, he was so handsome I could barely look at him. In the eight years since, time has decided to bestow even more genetic gifts unto him. Cheekbones? Yup, let’s go ahead and hone ’em even more. Jawline? Sharper! Smirk? We want panties dropping, boys!
It’s why I behaved like a perfect asshole on Friday. Well, part of the reason. I was actually tired and I did, in fact, need to use the restroom. But, I was also shocked he’d come to see me, shocked he was there in all his glory. I didn’t have time to prepare myself for the battery of emotions that assaulted me upon seeing him again up close, smiling at me.
“You might not remember me.”
That line was a shot to my heart. Him suggesting I wouldn’t remember him is a projection of his own feelings toward me back then. Of course I remember you, you fool! I LOVED YOU!
Wrong!
No!
I take a pencil eraser to my thoughts. It was not love. I had feelings for him the way all teenagers do. It was just a silly crush. This over-the-top reaction I’m having to his return from London is completely uncalled for. I was rude to him and he didn’t deserve it. He must think I’m deranged after the way I treated him.
So today, I’m going to fix it.
I walk through the Underground on my way to my dressing room, waving to everyone I pass, saying hello, stopping to talk as time allows. It’s the same way I’ve started all my shifts in the last few years. The shy girl Derek once knew is long gone. After almost a decade of working at the Knightley Company, I know just about every face I pass in the tunnels.
It’s not as if one day I just decided to jump out from the shadows and greet the world with jazz hands. It was a gradual change. Everyone in the college internship program grew pretty close over the four years we took classes together, bonding over tyrannical professors and piles of homework. After we graduated, a good chunk of them continued working for the Knightley Company. On top of that, my second job as a residence hall manager means a handful of the employees here were once freshmen on my floor. Homesick, worried, out of tampons—I was their mother hen.
I think there’s also a healthy dose of awe concerning the fact that Cal and I are friends. He’s still rarely seen around the park, and his celebrity has rubbed off on me to some extent. For better or for worse, I’m oddly popular. Middle School Whitney would be very happy about this turn of events.
The familiar faces I pass give me the confidence boost I need. By the time I’m done with makeup and hair and have been zipped into Princess Elena’s dress, I feel ready to tackle the situation with Derek. I won’t come close to reacting the way I did on Friday. No siree.
Then Julie ushers me into the great hall for my shift and I spot Derek and stop on a dime.
The sight of him dressed as His Royal Highness is arresting. Slam-you-down-on-the-hood-of-a-squad-car, You have the right to remain silent kind of arresting.
It actually infuriates me that he looks so good dressed up in costume. He’s supposed to look absurd and unsure of himself, like Ryan. Instead, he’s a king among peasants. Knee-high black leather riding boots give way to snug khaki-colored breeches, carefully cut to accentuate his legs. An emerald green coat is tailored to perfection and hides most of a long-sleeved white cotton shirt tucked in at the waist. A muslin cravat is folded crosswise into a band and knotted around his tan neck.
His chin and jaw are clean-shaven. His hair is recently trimmed and styled with swoon-worthy perfection. His straight, white smile is aimed at a girl dressed up as a lady’s maid. I think she’s the hostess upstairs in the restaurant and what is she even doing down here and why is Julie trying to get my attention?
“Are you okay?” Julie says, leaping into the air in front of me.
“Fine. I was just thinking about how I might have left my stove on.”
“You don’t have a stove.” Julie used to live in my residence hall. “You look pale. You’re not going to pass out are you?”
Her assessment is a slap in the face. Get it together, Atwood! I came to work with a goal, and that goal is staring me in the face.
I smile and assure her all is well before I beeline straight for Derek.
He spots me as I approach, a dark brow lifting in obvious amusement. A knowing smile follows suit. It appears we’re going to pick up right where we left off on Friday. I don’t get it. He never used to act this way toward me. Old Derek was courteous and respectful, chivalrous even. New Derek would sooner back me into a dark corner than save me from one.
“It was really nice to meet you. And thanks for the picture!” the girl says to Derek before turning to head for her post. Her cheeks are flushed with color. Excitement bubbles from every pore.
“Enjoying the spotlight already?”
Bad Whitney!
“Ignore that. Let’s start over. Hello, Derek. Nice to see you. You look well. Have a nice weekend? That’s great. Listen, I’d like to apologize for my behavior on Friday. It likely confused you, and seeing as how we’ll be working together for the time being, I’d like to set the record straight. The truth is, when I was a teenager, I had a harmless schoolgirl crush on you.”
His brows rise with an intrigued air.
“You probably don’t remember, but I even sent you an email asking you out to dinner—”
His smile is disarming. “I remember.”
Residual embarrassment fills my veins, no doubt coloring my cheeks for his amusement. “Oh. Well. There you have it. Your presence caught me off guard, and well, there’s no reason we can’t be cordial, right? All of that is in the past. Though honestly, would it have been so hard to address the dinner invitation? To decline my offer politely rather than let it dangle there forever unanswered?”
He’s studying me carefully. “Are you still upset about it?”
I rear back. “Upset? No. Merely…curious. Call it unfinished business.”
He’s completely unperturbed. In fact, he seems delighted by this turn of events. “I’m happy to discuss this with you another time. Say, over coffee?”
I’m aware that we’re starting to gather an audience. Ryan just entered the room and is heading our way. In a few moments, the area will be swarming with families.
“I don’t drink coffee anymore.”
I had three cups just this morning while pacing in my dorm room, shooting the dark liquid back like an alcoholic chugging Listerine. Maybe that’s why I’m acting so crazy now.
A whisper of a smirk transforms his face into something entirely too pleasing. Every nerve ending inside me sighs in bliss.
“Lunch then?”
“I don’t have time…this century.”
He laughs, a rich sound sourced from his broad muscled chest. “I’m confused. You’re upset with me because I turned you down for a date a decade ago, but just now, you declined me twice. Maybe I should be the one upset with you.”
My jaw drops, but before I can utter a response, Ryan steps up beside me, touching my arm.
“Morning, Whit.”
Derek and I are still staring each other down, our eyes locked in battle.
He mouths, “Whit?”
My nostrils flare, and through a superhuman feat, I yank my attention away from him and greet Ryan with a warm smile.
“Good morning, Ryan.”
He grins at me before letting his gaze shift to Derek. He nods in greeting. “Hey man, what’s up? I think I’m supposed to be training you today.”
I want to look at Derek so badly, to see his reaction to all of this, but I refuse on principle.
“That’s the plan,” Derek says with a slight hint of indignation coloring his otherwise polite tone.
“Cool. So you can just watch me and see how I interact with the guests and stuff.”
Ryan, you bumbling fool! Don’t you realize who you’re talking to?
“Sounds easy enough.”
“Yeah. It’ll be kind of funny though, to have two of us down here.”
“It won’t be for long,” Derek assures him.
That information is too tempting to let die.
“Oh?” I perk up. “How long exactly? In minutes, please.”
They both ignore me.
Ryan reaches out to greet Derek. “I’m Ryan, by the way. I’ve been working here for a few months now. If you need help figuring out the Underground or parking validation or whatever, let me know.”
A groan bursts out of me. I can’t let this continue. “Don’t you know who this is, Ryan? Derek Knightley. He’s the real prince around here.”
I slap a hand over my mouth like I’m trying to plug a leak. The catty low blows just keep on coming. This isn’t like me. I’m pleasant. Generally kind!
Derek should fire me on the spot for insolence, but I swear each one of my remarks makes him happier than the last.
He’s studying me, a real smirk on his lips, when Ryan jumps into our otherwise private moment.
