His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

  * * *

  With everything I have going on during the weeks of rehearsals, I find exactly two minutes of free time each day. I use them to scream into my pillow. Then I’m off again, running from my shifts at Elena’s Castle to Costuming, to rehearsals, to Cal’s, then back to the dorm for residence hall duties. Carrie and I each lunch while she forces me through fittings for my (I mean, Elena’s) wedding dress.

  At the end of every day, I crash like I suffer from narcolepsy. Flopped on my bed with my legs dangling off, still in my clothes, I splay out on top of my comforter and am dead to the world within seconds. Then at 3 AM, I jump to my feet, worried I’m already late for work or rehearsals.

  Ryan texts me often and I wonder what it would be like to have time to think about texting someone. He sends me funny memes or just simple one-liners—Hope you’re having a good day!—and though I usually don’t remember to reply until hours or, if I’m being honest, days later, he’s always really nice about it.

  Part of me wonders if I’m being unfair to Ryan by stringing him along, but it’s not as if I’m giving him false hope or trying to use him to make Derek jealous. Not at all. Derek is not mine to make jealous. If I were playing the odds, I’d say it’s much more likely that at the end of all this, after Derek finishes his time playing His Royal Highness and resumes his lofty position as heir to the Knightley Company, I will end up with Ryan.

  He’s the one who fits into my life. He’s the far safer bet.

  I’m doing a poor job of replying to my family’s texts as well. They’ve been hounding me more than usual because of Avery’s opening night in three weeks.

  Mom: You’re still planning to come up to New York, aren’t you?

  Dad: We bought your plane ticket. Your sister really wants you to be here.

  Mom: Here’s a photo of Avery in costume! Doesn’t she look like a star!?

  Avery: Helllloooo. Why aren’t you answering my phone calls? Are you still alive? Mom and Dad said they bought you a ticket to come visit. Please come! You don’t have to see the musical—though it is really good! We can just hang out and explore the city together, just you and me. Think about it and stop ignoring my calls! Love you. XX

  I don’t even have brain space for my family at the moment, so I reply to all of them at once.

  Whitney: I’ll be there. Can’t wait.

  The second I send off the text, I feel queasy. Why can’t I just be someone who says, No, you know what? I’d rather swallow a nail than go to New York. Life would be so much simpler that way…except that’s not really true. I do want to see Avery, but there’s no seeing Avery without seeing my parents too.

  * * *

  The night before our first parade, after we wrap up our final dress rehearsal, Thomas thanks everyone for their hard work and forces us all to gather round in a circle and put our hands in the center, like we’re a football team about to burst onto the field for the championship game. Everyone grumbles about it being silly, but they do it anyway. I can’t quite fit with everyone crowding in, so Derek reaches back and grabs me, tugging me in front of him so I’m part of the circle. His hand is around my waist, holding on to me as Thomas leads us through a “One, two, three, go team!” chant that makes absolutely no sense but makes us all laugh anyway.

  I tip my head back to look up at Derek. His gaze flits to my mouth and his hand squeezes my waist. I can’t believe it’s about to happen right here of all places but then Carrie’s on me, tugging me toward her and taking a guillotine to my private moment with Derek.

  “Okay, here’s the plan. We’re going to go home, take quick showers, chug energy drinks or whatever, and then meet at Lucky Star for tacos and drinks.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Thomas, me, a few of the other girls from Costuming, some of the fairies, I think. Derek, you’ll come too, right?”

  He turns to me, brow arched. We both joked about heading straight home and crashing as soon as rehearsals were over. We moaned with mock pleasure at the idea of a freshly made bed and fluffy pillows. Soft robes, I’d said, and his eyes had rolled back. Eight uninterrupted hours, he’d countered, causing me to nearly faint in delight.

  Now, neither one of us is willing to admit how lame we actually are.

  He grins, knocking into my shoulder like we’re two old pals. “C’mon. Our beds can wait. We should go out, enjoy ourselves.”

  “Fine, but you’re buying me a taco. You almost dropped me during that final run-through.”

  “Yeah, because you were dead on your feet like a rag doll. I was doing all the work for the both of us.”

  “Not true! I’m just a much better dancer, so I was taking a break and letting you practice.”

  Carrie walks away from us while we continue to argue—if you can call it arguing. It’s what we’ve been doing the last few weeks, and it’s the only way we know how to communicate: teasing, poking, pretending to be friends.

  Laughable.

  I am Derek’s friend the same way ball boys are friends with NBA players. Hey Lebron! Lebron! Wanna hang out after the game?

  In the end, we agree to go only because the other person does. We even pinky swear on it due to my insistence.

  “Do you want me to pick you up on my way?” he asks, reaching down to hand me my duffle bag. He does these little things: holding doors open, tugging my chair back for me, buying my meal when we eat together in the cafeteria even when I insist it’s not necessary. A girl could get used to this kind of treatment, so I try not to let it go to my head.

  “It’s okay, Carrie and I will go together. I’m sure she’ll want to drag me back to her apartment and force me into some kind of fashionable outfit. Personally, I’d rather just keep this on.”

  I’m wearing a sweatshirt and leggings. They’re black, though, so…fashion.

  He tips an imaginary hat to me and starts to walk away. “All right, then I’ll just see you there.”

  “Don’t forget about my taco!” I call out before Carrie loops her arm through mine and drags me away, just as I suspected.

  While I’m rinsing off in her shower, she’s yanking clothes out of her closet. My options are limited: very short dress or very short skirt.

  I hold up the skirt. “Where’s the part that covers my crotch?”

  “It’s cropped.”

  I drop it and the silky fabric falls back to her bed. “Maybe I’ll just put my other clothes back on.”

  “They stink. You were sweating, I’m sure. Now just pick something so we can finish getting ready.”

  “You’re quite the eager beaver tonight. This has nothing to do with Thomas joining us, does it?”

  She grins. “He asked me out yesterday. We’re supposed to go to dinner on Saturday. Tonight is sort of a test run.”

  My jaw drops. An unintelligible strand of syllables spills out of me. I grab her forearms, shaking her back and forth so hard I’m sure I’ve accidently dislodged her brain. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

  “YES!”

  “I knew he’d eventually make a move!”

  She’s candy apple red now and I fling my arms around her, genuinely happy that she’s happy.

  “God, I hope I don’t screw it up. I’ve liked him forever,” she says with a shaky voice.

  My arms squeeze her even tighter. “You won’t. You’re amazing. The most talented designer ever and you’re really pretty”—she groans—“and there’s no use denying it now because Thomas asked you out!”

  She laughs and steps back, chewing her lip. “Yeah, we’ll see how tonight goes. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act. Like we’re just friends? More?”

  I boop her on the nose. “Just be yourself.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Thanks Mom.”

  Then she reaches over to the stack of clothes on her bed and tosses an outfit at me. A happy medium, if you will: cool, ripped boyfriend jeans paired with a tight black long-sleeved shirt. Once I have it on, a few inches of my midriff are bared. I yank it down and she repositions it.


  “It’s supposed to sit like that. Stop stretching it out.”

  I don’t want to listen to her, but the scoop neck shows too much cleavage if I pull it down, so I have to just leave it be.

  Carrie wears a patent leather miniskirt paired with a slouchy peasant top. Her boots could kill and I feel slightly less-than walking into the bar behind her, but then I remind myself what a stupid thought that is. She needs this moment. I want Thomas to look over at her and sweat. And he does. He’s at the bar when we walk in and the moment he spots her, he might as well drop to one knee right then and there.

  He doesn’t even wait for us to come to him, scooting off his stool and heading straight for us, eyes on Carrie. I like Thomas. He and Carrie both have a shy streak that means they’ve circled around one another for years before getting to this moment. He straightens his black-framed glasses and smiles down at her. I glance between them and it’s obvious the attraction is mutual, visible like the magic dust swirling in the air between a projector and a movie theater screen.

  I don’t linger. Third-wheeling is not a favorite hobby of mine. After a quick hello, they split and head to the bar so they can fall deeper in love, and I head to where our group has gathered in the back, near the dartboards. There are a dozen people from the parade clustered around tables, chatting and drinking. I’m welcomed warmly and take a seat at a table among a group of girls who work as faeries in the Enchanted Forest. Their float is just ahead of mine. When rehearsals get boring, we shout back and forth to one another, much to Thomas’ annoyance.

  As I sit, I scan the other tables, looking for Derek, and my heart sinks when I realize he isn’t here yet.

  “Want a drink?” one of the girls asks.

  They’ve ordered a pitcher and I help myself, pouring some of the pale amber liquid into a cup just as I hear my name called from somewhere behind me.

  I glance over my shoulder and spot Ryan standing a few yards away in jeans and a faded t-shirt. He looks extremely happy to see me. I stand, surprised.

  When I reach him, he leans down to hug me. It’s a little awkward since I have my beer and I wasn’t exactly expecting a hug, which seems silly considering our last encounter. Of course he’d hug me. Fortunately, he laughs off my stilted movements.

  “Sorry.” I cringe. “I didn’t want to spill my drink. How are you? How’s the nose?” I ask, squinting to see if there’s any residual damage. I can’t believe I haven’t seen him in person since that night. I guess I really have been busy.

  He sniffs as if to prove it’s still in working order. “I’m happy to report it’s good as new.” I laugh, and he nods in the direction of the group behind me. “I didn’t realize you’d be here tonight.”

  My mouth forms an O and the corresponding sound follows. “Yeah. Sort of a stress reliever before the big day tomorrow. Are you with this group too?”

  He nods and stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “A few of the guys I work with over in the Enchanted Forest invited me.”

  As if to prove his point, one of the huntsmen from the parade tries to wave him over. Ryan holds up his hand.

  “How have you been lately? I texted you earlier, but I figured you were busy.”

  Since I’m here now, at a bar, it appears I clearly had time to respond to his text, I just chose not to. I look like an asshole. I want to tell him I rushed straight from rehearsals to Carrie’s to this bar. I haven’t even glanced at my phone since lunch, but that’s a lame excuse.

  Instead, I apologize. “Sorry. I suck. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you dumped me as a friend. I think I might belong in another century, back when carrier pigeons were the quickest method of communication. I feel like that might be the exact speed at which I can carry on a conversation successfully.”

  He laughs. “Noted. Next time I want to talk to you, I’ll need to capture and train a pigeon first.” I laugh and he shrugs, continuing, “It’s really kind of my fault for pestering you in the first place. I think another guy might take a hint, but I don’t know. I guess I don’t feel like giving up just yet.”

  I frown, unsure of what to say. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, and it’s not like I need space—I want him to continue texting me. Right? Though if that were the case I’d probably answer him every now and then.

  Oh god.

  Truthfully, I’m a mess, and realizing this while carrying on a conversation with someone isn’t exactly ideal.

  I move my mouth to speak but no sounds come out. I’m only making this more and more awkward.

  Ryan shakes his head. “Forget I said that, all right? I’m going to go grab a beer and I’ll be right back. Stay put, okay?”

  Once he’s gone, I sip my beer and pull a face at how disgusting it is, barely managing to swallow it without doing a spit take all over myself. I usually like beer, but this stuff tastes like actual urine.

  I set it back down, glance at the door, and watch as it opens and a couple walks in arm in arm. It swings shut behind them and my shoulders sag.

  I forget how bad the beer is, take another sip, and cringe.

  Whitney, c’mon!

  I shove it away and look back at the door as it swings open a second time.

  Two more non-Dereks walk in and I hate them for the fact that they aren’t him. Who invited them anyway?

  I should have asked Ryan to get me a better drink because I could use one right now. If nothing else, it’d just be nice to have something to do while I sit here, waiting on tenterhooks.

  Thomas and Carrie have their heads bent together at the bar, and in another time and place, I’d feel happy for them, but there’s no room for any emotions when I’m already filled to the brim with anxious longing.

  Ryan makes it to the bar and orders, and I glance back at the door in time to watch it swing shut. Derek has arrived and the strings he’s tied around my heart pull taut. He scans the room, looking for our group, or maybe just looking for me. My stomach dips like I’m toeing the edge of a high dive.

  I have just enough time to soak him in, just enough time to see him in his jeans and brown leather boots and pale gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looks so startlingly out of place here, an obvious transplant. He’s the epitome of refinement; there is no dressing him down or fitting him into a casual mold. His face is too handsome. His features are too striking. His chocolate brown eyes rimmed with dark lashes draw too much attention, and I’m not the only one staring at him now, sending up a silent prayer that I’ll be the one he’ll spend his time with.

  A brunette near the door straightens her shoulders and fluffs her hair, trying to catch his eye. I don’t blame her one bit. I am her.

  He keeps scanning and his brows furrow just before he glances at our group and finds me.

  Bullseye.

  His mouth hitches, and for a moment, he lingers there, unmoving.

  Warmth floods through me, curling my toes, making it hard to breathe.

  Hi, I say with a small shy wave. You found me.

  Told you I would come, his smile replies.

  My eyes roll. Took you long enough.

  With a shake of his head, he starts cutting through the crowd to get to me, and I’m suddenly nervous. I’m shaking.

  I look down at my trembling hands and try to will myself to calm down. It’s terrifying to realize that no matter how much I’ve tried to talk myself out of loving him, it’s proven impossible. I’m wholly outmatched.

  Taller than most everyone else, it’s easy to track him as he descends on me. I stay perched on my stool and then he’s there and I’m inhaling his spiced cologne as he leans down to kiss my cheek.

  “Sorry I’m late. I had to get some work done.”

  “It’s okay. You smell good,” I tell him.

  “I showered.”

  “Me too.”

  His eyes glance down my body. “Is that the outfit Carrie forced you into? I like it.”

  “Thanks. Don’t tell her, though, or she’ll keep trying to
dress me.”

  He zips his lips and reaches for my beer, taking a sip without asking.

  “It’s not good,” I say after he swallows.

  His mouth is a wrinkle of disgust. “Could have warned me first.”

  “I’ll buy you a better one.”

  He finds that notion funny. The twinkle in his eye tells me so.

  “What? Never had a girl buy you a beer?”

  I poke his chest and he catches my hand, twisting it so he can lace our fingers together before he thinks better of it and lets go.

  We both look away for a moment. Silent.

  Then his throat clears before he asks, “Have you eaten? I’m starving.”

  “No, I was waiting for you.”

  “You can get the beer. I’ll grab our tacos.”

  We make our way to the bar and I’m walking on air, in my own little sliver of paradise, obviously, because I completely forgot about Ryan.

  We reach the bar at the exact moment he spins around, presumably to find me again. His eyebrows shoot up, an easy grin lighting up his face.

  “Hey, did you get tired of waiting for me?” He holds up one of the two beers he’s just purchased. “I figured you’d want a better drink.” He holds it out to me and then glances over at Derek. “Oh hey, what’s up?” Ryan asks. “Sorry, I would have grabbed you a beer too if I’d known you were coming. The bartender’s swamped. You’ll be here awhile.”

  I want to turn down the beer he’s offering me, but how can I? I will not hurt Ryan’s feelings just to make this situation less awkward.

  Derek’s looking at me, though…waiting for an explanation, I think.

  “Ryan knows some of the huntsman guys from the parade,” I volunteer, hoping Derek will understand what I’m trying to say.

  So much of me wants to shout the whole truth: I didn’t invite him and I didn’t ask him to buy me a drink and I wasn’t waiting for him—I was waiting for you. Ryan is a cheap thrill, a second best I’m keeping in the dugout so I don’t have to be alone when you leave me like you left me last time. That’s the whole, sad truth, but I don’t say it, because I sympathize with Ryan. I grew up being the second best. He and I might not be the Dereks and the Averys, but we still have feelings.