His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

  I’m careful with her as she climbs the first few steps, focusing on the row of small white buttons that trail down her spine. I lift so much of her weight, I doubt she’s even touching the rungs as she makes her way up.

  “They could have put me in a pantsuit or something, at least. This doesn’t seem at all safe. Climbing ladders in wedding gowns…”

  “We have good worker’s comp insurance.”

  “Ha ha. Very funny.”

  The engineer excuses himself once we make our way up onto the platform. Either he’s done with his checklist or he heard us arguing and wanted to get as far away from us as possible. I can’t say I’m sad to see him go. I need a private word with Whitney.

  As soon as she’s sure on her feet, she tries to put space between us. Though the float itself is large, the platform we’re on is only about ten feet wide. She can’t get far.

  For a few moments, we stand in silence. Whitney straightens her dress and arranges her veil so it falls lightly down her back. When she’s done making up tasks to keep herself busy, she finally spares me a glance.

  When she speaks, her tone carries a note of annoyance. “You actually look like a real prince. Tall, muscular, and that thick brown hair doesn’t hurt either. It’s like they plucked you straight from the pages of a fairytale. I can practically hear the women in the crowd swooning already.”

  I don’t take her bait.

  She glances over at me. Her feline eyes are narrowed and mischievous. “Aren’t you going to say anything about how I look?”

  “I think you’ve probably already heard it enough today.”

  She scowls. “Hopefully my real wedding day isn’t as bad as this. It shouldn’t be considering my groom won’t be half as overbearing as you are.”

  “Overbearing?”

  “Yes. I think that describes you pretty accurately. It means arrogant or bossy,” she explains with a haughty tone.

  I want to ignore her comment altogether, but I can’t. I press her. “How exactly am I overbearing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? You do exactly what you like at all times. Just like you did a moment ago, shooing Carrie away and pushing me toward the ladder. Walking in and out of my life whenever you feel like it. I guess it makes sense why you act this way. Growing up as the heir to this empire, I’m sure you carried a lot of weight on your shoulders. Most men would have buckled under that pressure, but you rose to the occasion. Now, I imagine it’d be impossible to separate the man from the heir.”

  She might as well be staring at her fingernails. So confident in her assessment, she’s bored.

  “I wasn’t aware we were psychoanalyzing each other. Is it my turn now?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Whitney

  I aim a smirk his way before replying, “You can try, but I doubt you’ll get it right. Go ahead. Tell me everything you think you know about me.”

  I’m faintly aware of Thomas speaking to all of the parade cast with a megaphone. I’m too busy staring Derek down to listen. I don’t think he registers Thomas either. Just as the floats at the very front of the line start to move forward, Derek turns fully toward me.

  “Do you remember our conversation in Cal’s kitchen at the dinner party? You claimed you were the passionate one out of the two of us.”

  I practically snarl at him. “Yes. I remember. So what?”

  He chuckles, and I have to bite my tongue not to call him a bad name just to regain the upper hand.

  “Well, you’re wrong. You aren’t passionate. You play at passion. You play make-believe. With your heart, with your job, with your life. You’ve deluded yourself into thinking you put yourself out there, but you’re even more guarded than I am. You don’t love Ryan.”

  “I could have! Before last night!” I retort as our float starts to move. I wobble on my feet and he reaches out to steady me. I wrench my arm away from him as soon as I’m sure I won’t fall. Wouldn’t he just love that? Me splat on the concrete.

  “Think about it,” he prods, voice sharp and steady.

  Just then, our float drives out of the warehouse, turning onto a side street that leads into the park, and the bright Georgia sun blinds me. I clench my eyes closed, listening. In a few moments, we’ll be in front of a roaring crowd. Even now, I can hear the upbeat music blaring from speakers inside the park.

  “You say you’re this hopeless romantic, that you fall in love all the time—but you know what I think?” he continues.

  I blink my eyes as they adjust to the light, unwilling to look in his direction.

  “I don’t really care,” I spit back at him, boiling with anger.

  “I think you tell yourself it’s love so you don’t have to consider the fact that it’s the exact opposite. Nothing. Empty crushes. Arm’s-length relationships.”

  We’re in the park now and I have no choice but to turn toward him and let him take my hands in his. The animatronic owl perched beside us flips through the pages of an officiant book. And they lived happily ever after is engraved in cursive on the front cover of it. I snort. We’re supposed to be sharing our vows right now, staring adoringly into each other’s eyes, a picture-perfect representation of love. In reality, we’re spitting fire. There’s a sea of people behind Derek’s shoulders, a blur of colors I try to focus on. I can’t. I’m shaking with anger, tempted to push Derek right off this float. Oh, don’t worry—he’d be fine. He’d land on a cloud of adoring fans.

  “You’re wrong,” I insist through clenched teeth, staring at the gold buttons on his jacket. “I have had real crushes and I’ve been in love, most definitely.”

  “I’m sure you think so. Fudge guy—is that who you love?” His mocking tone makes me fist my hands. Unfortunately, he’s holding on to them. He knows he’s just triggered a reaction. “Ever ask him out? Try to get to know him? Maybe, I don’t know—ask his goddamn name?”

  “I was waiting for him to ask me,” I say in an angry whisper.

  “Yes, well, I asked you. I asked.”

  I finally jerk my gaze up to his, but he’s looking out at the crowd now, scowling. God, we’re doing a horrible job at pretending to be in love. I know we’ll get in trouble for this. We’re ruining the parade for all the guests, but I can’t seem to force myself to get it together. I want to know what he means.

  We continue down the road, nearing Castle Drive. In a moment, we’ll pass under the arch of red roses. That’s our cue to kiss. My heart starts to pound hard against my lace bodice. I’m sure he can feel my palms sweating against his.

  “You swore you’d give me a clean slate,” he says, sounding defeated, “but you haven’t. You’re still scared of getting hurt again.”

  “Oh come on.”

  I sound incredulous and finally, he turns his head all the way toward me. For the first time since the start of the parade, we’re looking into each other’s eyes. It feels like he’s gripping me by the back of my neck, keeping my attention on him. It’s visceral, this connection between us.

  He bends low, releasing my hands so he can wrap his arms around my waist and tug me close. My hands hit his hard chest and, out of focus, in the background, I spy a thousand blood red roses.

  “It’s true, Whitney. You’re scared of real pain,” he whispers down at me, softly now that his attention is on my lips. “The burning kind. The lie awake and worry kind. The can’t eat, can’t think, no life without you in it…kind.”

  And then he leans down and kisses me.

  Fireworks explode. Literally. Over our heads, a million rainbow sparks crackle across the sky as his lips possess mine.

  He kisses me with reckless abandon, like we might never get another chance, like I might come to my senses and push him away at any moment. This, his kiss tells me, this is what I’ve been waiting for—you going soft and sweet in my arms.

  On our script it simply read Princess Elena and His Royal Highness “share a kiss”, and since we never actually rehearsed it, there’s no way to know exactly what that meant. Still, i
f I had to guess, I assume it was intended to be a quick, modest peck.

  What we’re doing is the exact opposite. It’s heated and crazed, a kiss meant to take place behind locked doors, tying a knot around two hearts. He’s relentless. Hungry. My hands slide up his chest and wrap around his neck. He groans as my palms touch his heated skin. He follows suit, moving to cradle my chin so he can tilt my head back and deepen the kiss even more. My skin comes alive under his touch.

  His tongue touches mine and my head spins.

  I’m sure tiny children are standing in the front row, slack-jawed and worried.

  “He’s not…hurting her, is he, Mommy?”

  One of us needs to stop this, but he’s not letting me go, and I refuse to step away. Now that I’m here, pressed against him, it’s like I can’t get close enough. I want to rip his jacket open and step inside of it, feel his reassuring strength.

  There is no way on earth I’ll ever have a first kiss that tops this one, and that’s good considering how much trouble we’ll be in when this is all over.

  Derek’s the one to eventually break it off. He pulls back just enough to let his forehead touch mine and we stay like that through the rest of the parade, our hearts beating wildly, our breaths heavy. We refuse to separate even with the roar of the theme park around us.

  My lips are swollen and parted as I try to grasp for a thread of common sense to take me back ten minutes in time. Before we kissed. Before I realized all my imaginings of what his kiss would be like were nothing compared to the real thing. I find no thread. None at all. By staying here, pressed against him, I’m admitting defeat, admitting my fear. I’ve been keeping myself away from him as a way to protect my heart. I’m not confident I can survive him leaving me a second time, but I suppose there’s only so long you can beat back the inevitable.

  Sometimes fate is sick of being ignored.

  I tip forward and steal another quick kiss. It’s not enough. Derek grips my waist tighter, communicating his annoyance when I pull away. His eyes are heated with yearning. We could reignite so easily. Another kiss…longer…

  Our float jostles as it pulls back into the warehouse, and Thomas has his megaphone aimed right at us.

  “Derek, can I have a word?”

  Derek and I glance at each other, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a giddy laugh.

  “We’re in trouble,” I whisper like we’re delinquent teens.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll take the fall, tell him I was the one who initiated it. I took advantage of you.”

  “That won’t work. I was kissing you right back—nearly climbed on top of you. I would have, had my dress allowed it.”

  His eyebrows arch at the idea. “All right then we’ll have to Bonnie-and-Clyde it. We’ll escape and go on the lam.”

  “I can have a bag packed in five.”

  He grins.

  “Derek,” Thomas says again, and this time the severity in his voice makes us finally step away from each other and try unsuccessfully to wipe the smiles off our faces. Apparently, we should be taking this much more seriously.

  Derek helps me down the ladder and I deflate as he drops his hands from my waist and walks over to join Thomas. We have a lot to talk about. You don’t just share a kiss like that and go back to life as you knew it before. Everything has changed. It has to.

  Carrie rushes past them with a giddy pep in her step. Her smile is contagious, and the moment she has passed Derek and is out of his line of sight, she throws her hands in the air in triumph.

  “Is it true? What everyone’s saying? I thought maybe he’d just kiss you on the cheek but apparently you guys were really going at it! Scaring the children! Tell me everything!”

  “Oh, god.” My face floods with color.

  I fill her in, skipping breaths and talking fast as she leads me back into the dressing room. She unpins my veil and starts on the buttons of my dress. An assistant knocks, asking if Carrie wants help, but she shoos her away so we can keep talking.

  By the time I’m tugging on my jeans and sweater, there’s another knock on the door. Carrie’s working on hanging the wedding dress back up, so I answer it and stand back, surprised to find Thomas standing there. His brows are furrowed, eyes unreadable. No, not true. He looks…worried. Upset, even. Are we really in that much trouble? It was just a kiss. We didn’t hurt anyone.

  He tugs his hand through his hair and asks if he can come in.

  “Of course. Wait, is this about—”

  I don’t get the full sentence out before he cuts me off. “Cal is in the hospital.”

  * * *

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

  “Cal, lay back so the nurse can see your arm,” Derek says, sounding put out.

  “Why? They’ve been running tests all day. I don’t need my blood pressure taken for the hundredth time, I assure you.”

  Derek reminds him that the tests are necessary. They need to be absolutely sure they can rule out a heart attack.

  “A heart attack? That’s what they think? No.” Cal sounds incredulous. “This was just a little heartburn, really.”

  I stand outside Cal’s hospital room, leaning against the wall. Derek is in there now, along with a nurse. It’s probably a small room, so I stay out here, not wanting to get in the way. Or so I’ve told myself.

  After the parade, I rushed straight to the hospital with Carrie and Thomas. They helped me navigate the maze of hallways, leading me past vending machines and empty waiting rooms, around corners, under official-looking signs and through stainless steel doors. It felt like miles between the parking garage and the hospital’s cardiac intensive care unit.

  Once we walked in, a nurse stopped us right away, asking to see our visitor badges.

  We had no badges.

  She withheld a groan. “Who are you here to see?” I told her and she shook her head. “Family only.”

  Carrie stepped forward, pointing to me. “She is family. Take her. We’ll wait out here.”

  I fibbed and told the nurse my last name was Knightley. When she asked to see an ID, I told her I didn’t have it on me. With everything going on, I didn’t think to grab anything practical.

  I know it was against hospital policy for her to let me pass, but chances are she took one look at my tear-streaked face and thought, I don’t have time for this shit today, because she sighed, produced a nametag, and demanded I wear it before pointing down to a room at the very end of the hall.

  I walked there on numb legs, reached for the door handle, and then paused, listening to the voices inside.

  At the time, Cal’s doctor was going over things with him. Half the words I didn’t understand, and the rest I tried hard to ignore. It felt like an invasion of his privacy, so I lingered outside until he left.

  The doctor eyed me curiously but didn’t say a word.

  That was an hour ago.

  Since then, nurses have come and gone. I’ve lingered.

  I wasn’t at the hospital the last time Cal had a heart attack a few months back. No one told me he’d been admitted until he was back home, resting. I went over for dinner and Ava shared the news. It didn’t really hit me then how serious it was. He seemed fine to me. He was up, walking around, dressed in his usual clothes. Other than the healthy dinners Ava started to prepare for us, nothing had changed. He seemed fine, but that can’t be, because here he is, back in the hospital again so soon.

  “Could you go get me a snack from the vending machine?” Cal asks Derek. “Something salty? I’m starving.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Fine. How about a granola bar? That’s healthy enough, right? What? As if having my blood drawn a thousand times isn’t bad enough, now you’re all going to starve me to death?”

  There’s more conversation, but it doesn’t carry out into the hall. Then the door opens and I straighten. Embarrassed, though I’m not sure why.

  Derek walks out of the room with his head down, focused. Then he catches sight of me
and halts mid-step. We stare. Silent.

  He’s still in his costume from the parade—the only splash of color in the stark hospital hallway. The last few hours are visible in his heavy, drawn eyes and disheveled hair.

  We stand like that for a few moments as he looks at me. I don’t know if he’s surprised I’m here or upset that I’m intruding. His gaze flits down to my name tag: Whitney Knightley. He offers a small smile. I offer an even smaller one, about to open my mouth to apologize when he nods his head toward the room.

  “Go in. He’ll want to see you.”

  I wait until the nurse leaves, pushing her cart, then I knock gently on the door.

  “Cal? Is it all right if I come in? It’s Whitney.”

  “Finally! Someone I actually want to see.” I step inside but stall near the door. “Please say you’ve got a snack on you. Some pretzels, maybe?”

  I shake my head, nibbling on my bottom lip.

  “Why are you crying?”

  Oh.

  “I’m not,” I lie, wiping my nose.

  It’s just that he looks so fragile lying in that bed in his hospital gown, twenty years older than the last time I saw him, pale and hooked up to a thousand machines.

  “You don’t think this is serious, do you?” His forehead crinkles. “C’mon, I need you on my side. They’re going to discharge me and we can head back home. Ava’s probably got dinner ready for us.”

  “Cal.”

  He sighs and pats the bed, encouraging me to come over.

  Cal’s always been affectionate. Kisses on the cheek, heavy pats on the shoulder. He’s a warm, kind soul, and that’s why I reach down and hug him. I want his warmth, to assure myself it’s still there.

  “You really don’t need to worry,” he says quietly, patting my back.

  I feel silly. Derek wasn’t crying. Why am I?

  I shake my head, not speaking.

  “Are you upset about the lack of snacks in this place too? I feel like crying myself if I’m honest.”

  I laugh and keep my face buried against his chest.

  “Don’t…” Don’t make light of this. Don’t brush this off. “You’re my family,” I whisper against his chest.