His Royal Highness

by Grey, R. S.

  “Come inside,” I plead, tugging him into my evil lair so I can devour him whole.

  “I can’t,” he half-laughs, half-groans. “I have to get into the office. We have a board meeting and I need to prepare so I don’t look like an ass.”

  Speaking of asses… My hands find his.

  Later, when I’ve had coffee, I’ll blush thinking back on this encounter.

  With one last soul-stealing kiss, he tells me to go back to sleep. He just wanted to say hi.

  Impossible.

  That night, I try to work up the courage to text him the truth. In the end, I wimp out.

  Whitney: I miss you so much.

  Whitney: I really want to see you for longer than these five-second stretches.

  Whitney: Hi. Are you busy?

  He doesn’t reply for two hours.

  Derek: Sorry, I was at dinner with some of our London team. They were in town for the meeting this morning and they fly out tomorrow. Are you still awake? Can I call?

  The next morning, I see the text and a missed call and my heart sinks.

  I regret my early bedtime. Derek and I could have talked! Maybe even had phone sex!

  I throw myself back onto my pillow and dig my palms into my eyes, groaning with annoyance. I need to see him.

  Two weeks after the day Derek kissed me on the float, I’m working a shift as Princess Elena and it’s dragging in a way they never used to. Without Derek by my side, I don’t look forward to work. I can’t muster up the same enthusiasm when a girl looks up at me with big googly eyes and tells me I’m her hero. I want to love my job the way I used to, but there’s no ignoring the fact that my old life is suddenly not good enough. I start to realize I’ve outgrown my role as a part-time princess.

  On my way to my dressing room after my shift, I have my phone in hand, trying to come up with some way to, without sounding like a psycho, convey to Derek that I’m going to spin out into a full existential crisis if I don’t see him soon.

  Then a hand grabs my forearm and I’m tugged to the side, into a dark room. The door slams shut behind me and I shriek.

  “I have money! Back in my dressing room. And snacks! You like Fig Newtons?!”

  My abductor chuckles and the light is flipped on. I blink, quickly taking in the room where I’ll likely be held captive for the next several months. In one corner, there are boxes stacked to the ceiling. One of them says FLOUR on the side. Good, I can use it to make a sort of paste to eat so I can survive down here.

  Then I look at my captor.

  Derek stands there, suited up, handsome, calm in the face of my panic.

  I immediately rush toward him and pound my fists into his chest. “You scared the hell out of me!”

  He lets me go at him another moment or two before catching my wrists. I try to wiggle free but he doesn’t let me.

  “Forgive me?” he says, bending down to kiss my cheek.

  I jerk my face away.

  I thought I was going to have to share my Fig Newtons or eat flour paste. I’m pissed.

  He backs me up against the door, holding my wrists, annoyingly strong. I’m breathing hard, trying to slice him with my narrowed gaze. His hips meet mine, pinning me, and he bends down again, his lips a whisper against my skin.

  “Forgive me?”

  Then he kisses my neck, and the tension in my stomach gives way to something else. A soft, warm flutter. His mouth trails lower, closer to the edge of my deep square neckline. Since I’m still in costume, he has access to too much of my skin. His lips are everywhere, begging me to give in. I curse Costuming for not putting me in a turtleneck.

  “Whitney,” he begs, and I can’t hold out.

  Two weeks have felt like two years and I whimper as his lips find a sensitive spot beneath my collarbone. He hears the soft sound and it’s all the green light he needs. His lips find mine and we kiss with a frenzy, like we’re each other’s only hope for survival. Kiss me or the world will come to an end. His tongue sweeps across mine and I bite his lip, and I must draw blood. I taste it as his hand covers my breast over my dress, angry at the amount of material that separates our skin. There’s a zipper in the back of my bodice; with a sharp tug, it’s loose enough for him to tug it down and cover me with his palm. I shiver with pleasure. Impatient and possessive, neither one of us is taking the time to do this the civilized way.

  His other hand is tugging up my tulle skirt, fighting against the forty-five layers until his fingers find my bare leg and then skim up across the soft triangle of fabric between my legs. Back and forth, he brushes teasingly before he tugs my panties aside. My eyes squeeze shut. Already, I’m close, hovering on the precipice, wild with want as voices drift in and out from the hallway on the other side of the door. Near us. Behind us. The door handle shakes and someone curses.

  My eyes fly open.

  Alarm bells ring.

  Derek holds his finger up to my lips in warning and we stay silent.

  “Who locked this?” a woman asks, annoyed.

  “Not sure. Wasn’t me.”

  “Dammit,” she groans. “I gotta go get my key. C’mon.”

  “Shit,” Derek curses under his breath, stepping back, taking my heart with him. I sag against the door, trying to catch my breath.

  With slow perusal, Derek carries his gaze up my body, memorizing me.

  I don’t cover myself, though I want to. The adoration in his eyes pins my arms by my sides.

  He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “C’mon. Crap. This was stupid. We need to get out of here.”

  He helps fix my dress and assures me I don’t look too thoroughly ravaged. Then he cracks the door, nods, and gently pushes me out. He follows and just like that, we’re back in the hall, passing other employees as if he didn’t just have his hand up my skirt.

  I feel cranky and unsatisfied.

  He must feel the same way because we don’t say a word as we walk together, side by side, eyes straight ahead.

  “When can I see you again?” I ask once we turn a corner.

  “Tonight?”

  “We’re having a Halloween-themed movie night in the dorm. Hocus Pocus. The girls will kill me if I cancel.”

  “Tomorrow I’ve got meetings all day. Then there’s the trick-or-treat event in the park.”

  “Thomas and Carrie are hosting a Halloween party at his apartment tomorrow night. Will you be there?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll try.”

  His hand finds mine and our fingers link together.

  “I never thought I’d miss working as His Royal Highness,” he says, giving me a private smile.

  I manage a meager smile in response just before his phone rings. He sighs. Apparently, our time is up.

  I love Halloween as much as the next pumpkin-spice-drinking, decorating-for-fall-in-July girl, but my heart isn’t in it this year. Even the Oscar-worthy performances in Hocus Pocus can’t turn my mood around. The next day in the park, all the children are dressed in costumes with their candy buckets at the ready. After each photo I take, I dole out a piece of candy, and before I know it, my shift is over and I’m headed to have dinner with Cal. It’s later than usual by the time I arrive.

  He’s sitting at the window in his living room, looking out at the park. It’s filled with trick-or-treaters still running around, trying to overflow their buckets. Tonight, the park will stay open later than usual. It’s why Derek is still out there working. No rest for the weary.

  “It’s your favorite day of the year,” I tell Cal, coming to stand beside him.

  It’s a day that proves there just might be a little bit of real magic going on behind the scenes at Fairytale Kingdom. As soon as the last trick-or-treater leaves the park, employees will immediately start taking down and hauling away all the Halloween decorations. While they’re still in motion, a second wave of employees will follow, ushering in Christmas. All year, our decorating team prepares for tonight. In the flowerbeds, fall mums are swapped for poinsettias. P
re-fluffed, pre-lit Christmas trees are placed on their marks. Wreaths and garland are hung across Castle Drive. The entire village is lit with thousands upon thousands of Christmas lights. Every year, I think, No. There’s no way they’ll manage to do it all in one night.

  And yet they always do.

  I usually sit here, perched next to Cal, staying up far past my bedtime just to watch everyone at work. Tonight, that’s my plan as well, but Cal seems confused by it.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  I glance down at my phone, rereading my texts from earlier.

  Whitney: Any chance you can make it to Thomas’ party?

  Derek: Not sure. I don’t want to get your hopes up. I promise things will slow down soon.

  Whitney: No worries. I know you’re busy.

  Derek: Want to meet me for a quick dinner? I might have time around 8 PM.

  Whitney: I’m supposed to see Cal tonight. Could you join us?

  Derek: I’ll try.

  An hour ago, he texted again.

  Derek: Can’t make dinner. I’m with the holiday team going through a final check before the park closes and things get underway. I’m sorry.

  Whitney: No, it’s okay. Good luck. XX

  “Nope,” I tell Cal, pocketing my phone. “It’s just you and me tonight.”

  “Derek works too hard,” he says, probably catching a glimpse of my text messages.

  “Derek’s not my only friend, you know. I have other places I could be. Carrie and Thomas are having a party.”

  “Then why on earth are you here with me?”

  “I wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m fine. You know that. Next week, I plan on returning to work.”

  I frown. “Really? Already?”

  “It won’t be like before. I’m going to take a step back, help Derek transition into the Director of Operations role and make sure he has a good team around him so he can delegate. He can’t continue at the pace he’s working now. As it is, I don’t think he’s slept more than a few hours in the last two weeks.” He stands. “No, c’mon, you’re not hanging out here with me all night. I want you to go have fun.”

  I resist. “I don’t even have a costume. It’s fine. I’m happy just hanging out with you.”

  “Nonsense. Now, follow me. I have an idea.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Whitney

  “You’re kidding,” Carrie says dryly.

  I hold out my hands. “What?”

  “Most of the women here are dressed like they’ve lost half their clothes and you show up like this.”

  I spin in a circle. “What’s wrong with my costume?”

  Thomas steps up behind Carrie at the door and doubles over in laughter. “You nailed it! You win.”

  I smile. “Thank you. Now, are you going to invite me inside or am I just going to stand out here in the hall all night?”

  Just then, two women dressed up like sexy witches brush past me. They give me a once-over before frowning in confusion.

  “I’m Charles Knightley,” I declare proudly.

  Their smiles say they feel deeply sorry for me.

  They shouldn’t. I look amazing.

  Cal let me raid his closet. I’m wearing a purple linen shirt tucked into my jeans, and a small navy scarf is knotted around my neck in the French style. A call from Cal to the night crew in the Costuming Department produced a white beard that’s now glued to my jaw. My hair is tucked in a bun underneath one of Cal’s straw fedoras. He even let me borrow his watch, and an extra pair of his reading glasses hang from a lanyard around my neck.

  The witches disappear inside and I glance back at Carrie—who, by the way, isn’t dressed all that sexy either. She has her hair slicked back into a half-up bun. She’s wearing a laced leather jerkin over tight black pants. There’s a dagger and a thin sword holstered at her waist. She looks like a medieval assassin.

  “Who are you supposed to be?” Then I snap my fingers with realization. “Duh, you’re Arya.”

  I turn to Thomas and take in his matching leather vest and trousers. “Which makes you…Gendry?”

  He holds up a helmet in the shape of a bull’s head and beams, proud that I guessed right. They usher me inside and offer me something to drink. I accept whatever they have sitting in a massive punchbowl and then cough dramatically after the first sip, because holy hell.

  “Is this moonshine?” I ask, wheezing.

  “Just really strong punch,” Carrie assures me. “Thomas asked me to make it and I wasn’t sure of the correct ratio.”

  “Maybe next time ask Jeeves for a little help? I think this just burned through the lining of my esophagus.”

  Carrie rolls her eyes and throws her arm around my shoulder. “Don’t be a baby. Drink up and c’mon—I need you to be my partner in this beer pong game Thomas is forcing me to play.”

  Thomas, brave soul that he is, has invited way too many people into his apartment. Sure, he has plenty of space since he lives in exec housing a few floors below Derek, but every time I look up, it’s like the party has doubled in size. Or maybe I’m just seeing double? Who knows. Carrie and I suck at beer pong and are forced to drink a lot of her crappy punch.

  I recognize most of the people here from around the park, though some of them must be Thomas’ friends as well because I don’t know the guy dressed like Einstein trying to get my attention.

  “Our costumes could be friends,” he says, pointing between us.

  We look like two old dudes.

  I laugh. “Yeah, we should be playing chess in a park or grumbling about the merits of Brexit.”

  He grins. “Exactly. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?” I explain it and he laughs. “Is it weird that I still think you’re hot even with the beard?”

  I’ve had exactly enough alcohol to think this comment is hilarious. It’s not. Sober me is rolling her eyes.

  He extends his hand, I think to introduce himself, but Carrie drags me away. It’s funny. My costume should be turning men in the other direction, but I think they’re just curious about who the hell I’m supposed to be. Once we’re back in the kitchen, I check my phone for the one hundredth time, hoping Derek will text or call. He hasn’t.

  I don’t want to be obsessively thinking about him. It’d be great if I could throw myself into this party like everyone else, but there’s this overwhelming sense of disinterest since Derek isn’t here. I don’t want to suffer through small talk with other guys. I just want Derek.

  When I slide my phone into my back pocket, I glance up and spot Ryan over in the corner with some friends and I wave. He’s dressed like a pirate with a fake parrot perched on his shoulder. He waves back but doesn’t make his way over to me. It’s for the best.

  Carrie finds me again, tugging me in the direction of the coffee table where she and Thomas have set up a Ouija board. I groan.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes! It’s Halloween,” Thomas says. “Shit is about to get spooky. Someone kill the lights!”

  It takes approximately forty-five minutes for people to locate the light switches around his apartment—“The left one. No, that one controls the fan.”—but eventually, Thomas’ place is plunged into darkness. A few phone flashlights are tapped on to illuminate the board.

  For one second, a trickle of fear runs down my spine. Then a guy asks where the bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos went.

  “Whitney, take the other side,” Carrie says, pushing the Ouija board’s heart-shaped magnifying piece toward me. Together, we take on the supernatural.

  “Someone ask a question,” Thomas prompts the room.

  “Is Whitney a virgin?”

  I flip the crowd my middle finger and everyone laughs. We’ve all reverted back to tween-dom and soon enough, we’re asking the board the most ridiculous questions.

  “How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?”

  “Who stole the bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos?”

  “Is the spirit o
f Elvis Presley among us?”

  We’ve just identified that Elvis is, in fact, in the building—“Tell him I said hi!” someone shouts—when the door to Thomas’ apartment opens, flooding the living room with light. In theme with our current activity, we all scream our heads off.

  Crouched over the Ouija board, I can’t see over the crowd, but Thomas stands and laughs, telling everyone to settle down. “It’s just Derek. Hey man, come on in.”

  DEREK!

  I leap to my feet, flinging the Ouija board away from me. It hits a guy in the face and he groans in pain.

  The lights in the apartment are turned back on and the crowd disperses, but I stand at the coffee table, trying to find Derek. There. Thomas is waving him over in our direction. He’s still in his clothes from work, his tie hanging loose around his neck. He must have come straight here and I bet he’s exhausted.

  I reach up to fix my hair before realizing I’m still dressed as an old man.

  I scan the crowd quickly, trying to locate one of those slutty witches. I need your outfit! Now! Switch with me!

  It’s too late. Derek finds me in all my glory. I wave and a whole range of expressions flash across his face in a matter of seconds: confusion, recognition, disbelief. Or is that delight?

  Hard to tell.

  When he reaches me, I’m still standing in a group with Thomas and Carrie, and I’m not sure how he wants me to act. We aren’t dating, really. I mean, are we? I don’t know. Now doesn’t seem like an appropriate time to ask for clarification. I don’t even know how to properly greet him. If I had it my way, I’d throw my arms around his neck, wrap my legs around his waist, and make him carry me like a baby koala back to his apartment. Instead, I extend a courteous hand.