by Rachel Astor
“Nice room.”
Leo looked at me. “Thanks, I guess I should have asked if you wanted it.”
“Isn’t it your room?”
He chuckled. “No, my wing’s a little less… girly than this.”
Of course he has his own wing, what was I thinking?
“This was an old girlfriend of mine’s idea a long time ago. She needed a place to put all her… stuff.”
“Oh,” I said. “So what do you do with it now?” I was really beginning to wonder what in the world he brought me to his ex-girlfriend’s spa getaway room for.
He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s still holding all of her stuff.” He flung open a set of closet doors, revealing an assortment of costume jewelry and several wigs. He moved to the next set and flung those open too. It housed shoes from floor to ceiling, neatly arranged by color. The next several sets of doors were stuffed to overflowing with clothes.
“Whoa,” I couldn’t help but say.
“Yeah, I know. I can’t seem to figure out what to do with all this stuff.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, things finally falling into place. “Is all this Melania Devoe’s?” I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor, but I couldn’t help but feel a little star-struck knowing I was in the presence of one of the world’s leading supermodel’s things.
“Yeah,” Leo shrugged, as if it were no big deal.
I guess to a Prince, it wasn’t.
“Why didn’t she take it with her?” I couldn’t imagine leaving a treasure trove like this behind.
“She said she didn’t want it. We got into this huge fight when she moved out and she said she wanted to start fresh. I’ve been meaning to get rid of it all, but I don’t know what to do with it. I felt a little ridiculous giving haute couture to a charity.”
“Yeah, no… of course.”
It was certainly in my best interest, that was for sure. Being able to have access to all this stuff was going to give me a world of insight into the time in Leo’s life when he was dating her. I immediately felt bad for hoping I would find something scandalous and sordid in her things. In my defense though, it would finally make something in the biography interesting.
“So, do you think this could work for some sort of disguise so we can get the hell out of here and go have some fun?”
Cripes, I’d forgotten all about the disguise thing. “You mean, you want me to…” my words drifted away as I turned again to face the most beautiful, wall-sized closet I had ever seen. Okay, the only wall-sized closet I had ever seen. And Leo was trying to tell me I was allowed to go trolling through there for a disguise?
I began to fan myself, setting down my wine glass for fear I might drop it.
“Yeah, how long do you think you need? I won’t take no for an answer,” he said, smiling that irresistible smile.
About a million hours in here sounds about perfect, I thought. Then shook my head, forcing myself out of the fashion-induced trance. “Uh, maybe like, an hour?”
“Perfect. I’ll go get ready myself. Think you can find your way back to the front entrance?”
I nodded, not entirely sure at all. But I was still kind of speechless, so I couldn’t really admit that even if I wanted to.
Leo left and I was alone with an absolute drool-worthy shrine to the gods of fashion and accessorizing. I grabbed my phone and dialed as fast as my fingers would move.
I heard the click on the other end of the line and started talking without waiting for an answer.
“Oh my God, you will not believe where I am standing right now!”
“In the Prince’s Throne room?” Mattie answered sarcastically. “Oh, and hello, by the way.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said. “No, I’m not in the Throne room. Wait, do you really think he has a Throne room?”
Mattie scoffed from the other end of the line. “How am I supposed to know? You’re the one living in the castle, for Pete’s sake. Go exploring!”
“I know, I want to, but I keep getting lost. It’s a miracle I make it back to my room in one piece every night.”
“I can only imagine,” he said.
I wondered if I should be offended by his agreeing with me, but I really wasn’t in the mood to take any more flak for my directionally-challenged abilities. “Anyway…” I said, in a tone that clearly stated I was not amused, “… I am standing in the closet… no wait, it’s more than a closet, it’s an entire wall of closets of stuff that belongs to…”
I paused, you know, for effect.
Mattie sighed. “If you say Prince Leo, I’m going to be sorely disappointed. That boy is not on the cutting edge of fashion.”
Hmm, I thought, Prince Leo always looked good to me.
“No, I’m not going to tell you that. It’s the closet of … Melania Devoe!” I had to hold back from squee-ing.
Which was okay, really, because Mattie did enough for both of us. “Get out!” he yelled.
“Seriously, you would not believe the shoes alone!”
“But, I thought they broke up like, a year ago.”
“They did, but she left all her stuff behind. She apparently wanted a clean slate or something.”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Luckily for me, I’m totally not!”
“You may be the unluckiest woman alive, but you sure know how to even it out by being the luckiest too.”
“I know, right?! Anyway, I gotta go. I’m supposed to be using Melania’s stuff to create a disguise so that Leo and I can head out on the town without anyone knowing who I am!”
“Whoa, hold on there a minute, McMaster. What do you mean you’re heading out on the town with him?”
“What? What’s wrong with that?”
“Don’t you think it might tick Jake off just a little bit?”
“Why? It’s my job to hang out with the Prince.”
“So, why all the secrecy then?”
I could not believe Mattie was going all suspicious on me. “Mattie, you know I can’t be seen with the Prince, no one can know that I’m ghostwriting his book. It’s supposed to be an autobiography.”
“I guess…” he said, sounding less than convinced.
“Sorry Mattie, but I really gotta go.”
“Okay hon, but be careful.”
“Of course. Bye!” I said, staring at my phone, confused as to what he was so worried about.
I mean, it’s not like anyone was ever even going to know it was me. And it’s not like I wasn’t going to tell Jake all about it the next time he called or anything.
And besides, I had a great big, giant wall of closets to get to.
Nothing was going to bring me down.
~ 10 ~
I swear, I could have spent twenty-four hours straight in there, and hated that I only had one. I mean, how was I supposed to choose just one outfit, one wig, one palette of makeup? It seemed impossible as I stared at the once exciting, but now almost overwhelming wall.
My head started spinning just looking at everything and I knew I had to do something. I started shutting doors until just one set of doors was left open.
Good.
This was much, much more manageable. The shoes. Just the shoes.
But dear God, there were a lot of them.
First step, check what size Melania wears. Please let her have small feet, please let her have small feet, you know, for the six foot Amazon woman that she is.
I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers and stepped up to the wall of shoes.
Holy couture, there was a shoe God. Size six and a half.
Okay, I was going to a club. With a Prince. What kind of shoes would I wear if I were going to a club with a Prince. ‘Cause, you know, I was. I shouted out a little squee in my mind and continued my perusal of the shoe closet. For some reason the silver ones seemed to be calling my name. I mean, I don’t recall ever having worn silver shoes in my life and I guess it just seemed like the right time. When you think about it there really isn’t a w
hole lot of reason to wear silver shoes when you’re a regular person, so tonight, when I wasn’t going to be just any old regular person anymore, silver shoes were a perfect fit.
Of course, there were still about ten pairs to pick from, but at least I had begun to narrow it down. Three minutes later and my feet were cradled in a pair of Manolo Blahnik rhinestone buckle sandals. Very dressy for a club, but I figured you only live once, right? Well, you only live inside a supermodel’s closet once, that is.
I closed the shoe closet and moved on to what to wear with the shoes. Because the shoes were so fancy, I was thinking something a little less so for the dress.
A slinky little black one, perhaps?
Of course, there were about two dozen of those too, so it still wasn’t going to be the easiest thing in the world. Spaghetti Strap, halter, fringed, glittery… my head was spinning with the choices. Of course, the sheer skimpiness of most of them ruled them out, I mean, I did my yoga every morning, but I was no supermodel.
I finally settled on a simple tank dress, figuring I could dress it up with a belt and various other accessories. Goodness knew there were enough of them to be had.
By the time the hour was up, I was almost ready. My makeup was perfect, and fairly caked on given the fact that I was supposed to be in disguise. I’d created a purplish smoky eye and deep burgundy lips. A look that I’d probably never wear out if I were being myself, but actually didn’t look half bad, if I did say so myself. The dress looked great and the shoes were, of course, my favorite part. I couldn’t get over how much more comfortable designer shoes were than the knock offs. Of course, I could be changing my mind a couple hours down the road, especially if the Prince was into dancing, but for now, it was literally like walking on a cloud.
But I had yet to decide on the most important part of the whole outfit.
The wig.
Who knew it was such a chore to choose between being a blonde, brunette, redhead, or raven-haired.
There was a quiet knock on the door. “Josie? Are you just about ready? We should probably get going soon.”
Shit. I was already late. “Uh, yeah, just a minute,” I said, and made a split second decision, grabbing the long dark, soft curls with side-swept bangs.
I’d already pinned up my own hair, so it was a fairly quick procedure.
It was almost shocking what a difference the hair made. Suddenly, I was no longer Josie, but looking almost Eva Mendes-esque. You know, minus all the best curves, but I had to say, the effect was not too shabby.
I almost rushed back to the makeup table for a perfectly placed mole, just like Eva, but I figured that might be slight overkill. Plus, if I were to accidentally ruin my makeup job now, it would be a tragedy of epic proportions.
I ran to the door… okay, more like tiptoe scurrying, considering the shoes, and opened it to find Leo still standing there.
“Whoa,” he spit out, then quickly cleared his throat to cover the outburst.
I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, secretly loving that I’d drawn something like that out of a guy like him.
Mind you, it wasn’t really me, but I’d certainly take it.
Finally he chuckled. I guess he figured he wasn’t having any luck covering it up. “Err, sorry about that. You just look so different. And very beautiful by the way.” His smile quickly turned into shock as his eyes opened wide, realizing what he’d said. “I mean, not that you don’t normally look beautiful….” He searched for the right thing to say.
I just laughed, letting him off the hook. “Don’t worry, and thank you.”
His relief showed immediately and I was rather flattered that what I thought even mattered to him. Of course, I suppose I was the person responsible for making him look good in his book, so that was probably a big factor.
“Shall we?” he asked, ever the gentleman and held his arm out for me to hold while he led me to the front door.
Which, I gotta say, was a really good thing. I mean, the shoes may have been comfortable and beautiful, but they were not the easiest things in the world to walk in. Cripes, what would they be like to dance in?
The trip to the city was quicker than I was used to, given that we were driving the Prince’s Aston Martin, and he apparently wasn’t all that concerned with the posted speed limits. Even in the city. Traffic lights seemed to be somewhat of an option for him as well, instead of, you know, the law.
Once we got to the club, as expected, there was no waiting in line for Leo, and we got VIP treatment as we moved inside. A special area for us to sit was quickly cleared, much to the chagrin of the girls who had been sitting there. Of course, they didn’t give the Prince any dirty looks. No, those were reserved just for me. I suppose Leo must have been used to that sort of thing, and maybe all his dates in the past were too, given that most of them were models and actresses. But I had to say, it was not my cup of tea. I was a bit more used to people being friendly. Although maybe it was the outfit. I mean, did being well-dressed and giving off an air of wealth actually make people treat you like crap?
“So, what do you think?” Leo asked.
I actually hadn’t had much time to think about the place, but now that we were sitting, I took a good look around. The music was pounding, as you’d expect in any club, and the whole place had a feeling of movement to it. And not in a good way. More like in a creepy-crawly wormlike kind of way. It was like the walls and ceiling were even moving with the bass vibrating the lights and the strobe show completely messing with my equilibrium. And apparently the fire code laws must be different in England or something, because what I would have once thought was crowded, did not hold a candle to whatever the heck this was.
It was positively sardine-like.
But around our table there was a teeny bit of breathing room, thank God.
I kept trying to talk to Leo, but with the music and everything, it was pretty much impossible. We did, however, have a lot of awkward eye contact and fake smiling. It was so weird, the guy was normally so easy to talk to, but in a club like this, when talking was out of the question, all our comfort went shooting straight out the window along with the light from the laser show.
Leo did have quite a few people come up and talk to him though. Friends or acquaintances or whatever, and somehow he seemed able to hold short conversations with them, but about the only words I exchanged with anybody was shouting my drink order to the waitress. Of course, once she had it, the drinks just kept coming whether I ordered them or not. Honestly, it was a good thing I’d been so in the mood for Appletinis, because that’s what I was getting for the duration whether I liked it or not.
I had no idea if the Prince was paying for our drinks or not, but I had a feeling they may have been complimentary. I wondered if I should ask Leo, to gather some info for the book, but figured it might be rude.
God, how was I ever going to get this book off the ground?
I had to make a decision. Either I was going to continue along as I was doing and be scared of always doing or saying the wrong thing, or I was going to write a damned good book. I just had to suck it up and ask the bloody questions that needed to be asked.
Of course, when I opened my ginormous trap and asked (yelling to be heard over the music), “So, do you get all this stuff for free?” it might have been nice if the music hadn’t chosen that exact moment to go silent.
Leo looked mortified.
But not quite as much as me, I was sure.
He cleared his throat and gave the friend who’d been sitting there at the time a sheepish smile. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about anything babe. I’ve got it covered.”
I. Could. Have. Died.
I closed my eyes, hoping it would make all the stares go away and took a sip of my drink. A very long sip.
Finally, after what seemed like approximately one thousand and three years, the music started up again and I let the pounding bass take over my brain and shake it around for a litt
le while, while I continued to enjoy my Appletinis, more quickly now.
I cursed myself for being such an idiot. I mean, I was sure the Prince didn’t actually think I was worried about the money or whatever, but I’d kind of put him in a bad spot too, considering he couldn’t just tell the guy who was sitting with us—not to mention the gazillion other people who had been in ear shot—that I was just his ghostwriter asking questions for the secret book that he was supposed to be writing.
By the end of the night, I think I may have had one too many Appletinis… okay, maybe six, and the Prince was not far behind me. Thank goodness he’d been smart enough to call Reginald to come and get us. I was certainly in no mood (or stomach capacity, for that matter) to drive back the way Leo drove. I couldn’t even imagine how terrifying it might be after he’d had a few drinks.
On the way back, I was nearly asleep in the back of the car, and I actually thought Leo was too, when suddenly he screamed, “Reginald, stop the car!”
My head whipped up and I braced myself for what might be ahead. I’d been thinking we were about to crash into a cow or something, but we actually slowed to a nice, smooth stop on the side of the road.
In the middle of nowhere.
“What? What is it?” I asked, scanning the landscape in every direction, wondering what on Earth the problem was.
It hadn’t even occurred to me, given the way I’d been half asleep—okay, I might have been all the way to drooling—that there might not be anything wrong at all.
“I just had to show you something,” he said, getting out of the car.
I scrambled to get out my side, fumbling in my half-drunken stupor. Leo was already making his way around to my side of the car and proceeded to walk directly into the ditch.
I went to follow, but stopped myself, shedding my shoes and tossing them back onto the seat. I may have been drunk, but I was nowhere near drunk enough to risk messing up a pair of perfectly good Manolos.
Leo had walked far ahead, finally turning to make sure I was following, which I was, but I’d lagged a fair bit behind.
