by Xavier Neal
The thought of Kellan and all the things we will never get to do kills the tiny bit of appetite my body managed to muster up.
Pretty sure it’s just desperate now because it’s depleted its reserves. We have my food Nazi sister to thank for that. Between her never-ending health kicks and my mother’s current fear that even looking at anything unhealthy could cause my father to have another heart attack, I now have the dinner choices of an upscale rabbit. I’ve had so many lettuce relatives shoved in my face for the past few weeks, I refused to get anything green near my burger today. Which says a lot because you know how much I love pickles on it.
After pushing the plate of fries her direction, I insist, “Help yourself. Not really hungry.”
She slows down her chewing. “Have you been hungry at all since he left?”
I shake my head.
Jovi dips another one of the fries in ketchup. “Have you talked to him at all?”
“Nope. Cold turkey is best.”
Trust me. Had I quit Kellan cold turkey back when he was bringing me coffee, proving he was more than just another beloved playboy, I wouldn’t be in this mess. I would be, well probably still apartmentless, but I’d probably have a job. At the very least I’d be eating and sleeping. What? Of course I don’t regret falling in love with him. Not for one minute. What I regret is leaving him. But I had too. I had to do what was necessary for him to make his family work and I had to come be with mine. Ugh. Why didn’t he follow me off the plane and hold up his phone to play one of our favorite songs like a bizarre Say Anything sequel?
“Has he called?”
I cross my legs as I admit. “He calls at least once a day, every day.”
And texts me first thing in the morning and last thing at night, my time. He’s definitely not making this break up any easier. You know, when you quit smoking, your cigarettes don’t leave you voicemails about their undying love for you. How creepy would it be if they did?
“He was trending when I was on Facebook earlier,” she casually mentions. “His birthday is coming up. According to Everything Celebrity it’s going to be one of the biggest events of the year.”
The knot in my throat grows larger.
“Everyone is going to be there. Celebrities. Models. Actresses. Other royalty.”
And that is where my replacement will be found I’m sure.
I attempt to swallow my expanding sadness. “So?”
“So, don’t you think the love of his life should be there?”
Her words slink me down into my seat further. “I wasn’t invited.”
“Okay Cinderella, that would matter if this wasn’t real life and he wasn’t just waiting for you to answer his call.”
Jovi’s argument causes me to shake my head. “You don’t get it, Jo. It wasn’t like we had a fight about pretzels or potato chips. It was the choice of his family or me. No one should have to be forced to make that decision.”
She silently nods her understanding.
Given all that she and Merrick have been through, I believe she’s the only person I know who can even begin to comprehend where I’m coming from. Merrick may not be a prince with a hard-ruling king for a father, but he had his own family issues that almost kept them apart, not to mention her father is a Police Commissioner who had his own set of rules that made her run away here.
Stiff stillness sways back and forth for several minutes before Jovi finally sits up straight with a new-found light in her eyes. “But…You should never give up hope because people change.”
My head tilts sarcastically at her.
“What! They do!” She swipes another fry off my plate. “Not usually overnight or without some help from a traumatic event that makes them see everything differently, but it still happens. Just…don’t give up yet.”
“You sound like my father.”
“He’s probably a wise man.”
Instead of wasting my breath disagreeing with her, I push my glasses up, and move out of the direct line of the summer sun. Pulling my chuck covered feet into the chair with me, I let my knees rest against my chest, and announce, “I need a job.”
“Yeah?”
“Bad.”
She finally moves onto my half-eaten burger. “Anything in particular?”
“Anything art related at this point. I can’t live off my savings forever.”
“You mean you can’t live in Kellan’s penthouse forever.”
“Not hearing a real difference…”
She smirks to herself and has a bite. Once she’s swallowed it she states, “I’ve got a few people I can contact. See if they’re hiring. Might take me a couple of days to dig up something. Can you wait that long?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Not like I have anything else to do.”
You know like shop for my boyfriend’s birthday gift or a dress to wear or plan a surprise party…God, can you imagine how difficult it would be to try to throw someone a party who literally has spent most of his birthdays in a castle being waited on hand and foot? I would’ve got him a bowtie. A Doctor Who bowtie to be precise and then laughed about it as he ranted he’s Doctenn, not British. Then laughed even more at his hatred for the thing. People say it’s the thought that counts. Is that still true when that’s all you’re capable of doing for the one you love’s biggest birthday, yet because his father would have you permanently banished like a character in a Shakespeare play if you ever made contact again? No. He didn’t say those exact words, but they were pretty damn close. Forbidden to return to a country. That’s probably not something I need to mention on my resume. Let’s just hope whatever job I land doesn’t require me to travel there for business. Explaining to my boss how I pissed off a king by dating his son doesn’t sound like a fun after lunch conversation to have…
I toss the door open to my father’s office and belt out, “What’s wrong?! What’s the matter? Is everyone alright?!”
My father looks up from behind his long, oak desk and scowls. “Why are you shouting?”
“Everyone’s fine,” Kristopher insists from the chair he’s lounging in, which is in the seating area to the left of our father’s desk.
“Then what’s the emergency?”
Kristopher waves Mathew off at the same time he answers, “There isn’t one.”
“Then why-”
“Because I knew it was the only way to get you here.”
“Was to fake an emergency?” I snap.
“Did you think I was dying?” Our father questions with a smirk.
“More like hoped,” I sneer in return.
He rolls his eyes and looks back at the paperwork he was dealing with.
Unlike Brie’s father who I was thankful to hear was alright after his heart attack. According to my source, he’s better than ever, though completely annoyed with his lack of food variation. No. Can’t reveal my source. Fine. I won’t. Better?
“I’m leaving,” my announcement is loud and aimed at him before turning to Kris. “And as for you, The Boy Who Cried Crisis, emergencies aren’t something you should toy around with. They actually happen to some people.”
“Like Brie?” He challenges.
The mention of her name constricts my vocal chords to the point I don’t bother trying to respond.
I’m beginning to find it is slightly easier to make it through the day when her name is not mentioned out loud. Mind you I can yell it in my head repeatedly and behave less pathetically, but the moment someone makes the mistake of letting it fall from their lips it feels as if there’s a curse of a thousand years of masturbation and loneliness bestowed upon me.
The moment I turn on my heels to exit, Kris speaks up, “Kellan wait. We need to talk.”
I don’t bother stopping.
“All of us.”
When my attempt to open the door doesn’t go quite as I planned, I give him a glance over my shoulder. “Why is this door locked?”
My brother stands and sighs, “I told you. We need to talk.”
“
You tricked me in here and then locked me inside?”
“Us,” Kris quickly corrects. “I locked us inside.”
Our father leans back in his chair. “Stop being ridiculous, Kristopher. If your brother wants to storm off and pout in his room then let him.”
“You’re locked in here too, father,” he starts to explain.
“Come again?”
“None of us are leaving this room until we get a few things settled.” At that point my brother slides his hands into his plaid shorts pockets. “And I mean none of us. Mathew and the rest of the servants are under strict orders not to open those doors until they’ve been given the safe word.”
I turn completely around. “Is this some sort of joke?”
Kris shakes his head slowly.
Our father gives him a sarcastic look. “Kristopher, I’m still the king of this country. Our staff answers and bends to my will. Not yours.”
“You should know by now father hates to share his puppets.”
His eyes lower to a glare. “Be careful, Kellan.”
“Or what? You’ll ground me? Kick me out of the country? Disown me as a member of this family or is that only for dating someone of a different ethnicity?”
“Enough!” Kris interrupts, his head fallen backward to stare up at the ceiling.
Why does he get to yell?
After he’s regained his composure, he gives our father a stern stare. “You are right. You are the king of this country and the household does answer to you. However, there was a decree made three generations back in which a household meeting could be called by any member of the royal family, to which the one who called it was the only one who could officially end it. All members that are needed for the discussion are required to gather in room of the home behind a locked door. During such a meeting, staff would recognize this shift of power and be given a code word or phrase by the member who called it. They agree to only open the door if it is spoken by a member of the royal family. In the event there is an actual emergency, one member should wait on the outside to free them if needed.”
Soph…
“That is absolutely the dumbest decree my grandfather ever declared.”
I bite, “Why? Because it gave the rest of the family a chance to have their opinions matter?”
“Because it seems like an idiotic idea to lock everyone in one bloody room!”
“Clearly great grandfather understood something you don’t,” Kris snaps to my surprise. “This family isn’t meant to be run like a dictatorship. There is a difference in the way you run a country and the way you guide your sons.”
He doesn’t argue, instead he stands up to head for his bar by the window.
No. I considered drinking my problems away and even reveled over the possible benefit of killing my liver, but the process of having to constantly put something in my mouth seemed to be more effort than blankly staring at a television screen.
“Now that I have everyone’s attention,” Kris continues, strolling into the gap between us. “I want to be very clear about what is happening.” When he’s certain our eyes are pasted on him, he declares, “No one is leaving until things change.”
“You hear that, father? Change…” I fake a shudder. “That’s like the boogeyman under the bed to you, isn’t it?”
“Kellan,” my brother scolds. “Enough.”
You thought it was funny, didn’t you?
“Look, I don’t want to bring a baby into this family that’s consumed by this much hatred. There is enough of it out in the world without it having to attack us from the inside.”
Seems like a conversation I don’t need to be a part of. I’m a very loving creature. Oh. Hush.
“And before either of you ask, no, Soph is not pregnant yet. But just because she isn’t doesn’t mean we should wait to fix what is clearly broken among us. I’m tired of watching my family, this family, self-destruct.” He turns to our father. “You’ve been day drinking in unusual amounts since the moment Brie fled the palace-”
“Perhaps he’s shame drinking.” A small smile of triumph begins to grow. “That would be a first.”
“And you.” Kris’ head swings back to me. “You’ve been throwing tantrums like a toddler who’s missed his nap time and been denied candy.”
I fold my arms defensively across my chest.
He’s being over dramatic. I haven’t been that bad. The tabloids are…spinning the truth as usual. No. No. Don’t agree with him!
“We all need to discuss what is happening here.” My brother retreats to the chair he came from. Once he’s settled back in it, he folds his fingers together and states, “The sooner, the better for all of us.”
Neither of us speaks. I drop my attention to my scuffed shoes while our father nurses the whiskey he poured. The sound of the clock ticking seems to mimic the stale mate we’ve been trapped into.
I won’t crack first. There’s nothing I need to change. It’s him who has the issue.
In a quiet voice, our father tries to assure, “I was trying to protect this family.”
Hearing the repeated lie darts my eyes up. “You were trying to protect your bank account.”
He shakes his head. “It is so much more than that, Kellan.”
“So you lie.”
“It is not a lie,” he snaps and slams his glass down on the table. “Do you think I relish the fact I’ve completely destroyed my son’s life? Do you think that’s an easy thing to deal with as not only the king of this country, but as a father? Do you honestly believe I enjoyed having to tell you the world is a cruel and unforgiving place?”
My shoulders shrug. “You didn’t exactly appear to care about anything other than how the world will view you.”
“You are my son, first, Kellan. What I do, no matter how horrific it may seem, I am doing because I love you. Because it is my sworn duty to protect you. Because with your mother’s last breath she begged me to not let you slip away.”
The mention of mom builds a tremble in my jaw.
“She knew Kristopher would be fine. She knew, somehow in her magical ways, that Kristopher would find his place in this family. Adjust to the rules and represent the past generations with poise and grace. That he would…learn to be what this family has come to represent. She knew without her, you would do everything you could to distance yourself from it. To divide the life we should’ve lived together from the life you had to live without her. I know I haven’t always been the greatest father. It’s not like you’ve made it easy. In fact, you’ve gone out of your way to make it difficult. To defy. To prove that you don’t need me. That you don’t need any of us. But the truth is you do. You absolutely do. And while you stand there in a refusal to admit it, I will be the one to remind you Kellan I directed your first investors to you. I set up a dummy account to donate to your cause. I had your indiscretions scrubbed from the papers that could’ve easily destroyed your creditability as you began to build your program. You have never made holding onto you easy, but you better believe me when I say I give everything I have to do what I believe is best for you.”
With the new information swarming around my brain, I can barely croak, “How is me being without the only person I’ve ever truly loved best for me?”
“The ridicule. The hatred. The endless sabotages that would start. You think the night you attended the Malskiean Fundraiser with her was traumatic? Amplify that exceptionally.”
The night comes screaming back to me so loudly it causes my temple to throb. “How do you know about that?”
“Because at least one of my son’s doesn’t hate me.”
I turn my attention to my brother. “You snitched on me?”
His face reddens. “I…I…Well…I…”
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak narc.”
“He had just gotten off the phone with you,” my father defends. “He was discussing it with Sophia when I interrupted.”
I give Kristopher another hard glower and he tries to present me an ap
ologetic look in return.
We will be dealing with him later…
My father commands my eyes once more. “Is that really what you think is best for you? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life being gawked at? Mocked? Judged simply because your girlfriend has brown skin instead of white? Do you really want to lose investors because they don’t want anything to do with someone who can’t keep their gene pool ‘clean’? Think of the amount of animosity you dealt with that night and tell me if that is what you want to bring your children into? More importantly if you love this woman as much as you truly seem too, why would you want her to sign up for a life time of potential misery? Even if you two didn’t spend forever together, the comments, the gossip, the unsavory rumors last lifetimes. I do not want that for my son.” He swallows his own grief. “I do not want you to spend the rest of your life in possible shame.”
