Page 12 of Learning to Love

"I really am sorry, Elodie. I didn't mean to upset you. Too often, I allow my mouth to speak before my brain engages. Please come back to the pool. I'd like to speak to you a little more. I really want to change and learn how to help the people of Serendipity, not make them hate the fact I'm here. You're the only one who can show me what I don't see, because you experience so much more of humanity than me. I'm hidden from it—deluded, if you will, living in my big palace and luxurious apartments." Dalton holds his hand out to me again.

"It's late. I should go home." I fear that by taking his hand, it will be the start of something I'm not sure I want.

"Please," he repeats, and I slowly reach my hand out to take his. We make our way back to the swimming pool. The lights have been lowered, and the moon illuminates our path.

"The housekeeper here—I don't think she likes me." Dalton finally speaks as we sit down.

"Mrs. Smith is not the sort of person to dislike someone, but I do know you've upset her. The first morning you arrived, she was close to tears. I've never seen her that way before. Her beloved dog died, and she still showed up for work with a smile on her face. I'm not even sure your arrogant attitude would phase her. You must have done or said something awful. Can you think of anything?" I question.

Dalton shakes his head.

"Did you throw a dirty towel at her?" I wink at him.

"No, that was only you, and as I said at the time, it was an accident."

He places his hand on his chin and strokes it in thought. I don't want to go into his apartment, but I think it's the only way I'll figure out what he's done to upset Mrs. Smith.

"Show me your apartment," I state.

He raises an eyebrow at me, "Really?"

"For research purposes, I've already told you I'm not going to be a notch on your bedpost, Casanova."

"Damn." He shrugs but then laughs.

He gets to his feet, and I follow him into his apartment. Everything is in order at first sight, but then I notice the door to his bedroom is open. The floor around the luxurious bed is a mess of clothing, towels, and other stuff I don't even want to think about.

"I think we have a winner." I point to the bedroom.

"I thought you weren't going to sleep with me?" Dalton looks at me, confused.

I let out a sigh of frustration. "I'm not! Look at the floor."

He peeps his head around the door of the bedroom.

"It's a nice marble? Not sure what I'm supposed to be looking at." He turns back to face me, confusion still written on his face.

"Let me guess, when you're at home, you have someone who comes into your room every day and tidies and cleans it? Someone who follows a long list of your tedious demands?" I place a hand on my hip and stare him down.

"Yes, why?"

"Mrs. Smith is not here to pick your underwear and wet towels up off the floor. Her job is to make your bed, clean the bathroom, and attend to any reasonable requests, not silly ones. As adults in the real world, we have something called a laundry basket—we put our clothes in it when they’re dirty, and we don’t expect someone else to pick them up for us."

"But that’s what happens at the palace," Dalton protests.

"Real-world," I sing-song.

"But she's paid…"

"Not to remove your dirty underwear from the floor."

"Oh, but I'm a prince!" Dalton smiles at me cheekily.

"You're a twenty-nine-year-old man, who happens to be a prince. It doesn't mean you’ve the right to get one of the nicest people at Serendipity to pick up your boxers off the floor." I smile back at him.

"Point noted. I'll clean up my mess before she comes tomorrow. I guess it’s a bit too much to ask. To be fair, it'll probably make the room more comfortable if I tidy up after myself."

"It will. I'm surprised you ever get any women to go back to your room if it looks like that at the end of the day." I laugh.

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