Page 14 of The Prince's Castaway Baby

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Shoot,” I say, my chest tightening. This had better not be something stupid. I’ve only just begun to find him tolerable.

“If it’s okay by you, I’d like to come with you next time you go out. To see you in action, I mean. I think it would be cool to see your work.”

“Do you?” I raise both eyebrows, dubious. “You realize it’s outside, don’t you? There’s bugs and dirt out there.”

He folds his arms like he’s accepting a challenge. “I can take it.”

“All right, then,” I say, surprising myself as much as him. “I suppose if you can be quiet and don’t distract me, you can tag along.”

“You don’t have to worry about me at all,” he smiles in a way that almost makes me believe him. “I promise I’ll make myself useful.”

CHAPTER 7

JENSEN

Yesterday with Billie was great. We stayed inside all day, and she entertained me, and I read a whole book — which is more than I’ve read in years and years. I haven’t had time for that since I was a kid.

To my relief, I felt like I was kind of getting through to her, which is good if I’m going to be stuck here with her for two weeks. Not only that, but I surprised myself by genuinely being quite interested in her work.

I’ve never really thought about photography as a profession before. I think I always thought it was a job limited to people who take pictures of models or people like me, or a faction of journalists who want to bother you at all times.

But these photos, these are for articles. Not trashy newspaper articles or paparazzi-magazine-type articles, but real journals with scientists saying things that matter. The idea of it sends a thrill right through me, like this is the proof I’ve been looking for that life is more than smiling placidly and waving.

It looks like I was right after all. Almost every single other person on earth does a more exciting, interesting, and important job than me.

But that was yesterday.

Today isn’t going quite as well.

Billie’s gone off into the forest to hunt down some birds and left me with the task of preparing our food and lighting a fire. I had wanted to go with her, but she told me to stay in the cabin because she was going into the thickest part of the forest and didn’t want me crashing through the undergrowth.

“Are you sure you know how to do this?” she asked as she left me with the job.

I shrugged. “Oh, sure. I can figure it out.”

She gave me an odd look but must have decided to trust me, because she bade me goodbye and vanished.

And when she gets back, she’s going to realize she’s made a horrible mistake. I can’t light a fire. I can’t cook. I can barely make the bed.

What’s worse is I can’t even look up how to do it on the internet, because there is no internet and I have no phone.

I was pretty sure that wood was meant to burn, but I piled a bunch of sticks into the pit, threw a match in, and nothing happened. I’m not totally stupid — I made sure the sticks were dry first. But I’m half a box of matches down now, and I still have no fire to show for it.

I had no idea it was this complicated.

There’s a stove in the cabin, anyway. I don’t know why we can’t just use that to cook. It must be easier than all this messing around with fire. How did they even invent fire, anyway? Was it lightning? A lightning bolt striking a tree and setting it ablaze? That seems like a scary way to make an invention, but I guess someone must have looked at it and thought to themselves,huh, imagine if we could harness that and throw bacon in it.

The fact is, Billie asked me for lunch and a fire. At this rate, it looks like she’s not going to get a fire. But at least I can deliver on lunch.

I give up playing with sticks and decide to cut my losses and use the stove instead. Surely that’s what it’s there for.

The downside to using a stove is that I don’t do that very often either. Fortunately, I’ve had a little practice at George’s lately, so I’m not completely incompetent when it comes to the concept of turning it on.

All of the ready meals in his freezer were fancy and expensive, though, with easy-open plastic lids and explicit microwaving instructions. Cans are a little more complicated. I actually have to wrestle with a can opener and figure out how much is appropriate for two people to eat.

In the end, I throw the whole can in, to be safe. It doesn’t help that the instructions are in Spanish too. I can’t read them, and I can’t use my phone to translate either. This rustic lifestyle sucks.

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