Page 114 of Prince Charmless
“Do you see him?”
“We get one hour once a week.”
“That’s not a lot of time.”
She swallows. “No, it’s not.” When her eyes become glassy, I put my arm around her shoulders. And then I sit there, holding her, for as long as she wants me to. “Sometimes when I can’t fall asleep, I think about him in there and I just—” She lets out a deep sigh. “I assume the reason the press didn’t find him is because Mateo and I always drop off our dad’s last name. They always called us the Ramirez twins in school. ‘Melina Ramirez-Chadwick’ is just on government documents.”
I had the preconception that she didn’t want to be involved with her incarcerated father and didn’t use his surname out of resentment. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
She sits up. “What’s going to happen when everyone finds out? If you start inviting me to things, people are going to talk about us again. Am I just supposed to wait around for the inevitable ‘Prince Dates Daughter of Criminal’ headline? Is yourfamily going to try to rip us apart like Romeo and Juliet? They both die at the end of that play, you know.”
“They’re not going to rip us apart,” I assure her. “This isn’t the sixteenth century. Or England. It wouldn’t be in their best interest anyway.”
I won’t remind her of this, but if Alex knows her father is in prison, then my family knows too. They know everything. If they had a problem with Melina, I would’ve heard something by now. They’re not shy about making their opinions known to me.
“Visions of grandbabies probably dance in my grandmother’s head whenever she hears a story about me and another woman. My family trusts me to make the right decisions. They have to.”
And if Melina isn’t the right decision, I don’t know what is.
“We’ll figure things out, right?” she asks.
“I promise.”
36
Melina
“Is this your mother’s recipe too?” Rachel asks Taylor before taking a bite of his baked pineapple salmon.
“All of them are,” he says.
“It’s a travesty the public doesn’t know you can cook.” Cindy Zhang takes a sip of her champagne. She’s the owner of the biggest TV network in the nation and looks great in a pantsuit. “You should go on St. Claire’s Bake-Off during celebrity week.”
Taylor does a weak smile. “I’ll ask Tom if he’s interested.” He switches to French and asks something to Elise involving the wordseatandfish.Elise Martin is an old friend of Charlotte’s and filthy rich, just like all the guests at the table, sans moi. She’s a smaller woman with a blonde updo and a string of pearls around her neck. Elise and her husband are why Taylor had to scrap his original idea of a roast and make something the pescatarians could eat.
Across from me sits Prince David. He leans over the marble table and asks, “Did you know, when Taylor was six, he asked Santa for a Kitchenaid mixer? He got a baby brother instead and has been grouchy ever since.”
I let out an ill-mannered snort. I yearn to meet an innocent Taylor who believes in Santa. He’d probably wear smudgy kid glasses and a shirt with a fire truck on it. I’d give him a giant hug.
Former Prime Minister Jean-Paul Rainier and his wife, Marie, gush about how much they’ve enjoyed the food. Or at least I think they do. I’m pretty suredélicieuxmeans delicious.I can’t believe I’m sitting at the same table as them. My teacher once made us all write a letter to him in school. Even in gradefive, I was smart enough to know the Prime Minister would never have time to read every single letter he received.He’ll never know I exist,I thought.
Until now.
Oh, and Julien is here too. But I know enough about him.
I stay quiet for most of dinner, letting Taylor explain all the different avenues the guests’ money is going to. He speaks with enthusiasm and sentiment. It’s times like these when I don’t think he loathes being a prince. Like most jobs, there are parts he despises, of course. Hopefully, it’s moments like this one that make it worth the hassle.
I’m able to make my way through conversation when somebody asks me questions about what I do or how Taylor and I met. When the discussion switches to French, Taylor interprets into my ear. Although sometimes he gets bored, and the former Prime Minister reveals he’s a secret lizard alien who’s come to plague St. Claire with ineffective corporate tax reform. It’s nice to be with Taylor around other people. Besides Rachel, Julien, and that one cursed meal with my family, we’ve only explored our relationship in private. But we still do lots of cute girlfriend/boyfriend things like kissing, cooking, and edging. We’ve been going for runs on public trails in the early morning when no one is around, stopping to watch the sunrise over the ocean. I showed him the wondrous world of The Bachelorette, which he pretends to hate but wants to watch every episode with me. (We seem to have completely different tastes in men.) Every now and then, he’ll share an anecdote from his life to help me fit the final puzzle pieces into his story. He tells me how he’s worried about the physical health of his father, and I tell him how I worry about the mental health of mine. It feels like we’re making progress, and for the first time, I’m warming up to the idea of a possible future, whatever that would look like.
While the others converse about American politics, Taylor rests his hand on my leg and leans in. “I like your dress.”
I look down at my LBD with a sweetheart neckline. It’s really nothing special. I got it on sale.
His hand creeps up, up, up, underneath the hem until suddenly he squeezes the tender spot at the base of my inner thigh. My knee bucks and hits the underside of the table, making the fine china clatter.
Rachel asks mewhat was that?with her eyes.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
