Page 122 of Prince Charmless
“Also,” he starts, and pulls out something from his pocket. The object he throws to me is a set of keys: two modern ones and two skeleton ones that look like they could give someone tetanus. Hopefully, they’re for the stables and not the front door.Alex points to them and says, “Real estate agent was pissed when I told her she wasn’t going to close the deal of her career.”
“Yes, thank you. I have to go now.”
Alex nods, and I scurry past him like a desperate rat.
It’s a long walk to Dad’s office. I should have been thinking about what I was going to say to them on the way over, but my mind goes blank when I open the door to find her and my father...drinking tea?
Dad doesn’t say anything when he leaves the room, only giving me some sort of message via facial expression, but I’m too preoccupied to decipher it.
Melina sits with her legs crossed, her demeanor calm and collected. She looks beautiful, ethereal almost. Her black hair falls in perfect waves like a waterfall that crashes on her shoulders. The blue dress, which flares out at her forearms and ends just below her knees, fits her like a glove. And, of course, the red handbag waits patiently by her blush-pink heels. She once told me it’s her ‘daily driver’.
The only thing that comes out of my pathetic mouth is, “I’m sorry.”
“Would you like some?” she gestures to the teapot as if it’s hers. “It’s English breakfast. Thought we hated them.”
Come on, Taylor, say something!
“Ryan K. won the bachelorette,” she says to fill my awkward silence.
“I know. Hannah’s way too good for him.”
She picks at her nails. “Your Dad’s been telling me stories about your mom. About how she thought he was a pretentious asshole. About how your family didn’t like her until he brought her on vacation, and she won everyone over with her—”
“Chicken piccata.” I finish. “Yeah, I’ve heard it a million times.”
My mother was always quiet around strangers, but her lack of words was made up for in other ways. In a sense, she passed her craftiness on to me. I don’t hate other people, I think I’m just painfully shy.
“It sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Melina takes a sip of tea, but not before glancing at the teacup to line up the previous lipstick mark with her mouth. The action reminds me of something Mom once told me. I’d caught her looking disgusted toward the woman sitting across from us at a dinner and asked what was wrong. I haven’t thought of the conversation in years.
Écoute-moi, Taylor. Always drink from the same spot on a glass. If your lipstick is going to stain the cup, at least have the consciousness to only do it in one place.
Useful advice, maman. Je le dirai à Tom.
Well, not for you, darling. Just don’t waste your time with a girl who’s so thoughtless she doesn’t notice when she’s turning the china red.
Except my problem won’t be with a woman who’s thoughtless, it’ll be with a woman who thinks too much.
She sets down the saucer and scrapes her nails through her hair. I’ll do anything so it’s my hand running through her locks again.
“I should’ve given you space,” I say. “But I have to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she says without judgment. “What do you need to say?”
I’m reminded of what a winded mess Alex was in my office and realize I probably look the same. WhatdoI need to say?
“I took my grandmother’s estate off the market,” I blurt out.
“Why?”
“I hate living in Clément Manor. It’s weird I’m still living in the place I grew up, right?”
She looks at the chandelier above. “A lot of things in your life are weird.”
“And maybe in the back of my mind, I thought if I lived in a real house with doors that lock, you could see yourself moving into it one day.”
Melina doesn’t even flinch.
“There are so many things about you I love. It’s fucking nauseating. Like how you make eggs or put your hair up in that clip thing, and the face you make when you’re drawing, and your collarbones for some reason, I’ve never been attracted to collarbones before, so I’m sorry if that’s inconvenient or too soon or crazy or—”
