Page 23 of Prince Charmless
“What are you smiling at?” the voice over my shoulder asks.
I turn and find my brother squinting at the phone in my hand. His favorite hobby is sneaking up on me. This house has almost a hundred rooms, yet he always seems to be where I am. I just want to make my coffee in peace.
Vinnie jumps on my thigh and licks my hand like he’s accomplished something.
“Have you trained him to track me?” I ask, nudging him away.
Tom smiles. “I would never.”
Yeah sure. I wouldn’t put it past Tom to waste his time doing something that useless. He’s probably bored being back home.
“Who’s Melina Ramirez, and why are you texting her?” he asks while opening my fridge.
“No one you need to worry about.”
“Are you guys doing forehead kisses?”
“No,” I say more sternly. “Mind your own business.”
“Speaking of, uh, business, I can’t go to your thing.” Tom’s practically hiding behind the fridge door. He must have been putting off whatever he’s about to tell me for a while.
“What ‘thing’, I have many things.”
“The party for RCE.”
Classic Tom. Flaking on me when I need him most. The Royal Charity for Education has been holding this fundraiser for decades. It’s not a huge party by any means, but it’s celebrity-filled, pretentious, and horrible in every way.
“No, Thomas, don’t do this to me.”
“Something came up.” He bites into an apple loudly and annoyingly.
“What ‘something’ do you have in your life that’s more important than this? I told you, people donate more when we both go to events. I’ve done the math.”
My little brother might be aggravating, but I hate going to fundraisers alone. Complaining is one of life’s simple pleasures, and doing it with Tom at the events we attend together is the only thing that gets me through them. It was exhausting having to hold down the fort while he was in the Air Force.
Tom presents his back to me and picks up his phone off the counter. “You and your math. How about instead of everyone paying thousands of dollars for an Armani tux, they just use that money to donate to the charity instead?”
For once in his life, Tom makes a good point, but he’s oversimplifying things.
I circle around him to make eye contact. “You have to get people in the mood to donate. If you throw them a fancy party with high-profile guests, such as yourself, they feel more obligated to give.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says while liking a picture of a woman on Instagram.
“Yeah, tell me about it,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry, I’ll be in Vegas. I’m playing in the Poker World Series.”
World Series? I know Tom plays poker with his friends at maybe-not-the-most-legal tables, but I didn’t know he was any good.
“So you’ll be skipping out on a charity event put on by your own family to gamble in Las Vegas? Do you realize how that will look? You’re already on the guest list.”
Vinnie whines. I must be speaking too loudly for his sensitive and comically large ears.
Tom scrolls through his phone like this is the least of his worries. He’s already made his ‘bad boy prince’ reputation. Why would he do anything else besides revel in it?
“I’ll donate the money if I win anything,” he says. “That’s what I always do. It’s a tiny party anyways.”
A tiny party with very prominent guests.
