Page 44 of Prince Charmless
“Or has it been in your back pocket this whole time?” I ask, placing a gentle hand on his abs.
He doesn’t protest, so slowly, I move it across his waist, down his back, into his pocket.
He snatches my wrist and shakes his head slightly. He’s not interested in playing anymore. I can’t tell if he’s saying no to my keys being in his back pocket or his ass being touched. It was a long shot either way.
“Melina,” he says in the softest voice I’ve ever heard him speak. His swallow is almost sheepish like he’s a teenage boy and I’m his first ever real-life boob. “Get out of my house.”
My palm, still in his clutch, is a lot gentler than before. We’re holding hands. When I look down, he instantly takes it off mine.
“Sorry,” he says, like he messed up a line and holding my hand isn’t in the script.
I can’t help but smirk at the slip-up. Something about me must scare him because he avoids eye contact like the plague.
“You are a strange, strange man,” I say as I open the door.
A cold breeze hits my skin, and the sound of an expensive engine runs in the distance. As I leave, I replay what a certain sibling of Taylor’s told me. Something about...taking it and dishing it?
“Goodbye, Taylor!” I shout from the courtyard. “Or as we say in St. Claire, adieu!”
“Au revoir,” he corrects.
I turn around. “What’s the difference?”
“You can look it up later. Begone with you.”
I give him a salute.
Something about the little smile and headshake Taylor does before closing the door makes my stomach feel all fluttery. As soon as I get in the car, I look up the difference between adieu and au revoir. Apparently, adieu means ‘goodbye forever,’ and au revoir means more ‘see you later.’
Oh yes, Taylor, I will be seeing you later.
I do an evil laugh. Not aloud, but in my mind.
Ha ha ha.
14
Taylor
Alex takes me on a detour to my office. Apparently, there’s a field trip going on and I don’t have time to say hi to thirty eight-year-olds.
I’m not at the palace as often as the public may think. They say I’m moving here when crowned, so I’ll have plenty of time to explore it later. Ironically, the place isn’t to my taste. The neoclassical building is the stunning jewel of St. Claire, but it would be too gaudy and ostentatious to call home. I’d feel subpar in comparison to the architecture. Maybe I’ll live somewhere else and turn this shack into a museum or something. I’ll rule from my little hut in the woods à la Henry David Thoreau. It’s not like anyone could say no to me. I’ll be fucking king.
I can and mostly do work at home, but I know people like to meet me at the palace. They want the full royal experience, and what else was I born for if not to give it to them? I told the staff to take down all the portraits in my office and replace them with landscape or historical paintings. I didn’t like being stared at by my ancestors, taunting and mocking me. There was Octavius III, who liberated the island from English rule, Queen Agnès, the first monarch to embrace heliocentrism, and King Henri, who freed us from England again.
What will you do, Taylor?I would hear them ask me.Maybe you’ll open a hospital wing or an animal shelter, wouldn’t that be cute?
It’s not my fault the monarchy became constitutional. I can’t get any cool shit done. I won’t be called Taylor the Great, that’sfor sure. Maybe Taylor, the Nothing to Write Home About, or Taylor the He Tried His Best With What He Was Given.
When we arrive at my office, successfully avoiding the eight-year-olds, I notice one thing out of the ordinary. A small brown package wrapped with a twine bow is sitting in the middle of my rosewood desk.
“Is it our anniversary?” I ask Alex dryly.
“I actually don’t know what that is,” he says.
I turn on my heel. “What do you mean you don’t know?” Alex always knows.
He only shrugs.
