Page 12 of Prince Charmless
Steven puts on a saccharine smile. “Welcome back St. Claire. As promised, we have our Prince Taylor here to talk about the ongoing blood crisis. Thank you for coming in today, Your Highness.”
“It’s good to see you again, Steven,” I lie.
I know he knows calling meYour Highnessis more than unnecessary. He’ll take any opportunity to piss me off.
“Now, before we talk about the importance of donating—”Before?“I think it’s only fair to mention the picture making its way around online.”
A vertical photo pops up on the monitors. It’s Melina and I dancing. Thankfully, her back is facing the camera.
Great. I’ve been set up. I keep my expression unfazed even though I am, in fact, fazed. This country goes feral every time I’m seen with a person of the opposite sex. My brother is with a new woman practically every week, so much so that no one bats an eye anymore. But because I happen to value privacy, everyone gets all up and arms over one blurry picture. How long has this been online, and why didn’t anyone fucking tell me?
“I was at a wedding.”
Steven adjusts his obnoxiously trendy tortoise-shell glasses. “Yes, it looks like you’re having lots of fun.”
His statement is intentionally vague, an attempt to fish for details without asking a real question. Journalist, my ass. Ishould’ve considered the consequences when Julien asked me to dance with her. The guests were told on the invitations to refrain from using their phones, but what’s that going to stop? I could blame my decision on the alcohol, but I wasn’t drunk at that point. Melina just seemed so mad at me before. A part of me wanted to win over the person making the website for my passion project. (And maybe feel up a woman in a slinky bridesmaid dress. Two birds with one stone and all.)
“Steven, if you don’t mind, I came here to talk about—”
“Could you at least give us a name?”
“You know I’d love to, but for some reason, it’s escaping me.” My joke comes out more passive-aggressive than intended. Somewhere, my publicist is cringing.
Steven forces a laugh. “Right, how often can one donate blood?”
Thank Christ.“About every other month and—”
“And when was the last time you donated?”
That’s the second time he’s cut me off, but I’ve known Steven long enough to predict his methods of disorientation.
“A couple of days ago, actually. I’m O negative.”
I just gave out my medical information on live TV.Very cool, Taylor.
“Wow, that’s the type they keep in ambulances,” Steven says like he cares. “There could be royal blood saving someone’s life right now.”
There better be. It took the nurse twice to find a vein. I could’ve just lied about donating, but that felt a little too unethical, even for me.
“Yes, it very well could,” I say. “When was the last timeyoudonated?”
Steven shifts in his seat. “It’s, uh, been a while.”
Got him.
“You’re not afraid of needles, are you?” I smile so my question doesn’t sound like a threat.
“I am not, but what do you say to the people who are?”
“The bank is really short on volunteers for blood drives, so if anyone can make the time, they would appreciate the help.”
“That’s great to know Prince Taylor.” He looks into the camera. “We’ll be right back with more after the break.” Steven’s grin drops when the studio lights come on. The TV people scatter like cockroaches.
“A gotcha moment?” I ask, craning my neck to locate my private secretary. “That’s a little cheap. Is it a slow news day or something?”
“I’m just doing a job, man.” He fishes a vape pen from his pocket. “I guess you wouldn’t know much about those.”
“Careful there,” I warn nonchalantly. “My team’s been thinking I should stick to digital media. I mean, who even watches network news anymore.”
