Page 3 of Prince Charmless
Her gravelly tone doesn’t seem appropriate for this situation. It’s only flowers, right? I’ve never understood the enthusiasm around planning a wedding. For most people, the only real consequence of marriage is having to file your taxes differently, but everyone is still obsessed with the idea. When my parents got married, they drew crowds of thousands outside the cathedral. I’d rather get it over with at a courthouse, but I don’t think I’d be allowed to do that.
Rachel releases her grasp, then reclaims it around Julien. Melanie’s eyes dart around the room as if she’s searching for something, maybe an answer to the flower problem. She winces when she finds two of Rachel’s black mascara stains on her shirt.
“It’s, uh, okay,” Julien says, stroking her hair like petting a cat. “Can’t we hire another florist?”
“She said—” Rachel hiccups. “She said no florist can do a wedding in one day.”
Though sometimes it can be faked with plastic surgery, the one thing rich people can’t buy is time.
Julien looks at me. “There’s not like a royal florist you guys have on standby, right?”
I shake my head. That sounds like something the British would have. We’re not as pretentious as them, which is saying a lot because my family is very pretentious.
He takes Rachel’s shoulders and looks into her eyes. “We can have a wedding without flowers, right, babe? I mean, the important part is getting married.”
His fiancée swallows. “Yeah, I gue—”
“You know what, Rach,” Melanie interrupts. “Maybe your planner’s being dramatic. The flowers could just be a little wilted. I can go down there and check right now.”
I don’t know why she sounds so enthusiastic. Unless she can go back in time, there’s absolutely no way she can figure this out.
“What’ll you do if they’re not?” she asks.
Melanie pulls off the scrunchie from her wrist like she’s preparing for battle. “I got this, okay? I promise. I’ll find a meadow and pick the flowers myself if I have to. Just text me the address.”
Why do I feel like I’m going to have to be the one to solve this problem? Usually, I don’t waste my time worrying about something as insignificant as flowers, but Julien happens to be my one and only friend. That might sound pathetic to some, but friends are overrated, in my opinion.
I watch Melanie tie her hair back as if she doesn’t want it to get in the way of whatever adventure she thinks she’s going on.
2
Melina
I have whiplash. Today, I went from sitting in a dank prison visitors’ room with cinder block walls and tiny windows to Prince Taylor’s immaculate home where the floors are made of marble and the furniture isn’t bolted to the ground. I’ve been roped into Rachel’s intensive pre-wedding extravaganza. I love my best friend to hell and back, but if she changes the seating chart one more time, I might scream.
I stare at my Prius parked between Julien’s Aston Martin and a fucking fountain. I make a decent amount of money freelancing, but I think this mansion just called me poor. Though apparently, ‘mansion’ is not a great enough word to describe this monstrosity. ‘Tis amanor,as I’ve been corrected by Julien. The inside looks like the house from the Sound of Music, but even grander. I just walked between two columns, for shit’s sake. In my opinion, the only person who deserves a manor is crime-fighting vigilante Bruce Wayne. What has Prince Taylor done to deserve it besides being a glorified nepobaby?
As I stroll to my car, my brain replays our meet-cute from cringetown. The Prince has this low and scary voice for public speaking, and it startled me when I heard it in person. God, I looked at him so stupidly he assumed I didn’t speak English. I knew I’d have to cross paths with him eventually, but I thought it would be at the wedding when I’d look more presentable. I guess this is his house. If you could call it a house.
“Melanie!”
I usually don’t respond to that name, but I turn around anyway to find the future king walking after me...for somereason. My plan of cordially avoiding him for the rest of the day and forgetting we ever made eye contact is already ruined.
Be cool this time, Melina. You’re a cool girl. The coolest.
“What’s your plan?” he asks as he catches up.
“What do you mean?” I respond very politely to the guy who can’t be bothered to remember my name. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be using a special title to address him, but calling anyone the same age as me ‘sir’ or, God forbid ‘Your Highness’ sounds a bit kinky.
“For the flowers,” he says slowly, like I’m an idiot. “Do you have a plan?”
“I was kind of going to figure it out on the way there, and it’s Melina, by the way.”
He looks back at the manor,hismanor. “I’m coming with you.”
Is he serious?“What? Why?”
“Because I don’t think you know what you’re doing.”
