Page 47 of Prince Charmless
I grab the spatula. “What kind of toppings do you li—”
“Mad.You are.”
“I’m sorry if I took things too far.” I turn to face him again. “I’m usually not a gaslighty person. I just didn’t think you’d be one to scare easily.”
“I’m not scared,” he says, offended.
“Maybe startled?”
“No.”
“Spooked?”
He puts up a hand to stop me from becoming a human thesaurus. “This was way worse than what I’ve ever done.”
“Was it? You’ve never snuck into my home or pointlessly flirted with me? It’s okay, though. I’m making you an apology omelet.” I give him my best this-is-a-metaphor smile. “But I’m no Julia Child reincarnate like you.” I nudge Taylor’s ham and cheese omelet. It sizzles in mediocrity.
“But you understand that with me it’s different.”
“I don’t, actually. How so? It can’t be because you’re prince because you said it yourself,it doesn’t mean anything.” I mock his low voice.
Taylor stares into Vinnie’s ever-vacant expression. “You’re right, okay? Obviously, it does mean some things sometimes. If I weren’t stupid, I would’ve given that package to security.”
“A risk I was willing to take,” I try to say with confidence. In reality, I hadn’t thought of that.
I transfer the omelet onto a plate and set it in front of him. After a good five seconds of silence pass, I announce the dish like a waiter. “Un omelette jambon-fromage,” I say, probably incorrectly. Though I remember some words from French class, I tend to speak them with a Spanish accent.
“It’s ‘une’,” he corrects. “Omelette’s a feminine noun.”
He’s extra insufferable when defensive.
“Eat youruneomelette, then.” I hand him a fork. “It’s good, I promise.”
I bite the nail on my pinky finger as he cuts into my hard work. My plan doesn’t work if he doesn’t like it. This might be the first time I’ve seen him eat.
“Well?” I hedge.
“It’s a ham and cheese omelet, you can’t really mess it up.”
“Does that mean it’s good?”
“Yes, Melina, it’s very good,” he says with a surprising amount of heartwarming genuineness.
I scratch my temple. “So, uh, now that we’re even, I was wondering if we can agree on something?”
He arches a brow.
“No more games, no more pranks, no more lying. Just—” I put out my hand to symbolize a ceasefire. “Friends?” I say quietly. He looks at my hand as if it’s a gesture he’s never encountered before. “I know you’re not a friend person, but we’ve come so fa—”
“You actually believe I want to be your friend after all this?”
I ponder this for a second. Princes are usually pretty inaccessible people. There must be a reason we keep uniting like this.
“I do. You’re obsessed with me.”
He scoffs. “No. You’re a lunatic and a—”
“Shake my hand.”
