Page 2 of Guarding the Princess
I shake my head quickly. “I just told you.”
“No. You told me a bunch of crap that doesn’t make sense. Spell it out for me. Fifth-grade level.” He leans forward, not so much out of a need to be close to me, but more like he’s examining me. Like a bug under a microscope.
I snort quietly. Fifth-grade level. I knew five languages by fifth grade.
“My name is Charlotta Isakkson. I’m from a small country called Regora. My parents are the King and Queen. If I’m not married by next month, I have to return home and assume my position as the new queen. I’ll be expected to marry some lame prince from some other small country. I don’t like those social expectations, so I need to get married.” I folded my hands in my lap and sat back in my chair. “Did that clear it up?”
Zeke’s face blanches. Not all at once. Just a slow slide into an unnatural paleness until he looks almost green. Green is not his color.
“Zeke? Are you okay?” A prickling sensation goes up the back of my neck. I’m embarrassed. I’m feeling exposed. I finally told someone my huge secret and I highly suspect Zeke is the wrong person to tell.
He finally moves, running his hand through his hair, the front now standing up straight. His elbow drags through the red sauce on his plate and I have an urge to chide him on his table manners. I almost do it, just for the entertainment value, but I’m still holding out a sliver of a chance he’ll say yes to my proposal. I’m a glass-half-full type of girl. See? Even my idioms are getting better.
“Charlotte,” he croaks. His eyes dart around wildly, never coming to rest on me, which I take as a very bad sign. “I have to focus on this app. I’m so close to making a go of things and I have to tell you, the things you can do on this app aren’t exactly one hundred percent legal.” His hand swipes across his face and I have a very clear idea of what he’ll look like as an old man. Not as adorable.
“I can’t marry you or have anything to do with a royal family. Too many eyes on my app and what it does. It’s designed to break into government websites, for cripe’s sake!” He’s shifting in his chair like his pants might literally be on fire. “Marry a queen? That’s insane! I gotta go.”
Zeke takes another swig of water then stands up, shoving his chair back so fast it tips over. I can feel the weight of everyone’s stare adding to the weight on my chest with his refusal. He freezes for a moment, awkwardly pats the top of my head twice, and then speed walks out of the restaurant, leaving me alone at the table.
Conversation begins again, the clink of silverware against plates, the murmur of everyone wondering what just happened at that poor girl’s table. I sit taller, my spine reverting to my upbringing in times of emotional upheaval. Considering I’ll have to go back to Regora and become Queen, I might as well get used to it. I’ll never be able to slouch again.
That single thought turns my stomach and stings my eyes. I’ve had a taste of freedom and the idea of going back steals my breath. Almost three wonderful years of figuring things out on my own without anyone knowing my full name. Almost three years of making ends meet with my own money, made from my own hands. One thousand sixty-five days of making my own decisions. I eat what I want, when I want. I go where I want, talk to who I want, say what I want.
How does one go from complete freedom to complete captivity?
I pay the bill—thanks, Zeke, for not even offering to pay your half—and make my way home on foot. Couples are out and about having romantic evenings, cars driving by with the windows cracked and music spilling out. The temperature is brisk and the breeze is downright cold, but it feels good. Feels a bit like home, the parts of my childhood I actually loved. The city of Los Angeles is alive in the fall and I couldn’t feel more dead inside.
My tiny apartment is dark when I let myself inside. I’m sure my bodyguard is down there somewhere, waiting for me to turn on a light so he knows I made it safely. Honestly, I just don’t care at the moment. I should. It’s not his fault Mother hired him to keep an eye on me. No reason to take my frustrations out on him, but he’s the only one here. Well, there, somewhere out on the street.
Instead, I feel my way through the dark, dropping clothes on the floor as I walk out of them. I’ll pick them up later when I’m feeling better. Right now I just want my pajamas and my best friend, Rhys.
When the makeup is scrubbed off my face and my plaid pajama pants are all snuggly warm on my body, I pick up my cell phone and call Rhys, praying she answers this time. My bestie went and got married a few months back to her major league baseball player fiancé. She now lives in Texas with him and his new team, but she flies out here frequently to see her brother, Asher, and me.
“Charlotte!” she practically sings into the phone, making me smile, even after a rough night.
“What up, girl?” I try for a New York accent and fail horribly, but it’s all worth it when I hear her giggle in my ear.
“You really gotta work on that one.”
“Nah, pretty lady, I’m workin’ on my Southern drawl to fit in with y’all Texans.”
That earns me another fit of giggles. “I hate to say it, but I think you’re actually getting better at that one.” I hear a door close. “Although I’m just a Yankee, so what do I know, right? What’s going on with you, girlie?”
I lie back on my bed and try to tell her how horrible tonight turned out without giving away my secret. “Well, Zeke and I broke up.”
“What? Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I know you really liked him.”
I shrug into the dark. “Yeah, I did.” A vision of him with his hair standing on end and tomato sauce on his chin flashed through my head. “Do you think he was a little schleppy?”
“Schleppy?” I can hear the smile in her echo. “If by schleppy you mean a touch on the nerdy side, then yes.”
“Hmm. He was nice though. Ambitious. Smart. All very good qualities.” I stare at my ceiling, barely making out the fan that becomes a necessity during the warm summers.
Rhys doesn’t answer.
“Rhys?” I sit up.
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just not sure what to say. I mean, you liked the guy, and considering you just broke up, it’s not really a good time for me to speak my mind.”
