Page 38 of Coronation
What does he want from me? Did he think,well, I’m here anyway, I might as well bang the hot, dumb American?If so, he’s out of luck. I might be a shitty judge of character, but I have some self-respect. The way he looked at me today… I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so small—so used—and that’s including the morning I woke up alone at Fernmoor House.
What’s really horrible about this is that even if he’s the one in the wrong, I can’t seem to hate him as much as I hate myself.
There isn’t a single soul in sight when I reach my trailer, and I’m thankful for it. Unfortunately, my luck doesn’t hold for long. My foot is on the first of the three metal steps when the black SUV pulls into view, stopping fifty yards away on the access road that runs alongside the row of cast trailers.
The rain falls harder, but I stand there anyway, watching as the back door opens. King Benedict steps out, refastening the button of his jacket, darkened gaze heavy even from here.
We stare at each other, unsmiling, as the idiotic organ in my chest beats faster.
I’d forgotten the effect he had on me that first night in the wake of what happened after, but as it washes over me all over again, I definitely remember now.I don’t want it. He doesn’t deserve it.
A hot, defiant flame leaps inside me, and I whip around, marching up the rest of the steps to yank open the trailer door and slam it behind me. What is he going to do? Follow me here?Ha.That would require him getting back out, and the man has enough PR problems without being caught sneaking out of a movie trailer belonging to a much younger American actress.
My throat is tight as I hurry to the back of the space and peek through the blinds, peering out at the section of road where the car was stopped only a moment ago.
Empty.Thank god.
Straightening up, I let out a sigh of relief as I turn toward the wardrobe rack, intending to strip out of this disgusting dress.
I don’t get far.
The sound of the door opening makes me gasp, whirling around to face the man who has just entered the narrow space,looking insanely out of place beside the factory-made sitting area and cheap, paisley curtains.
I gape at him. “Dude, can’t you take a hint?”
King Benedict’s lips twitch. “Dude?God, you truly are from California.” And, for a moment, he just stands there, hands buried in his pockets and gazing at me in unguarded amusement.
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to scream at someone quite as much as I do now. “What do you want,Your Highness?” I snarl, planting my hands on my hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I need to shower.”
His head falls slightly to the side, studying me. “I hoped we could speak privately.”
Letting out a choked noise of disbelief, I turn toward the wardrobe rack and snatch up a hanger. “Leave,” I snap as I march into the small bathroom, making sure to lock the door behind me.
The mirror above the sink confirms I look every bit as horrible as I suspected, and I glare at myself as my fingers find the side zip of my dress, allowing the costume to fall from my body as the king’s voice comes through the door, muffled. “I apologize that I left without saying goodbye. I didn’t see a point at the time.”
My mouth falls open in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?That’syour apology?” I let out a harsh, unamused laugh. “Leave. You’re wasting both of our time.”
There’s a long pause. I stand totally still, straining my hearing for any sound on the other side of the door, any indication he’s leaving. I can’t hear anything apart from the rain coming down harder on the roof of the trailer and the distant voices of my colleagues going about their business. He’s still there, I’m sure of it, and when the king finally speaks again, there’s a note of embarrassment in it. “I was angry, Zelda. There are… realities I hadn’t wanted to face but was forced to that morning. It was selfish, though, I know that now. I would like to make amends, if you’ll allow me.”
He seems genuine, but so did the dismissive, cold way he looked at me all morning. Not that my judgement matters, here. As has recently become clear, I wouldn’t know genuine if it smacked me in the face.
“You could have fooled me.” I glare at the door as I shove my arms into the fluffy white robe left folded on the sink. “If you were in my shoes, what would you think,Your Highness?” It feels ridiculous calling him that, given the discussion we’re having, and perhaps the king thinks so, too, because his response is a single word.
“Ben.”
“Ben?” I blurt out, reeling. My hands fall to my sides, and for a moment, all I can hear is the steady drumming of rain on the tin roof.
Finally, an uncomfortable laugh sounds from the other side of the door, and I experience a dull stab of alarm at the noise, as if there has to be someone else beyond that door responsible for it. “It’s a nickname. Primarily used by friends and family. You used it before, and I rather enjoyed it.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I reach out to wrap my fingers around the cold metal knob and twist, pulling it open a few inches, enough to see the man standing just outside.
King Benedict is leaning against the wall in the narrow hallway, hands in his pockets, and gazing at me. His expression is carefully composed, but it’s not the icy, dismissive one he wore earlier.
For a moment, we’re silent, staring at each other.
“It’s good to see you, Zelda.”
His words are nothing special at all, and yet I feel some of my earlier anger softening as I allow the door to open a few more inches. “I’m not having sex with you again,” I warn, because I can’t think of any other reason he would be here.
