Page 6 of Coronation
“I don’t think I will, believe it or not.”
“Yes, I guessed as much.” Dam chuckles. “Tryto have a decent time tonight, will you? I think it could turnThe Crown Frownupside down!”
I ignore this, already moving toward the gap in the hedges, which leads out. He’s a good brother for trying, but as the frown in question dates back far before the crown, reversing course after one night seems unlikely.
Three
Zelda
The hotel where the cast and production staff are staying is conveniently located in the small city of Dalmore, only a fifteen-minute drive from Balloch Castle. It’s one of those historic, high-end places with a doorman who looks about ninety, and takes its pillow mints and toilet paper folded into the shape of a rose very seriously.
By the time the transport van drops me off, it’s nearly five, and I feel about twice as old as I did when I left this morning. I’ve barely made it into the lobby, the shoulders of my sweatshirt damp with rain, when a voice calls after me, and I turn to find the concierge approaching.
There is a cream-colored envelope clutched in his hand.
Holy shit.Davina works fast.
“Miss Flowers, this was delivered for you a few moments ago,” the man announces, and I’m filled by a familiar, fluttery combination of anticipation and nerves as I pause to take it, thanking him in a rush.
Before the concierge can do more than bid me a pleasant evening in return, I turn away, hurrying off toward the elevators in the corner of the lobby. When Davina left my trailer earlier, after assuring herself I wasn’t going to have a complete mental breakdown, I’d half expected my initial enthusiasm for her invitation to give way to regret.
It didn’t.
The elevator seems to take forever to come, and when it does, an elderly couple chooses that moment to enter the lobby. I hold the door for them, smiling politely as they amble over. The entire way up to the fourth floor, I stand back against the wall, listening to them bicker in German with the letter clutched at my side.
Never has a sixty-second journey felt quite so long, and impatience wins out over my manners when the doors open yet again. Without so much as a “gute nacht,” I hurry past them, striding down the long, carpeted hallway to my suite where I fumble with the key card, too distracted and antsy to keep the thing in place long enough for it to register. When the light finally turns green, I lurch forward, shouldering open the door and tearing into the letter before it’s even closed behind me.
Dear Miss Flowers,
We are pleased to invite you to participate in our event. A secure vehicle will be waiting outside your place of residence at 8 p.m. tonight to take you directly to the location and return you at your leisure. Please be aware that upon arrival, you will be asked to sign a binding nondisclosure agreement and surrender all electronics for the duration of the event. As it is your first time attending, you will also be asked to sit through a brief explanation of the rules and practices prior to entering the property.
Regards,
The Hosts
No other details are provided. There is no address, phone number, or even an email address to respond. If Davina hadn’t told me to expect it, I would have called security after getting a letter like this. The hand clutching the letter falls to my side, but I don’t move, standing numbly in the middle of the little entrance area of my suite.
I’m going to do it.
I’m going to go to this thing and start figuring out whatI like.Or I can stay home and cry into the only vegan dish on the hotel’s menu, which I’ve now eaten for dinner eight nights in a row—being too exhausted to go out in search of alternatives—and try to finish the paint by numbers kit I’ve been chipping away at for the better part of two months.
That pathetic alternative, coupled with my desperation to do something proactive about my disastrous scene today, is enough to get me moving again, heading for the bedroom. I’m not delusional enough to believe one kinky night will solve all my problems, but it certainly can’t hurt.
Unless, of course, I’m into that.
Fortunately, I was already waxed, exfoliated, and moisturized to perfection in anticipation of being mostly naked on screen. There isn’t much for me to do to get ready except pick something to wear, and eager for some distraction, I snatch the remote from the bedside table, pointing it at the TV in the corner. The local news comes on as I make my way into the closet, only half listening to the broadcast as I thumb through the lackluster wardrobe selection I brought with me. The political correspondents are sitting at a round table discussing Stelland’s new king, who apparently slighted the French ambassador and caused all kinds of mess.
I’d heard of him—King Benedict—even before cominghere to film, mainly because he only got the job after his older brother, the former king, died in a plane crash along with his wife and two sons. It was a big, international story when it happened, with neighboring countries lending their coast guards to look for survivors. They hadn’t found any, and by the sound of it, nobody is happy about the king they got as a replacement.
Too wrapped up in my own troubles to stand more of the negativity, I poke my head out of the closet long enough to change the channel to the home renovation network, before returning to my search.
Dressing for a sex party proves more difficult than I anticipated with the limited wardrobe I brought to Stelland, but I manage it. The preparation, at least, is familiar, and I take comfort in the routine of it all. It keeps me busy and distracted until it’s dark outside and the time of our departure is nearing. When I finally finish up, I stand back from the same bathroom mirror to examine the effect I’ve created.
There is nothing overtly sexual about anything I’ve done. My dress is made of a powder blue satin that brings out my eyes and skims over my body in a way that suggests its form rather than reveals it. My hair tumbles around my shoulders, loose and more casual than I would ordinarily wear it for a social situation, but it seems to fit with the freeing spirit of tonight.
The knock on my door sends my heart into overdrive, and my low heels click on the wood floors as I hurry to open it. When I do, I find Davina waiting on the other side, looking as though she, too, spent the afternoon preparing.
“You look incredible, Z,” she tells me, stepping out of the way as I take my clutch from the table beside the door and move out into the hallway after her.
