Page 37 of Coronation
If I had any choice at all, I would run for it.
For a week, I’ve been talking myself through this, determined to be unaffected by this man’s presence, yet one look at him, and I am most certainly affected. Not in the way I was before, all fluttery and excited when I actually believed the man liked me.
Now that I know better, I just feel stupid.
Perhaps catching the flurry of movement as new people enter the space, the king turns, his eyes finding mine for a fraction of a second. My pulse leaps in my throat as he looks down, obviously taking in the finer details of my grisly costume. Then, apparently unfazed, he turns back to George. The set seems to spin around me as I watch him lean in close to hear what the director is saying, seeing and dismissing me in seconds.
Scratch that, I don’t feel stupid. I feelsmall.
Right now, nothing would make me happier than being swallowed up by the floor, never to be seen again, and it takes every single bit of control I have to keep my face from reflecting it.
“Zelda! Davina! Good,” comes the voice of Carol, the AD. She’s appeared out of nowhere, looking flustered as she stops before me and—I’ve only just realized she’s still beside me—Davina. “George wants to go over the blocking for your fight scene one more time before we roll. Don’t forget the etiquette stuff when you meet him.”
A tutor appeared on set two days ago to walk us through the proper protocols to adhere to when being introduced to amember of the royal family, none of which I’d even remotely followed the actual first time I met King Benedict.
Carol all but shoves us in the direction of the two men, and I feel like a spotlight is following me as I pick my way over taped cords and past transport boxes.
“It’s going to be fine,” whispers Davina under her breath, and I see her looking at me out of the corner of my eye, a hint of regret in her expression. Probably because she witnessed the king’s total disinterest in me and is now rethinking all the royal wedding jokes.
There isn’t time to respond, though, because George has noticed us. “Ah, my two leading ladies,” he booms, waving us closer with a wide smile. George is in his sixties, with a bit of a belly, and still dresses as though he’s a twenty-something in the ’80s in washed jeans and graphic tees, apparently dedicated to projecting the image of a down-to-earth artistic type. The contrast between him and the stern-faced, handsome King Benedict is almost laughable. “Your Highness, allow me to introduce Miss Davina Lovette and Miss Zelda Flowers. Both of whom are bound for great things, mark my words.” He winks at us as both Davina and I sink into the curtsy we practiced with the tutor.
I’m grateful for the tiny respite and the chance to get my shit together as I stare at the hem of my costume. When I have no choice but to look up, King Benedict appears as cool and disinterested as he is in every picture I’ve seen of him. The man couldn’t be more unenthusiastic about this “introduction” if he tried. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his royal shoe.
“A pleasure to meet both of you,” he tells us, without a hint of warmth. People are all over the place, looking right at us. I didn’t expect a hug, but even the smallest indication he doesn’t despise me would have been nice.
God, I knew I was a poor judge of character, but I’m notsure I’ve ever felt the sting of it quite as harshly as I do right now; standing in front of a man I slept with and immediately caught feelings for, who happens to be the King of Stelland, drenched from head to toe in fake blood.
I’m staying single forever. It’s decided.
Now that the pleasantries are over, George announces he’s going to take us through the blocking. I move through the scene with George and Davina, pretending to be so thoroughly engrossed in my job that I do not notice the presence of King Benedict. He doesn’t say much, watching from the side like a dark shadow as cameras roll, action is called, and we get to work.
Each cut is shot with painstaking repetition, ensuring every angle is exactly right, then doing it again just to be sure. It’s the climax of the entire movie, and a ridiculously physical scene. Davina is kicking my ass, and even with a cushioned mat to break my fall, getting thrown to the ground over and over again starts to hurt after a while.
I try my best to ignore the onlooker, who watches it all unfold, as unimpressed as ever.
Most of the cast and crew are union, so everyone breaks for lunch at noon. Ordinarily, people practically sprint for the door. Today, though, I notice a lot of lingering, undoubtedly due to our VIP guest’s presence.
Not me.
The moment the lights go dark, I’m brushing past everyone, plastering on a tight, apologetic smile. Not once do I look toward King Benedict, and even when I’ve made it outside the castle and see it’s begun to rain, I still don’t stop, marching along the drive toward the production’s little caravan of trailers and tents.
I need to be alone.
I need to shower off this sticky shit and not talk to a single person, if only for an hour. According to the schedule we weresent this morning,hewill be gone when I get back to work, and I can do my job without being self-conscious about it.
About halfway from the castle to my trailer is when I hear the unmistakable sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive. Without looking, I move to the side to let them pass, and it’s only when a very fancy black SUV appears in the corner of my vision that I realize exactly who is passing me.
Anyone would think, given how my morning has just gone, that any pride I had would be long gone, but I must have managed to retain some. Pretending I don’t notice the car slowing to a crawl to keep pace with me, I keep my gaze trained forward, locked on the corner of my trailer, which is visible in the distance.
“Would you like a ride?”
The familiar, deep, accented voice makes my throat tighten and my heart thud heavily against my ribcage. “No thanks,” I reply, my tone making it clear this matter isn’t up for discussion.
An impatient huff comes from inside the dark car. “It’s raining, Zelda.”
Is he joking?As if I could miss water falling from the sky, directly onto my skin.
It takes some effort not to bite his head off, but a lifetime of having Sybil as a sister has prepared me for this moment. Before the car has a chance to stop, I double back, crossing the drive behind the car and striding over the sodden lawn, careful to hold the hem of my tattered dress aloft to avoid any unintentional damage.
