Chapter Thirty-Nine
In all the time I spent dreaming of college, I never thought I would have this particular problem: What do you wear to go to dinner with the king and queen of Hell?
Zarmenus doesn’t seem to be worried at all, which would give me some comfort if he stressed about anything.
We’re in our room, and I’m fretting while he scrolls on his phone.
He’s wearing as simple an outfit as he usually does, not even bothering with a button-down shirt.
Or to style his hair. Quite frankly I’m not even sure he’s had a shower today.
“Hey,” says Zarmenus, looking up from his screen. “You’ll be fine, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Is that true, though?
“You’re not worried?” I ask. “If they find out we’re lying it’d be bad, right?”
“Oh, it’d be catastrophic. But it’s fine, I know I’m not going to screw it up, and I trust you. Although I am nervous about asking them if I can stay here next semester.”
“Why is that?”
“I guess I care more about staying here than I thought I would. I’m scared they’re not going to let me.”
I’ve been thinking a lot about this as well. If he stays, would we keep faking? The deal was always to end our relationship at the end of the semester, but things can change.
What if he wants to stay here because of me? It might be a ridiculous idea, but I can’t help entertaining it. If he stays, there’s a chance we could become actual boyfriends.
Do I really want to date the prince of Hell, with all that entails?
Do I want to have this huge spotlight on me for the rest of my life?
This fake-dating plan has been fun, sure, but that’s because I’ve always known it has an expiration date.
I’m sure in a few years nobody will really care about the guy Zarmenus briefly dated in college.
He’s so famous I might get some lingering attention, but it’ll be nothing like it’d be if I stay with him, and I don’t want to be famous.
Rich, yes. But I saw a quote online once that said fame is the mask that eats the face, so the prospect has never appealed.
I pick another shirt and show it to him. “What do you think of this one?”
He glances up for a second, then returns his focus to his phone.
“Love it.”
I really should stop stressing. I go into our bathroom and check my hair. It looks good, falling in an almost ideal way, as it did the last time I came in here to preen.
“What do you think?” I ask the ghouls. There are now dozens of them in the mirror.
Zarmenus has assured me they’re harmless, no matter how many of them there are.
Still, I’m starting to backtrack on my decision to let them stay.
It’s almost as if they can sense this, too, as they’ve been far quieter than normal lately.
They all lift their hands and reach toward me. Even though I know they can’t hurt me, I still shudder as I leave the bathroom.
“Is there anything you want me to be careful of?” I ask. “With your parents, I mean.”
“Nope,” says Zarmenus. “You’ll do great.”
I wish I had his confidence.
“We should go,” he says. “My parents hate when I’m late.”
There we go, that’s one thing I know about them.
Even though I’ve lived with Zarmenus for a few months now, I still don’t know all that much about his parents.
He never talks about them. Though he talks to them fairly regularly, holding séances in a room above the school theater that Leeke gave him access to for that very reason.
“Hey,” I say as we go into the elevator. “How do you feel about this?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know, do you feel weird about lying to your parents?”
He shakes his head. “Not even slightly.”
I go quiet, hoping he’ll elaborate.
“I guess I’m used to it,” he says. “In a way. Ever since I was a kid I’ve known there’s a big difference between who I really am and who they expect me to be.” He shrugs.
“Because of the prophecy?” I ask.
“That, and it’s the nature of the beast, really. I’ve read about royals here and it seems like they go through a lot of the same stuff.”
It reminds me of an autobiography I read last year about a prince who struggled under the control his family placed on him.
“We fought a bunch when I was younger,” continues Zarmenus. “But after a while I figured it’s easier to just be who they want when I’m around them.”
I can’t even imagine that. I know what it’s like to feel pressure from your parents.
It’s not that I think they do it intentionally, and I know they’d support me no matter what, but they’ve always had sky-high expectations of me.
Dad used to joke that I was going to be a future president one day, and I think a part of him really thought that was possible.
That they thought there was no ceiling for me is very nice, but at the same time, as someone who never wants to let anyone down, it applied a lot of pressure.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’m not used to talking about this stuff. You’re the only person I’ve ever felt comfortable sharing any of this with.”
It’s been a few weeks since we kissed, and I still think about it pretty much every second of every day.
Whenever a lecture gets boring or after I’ve spent hours working on an essay, I find myself thinking about what would’ve happened if I had taken him up on his offer to keep casually hooking up.
A few times I’ve even thought about telling him that I’ve changed my mind, but I quickly shoot that down.
“We should go,” he says. “Our car’s almost here.”
We go outside and wait on the side of the road.
What pulls up in front of us is a car I have to gawk at. It’s the kind I’ve seen a very few times in my life, normally as they drive past on the highway. Dad would always point them out.
It’s a midnight blue sports car, sleek and beautiful. I didn’t even think I liked cars but this thing is jaw-dropping.
The driver, who I’m happy to find is a seemingly normal human, steps out and opens the door for us. Zarmenus climbs in without a moment of hesitation. I linger for a moment, then climb in. It’s easily the nicest car I’ve ever been in. There’s even a mini-bar in the door, with snacks and drinks.
“You like it?” asks Zarmenus.
“I’m obsessed. What do you think?”
“It’s no fire chariot, but as far as human cars go, it’s up there.”
The driver starts the engine and pulls us away from the sidewalk. This thing drives like a dream. It’s so smooth, but it’s clear the engine has real power.
We speed away from the campus, and onto the highway that leads into the city.
The driver speeds up, and it’s obvious this car could go way faster if it needed to.
Synth music is playing over the speakers, and I marvel that yet again Zarmenus has let me step into the kind of world that I never thought I would be a part of.
No matter how it ends, I already know I’ll never regret sharing a room with him.
Zarmenus has gone pale, and his shoulders are hunched forward.
“I hate asking my parents for things,” he says. “And I hate that it stresses me out this much.”
“Look at it this way. They want you to fulfill the prophecy, right? In that case, why wouldn’t they want you to stay?”
“Because it’s not part of the plan. I’m supposed to spend one semester here, then finish my studies in Hell. Then I’m supposed to come back and fall in love with one of the biggest stars on the planet and live happily ever after. It’s all written out—the only thing for me to do is live it.”
“But you’re the prophesied one, right?”
“I am.”
“So why are they in control of everything? I would’ve thought you would be the one making these decisions.”
He looks at me for a long moment. “You’re right.”
“I know,” I say.
“What do you think?” he asks. “Should I stay?”
Is he seriously asking me? If he only knew just how badly I want that.
“You can tell me how you really feel,” he says.
“I’d want you to stay. I mean, you’ve made these few months the most fun of my entire life. Of course I’d want you to stay.”
“They’ve been the most fun of mine, too.”
As we drive over a bridge, I look out the window up at the night sky.
The sun has fully set, so it’s a deep shade of purple-black.
He might be right, maybe I do doubt that I can achieve everything I want.
It probably comes back to my parents, because I’ve seen through them how things can play out.
You can try your best, and bad things can still happen.
Your coffee shop, or any other dream, can fail for no clear reason and it can trap you in a place you don’t like being.
Having high expectations always feels like a recipe for failure.
It’s better to be surprised by good things rather than expect them, so you’re not devastated when they don’t happen.
The drive passes quickly, and the car pulls up in front of a restaurant called étoile Bleue. I can tell just by looking at the exterior of the building, sleek and modern with a dark, minimalistic aesthetic, that this is the fanciest place I’ve ever been.
I’ve only been to one really nice restaurant, one I went to with my parents on my fifteenth birthday.
That place barely holds a candle to this.
The exterior walls are black, and the sign is barely readable.
If you didn’t know it was here, you’d easily miss it.
It makes me think it’s the kind of place that stays open purely through word of mouth and reputation.
Zarmenus gets out of the car. I take one last look over the vehicle that drove us. Do I want to own a car like this one day? It seems impractical, but maybe.
I smooth down my shirt. Distantly, I’m worried I’m underdressed, but that anxiety is squashed by curiosity and anticipation. As long as I don’t give our secret away, I’m going to really enjoy this.
Inside, it’s toasty and warm, the ambience soft and golden. There are only a small handful of tables, each taken by people who all scream wealth. Even though Zarmenus is dressed far more casually than I am, he seems right at home.