3 | Melina #2
Julien shrugs. “Maybe the twins?”
Could they have seen it left on the vanity? A large pit sinks into my stomach. I’m not the biggest fan of Taylor, but who am I to trudge up old memories?
“You look like a ghost,” Julien says. “Here, drink your booze.” He shoves the wine glass into my face before I set it back down. “It’s a wedding, Melina, don’t look so sad. Do you need someone to dance with?”
“I’m not in the mood for—”
“Taylor!” Julien sloppily waves his hand toward the Prince. “I’ll ask if he’s interested,” he feels the need to tell me in a whisper.
“Julien, no,” I plead through my teeth, but he’s already walking towards the table. To my horror, the friends start to converse. What the hell is Julien saying to him?
They both turn to me. I mantra expletives under my breath as Taylor strides toward my direction. He’s coming to scold me. I’m certain of it. Who am I to make jokes about things I know nothing about?
Before he opens his mouth, I explain, “Listen, I shouldn’t have said that during the toast. That was too far.”
He tilts his head. “What are you talking about?”
“The joke about you. I think the twins wrote it. I’m so sorry.”
“Melina, I wrote the joke.”
Huh? Now, I’m the one tilting my head.
“I was the one who gave you back the paper, remember?”
I stare at him as things register.
“Then you stuffed it in your bra,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to jog my memory. However, my memory has already been jogged.
“I know what I did with it,” I say quickly. “This dress doesn’t have pockets.”
I take a breath. So, the reason Taylor didn’t laugh at the joke was because he already knew the punchline. Or he doesn’t know how to laugh. I could believe it.
“Why would you rewrite my speech?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I was bored, I guess. I made it a lot better than what you originally had.”
He’s cocky but right. Address-giving is his whole job. I would expect a bridesmaid speech to be a walk in the park for him.
Taylor takes the paper from my hand. “I like the picture you drew of me, by the way.” He holds it up to his face. “I think the resemblance is uncanny. Do you mind if I keep it? I would like to have it framed.”
My teeth clench. I’ve been nothing but embarrassing in front of him already, and filling Rachel’s maid-of-honor duties has rendered me too tired to overreact over this icing on the cake.
“Do what you want,” I say before taking a well-deserved sip of wine.
He looks over at Julien, who’s mingling at another table. “I’ve been instructed to dance with you.”
I put my face in my hands. “He’s trashed already, isn’t he?” Though I feel like I’ve been with Julien this whole day, I haven’t seen him drink hardly anything.
“Yes, I believe so.”
I look above my fingers. “You know, it’s less flattering when someone says they’ve been instructed to ask you to dance.”
“Who says I have time to flatter? We’ve got,” he looks at his watch, “A couple more hours left in our truce, so it’s now or never. It’s honestly inevitable.”
“What’s inevitable?”
He shrugs. “You’re a bridesmaid. I’m a groomsman. And you’re by far the most attractive person here.”
I choke on my drink a bit.
“Christ, get a hold of yourself.” He takes the wine from me. “You’re not one of those painfully naive women who are unable to fathom why anyone would compliment them, right?”
“I can’t tell if you’re complimenting or insulting me.” I’m getting whiplash again.
“I just asked you to dance,” he says. “What do you think?”
Okay, so Taylor’s a dick. There’s now been enough evidence to definitively deduce this.
But he’s also a mysterious dick. I have to admit I’m interested in the enigma.
What are the chances I’ll ever get to dance with a prince again?
I think I can handle him. It’s a wedding, after all.
Dancing is what people do at weddings. How are you going to find a man if you never do anything spontaneous?
my mother said to me once. Though I am very sure that advice isn’t applicable to this man, I don’t think there’s any harm in a little spontaneity.
“I guess that would be fine.” I try to sound as unenthusiastic as possible. Taylor’s frustrating yet very nice-looking. I can endure the personality for a couple of minutes, right?
He gestures in front of us. When I turn, he places a hand on my back.
My dress is an open-back, so I feel him on my skin.
Except he barely touches me, just enough to create goosebumps and guide me toward the crowd of people swaying to the music.
My heart quickens when he takes my other hand in his.
Our height difference is mitigated now that I’m wearing heels.
I take the opportunity to examine the face I’ve seen so many times before but never this close.
His details and imperfections, like his slightly crooked nose bridge or the wrinkle below his hairline, make him all the more real and all the more attractive.
“It’s been a while,” I say. “So don’t try to spin me or do anything fancy.” By ‘been a while’, I mean I can’t remember the last time I danced with someone.
“It’s actually not that hard,” he says, like he’s bored out of his mind.
Taylor’s hand shifts. He flips my wrist and pushes his thumb into the back of my palm like he’s done it a million times.
The only thing my arm can do is follow his guidance, so I perform a quick little rotation before his hand is back on my waist. Obviously, I tell him not to do something, and he goes ahead and does it anyway.
I wonder if he just did that to look at my ass. I wouldn’t blame him. It’s a great ass.
“And I didn’t even throw up on your shoes,” I say, probably blushing.
His faint smile feels like a prize I’ve won for enduring him this long.
“How often do you do this, then?” I ask. “Woo women with the art of dance?”
“Never,” he says. “And I won’t be accepting complaints. Send them to Julien if you have any.”
He has to be lying. That spin move was way too rehearsed. This is fun, though, I think. Dancing is fun, right?
My eyes wander around the room as we sway. Over Taylor’s shoulder, Julien gives me two thumbs up. Actually, a lot of the guests are staring.
“Everyone is looking at us.”
Taylor lets out the tiniest of breaths. “I’m sorry.”
“Do you ever get used to it?” I’m not sure if I could get accustomed to people gawking at me all the time.
He glances to the side. “Yes and no.”
A laugh escapes me. “Are you trained to always give vague, apolitical answers?”
“No comment,” he says in a deeper voice.
There’s some awkward silence as I think of subjects worthy enough for small talk.
“I liked my joke better than yours, by the way.”
He shakes his head. “Too safe for a bridesmaid’s speech. Though I’m definitely stealing and modifying yours. Maybe I can use it at a charity event for some school children.”
“You’re not going to ask for permission?”
“No.”
Taylor’s black leather shoe prevents me from shifting my stance. My sandal pump fits perfectly next to his sole. Since when did we get so close?
“Your castle is beautiful,” I say. “I can’t believe you live here. It feels like all this furniture could come alive at midnight.”
“Well, I don’t live here ,” he says. “The place is split up into apartments. I don’t think I’ve been to this side of the house in ages.” Apartment cannot be the right word for what he’s talking about. I live in an apartment, and it looks nothing like this. “And it’s not a castle,” he adds.
“Manor, I know. Has this been your home your whole life?”
“Basically. I left a bit for university.”
“You went to Dartmouth, right?”
Taylor smirks. Have I unlocked a new facial expression? “You’ve been googling me.”
I tense. “Uh, Julien mentioned it.”
“It’s fine. Most people do.”
He thinks I’m lying. Well, I am lying, but that’s not the point.
Last night, I did a little Wikapediaing, but that’s all.
His page was a dull read, anyway. He’s the grandson of the Queen, son of Crown Prince David, and future sovereign of this rainy island.
Him going to Dartmouth for economics was the only thing I found remotely interesting.
The rest of the article was about his philanthropy and charity work. He’s a saint. I get it.
Taylor’s hand slides toward the middle of my back. “What would I find if I googled you, Melina?”
Although I enjoy his interest (and the way he says my name correctly), I can only give him boring answers. “If you googled me, you would find that I’m a lowly web dev, but you already know that.” He should, at least.
“Yes, your website said you specialize in UX design. I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like you know what you’re doing.”
“So you have googled me.”
He nudges me closer, enough to be noticeable but not enough to think he’s done it on purpose. “You’re going to be working for us. I thought I’d look up your other projects.”
“And?”
“ And you seem very qualified. I’m glad Julien mentioned you.”
I can’t hold back my smile because Taylor doesn’t seem like the person to give out unwarranted compliments. “I guess I didn’t scare you off too much yesterday. I mean, you could have said no to Julien.”
“You could have said no to me. I’m way scarier than you.” His hand migrates to where my waist meets my ass, his thumb slightly dipping under the silk fabric of my dress. Who knew Prince Taylor was still a player?
“Yeah, I could have. Right before you came over, Julien’s sister called you an ass.”
He leans in like he’s about to disclose a secret. “She’s right though, I am an ass. I would tell you I’m working on it, but I’m not.”
I laugh because Taylor has proved he can hold a few seconds of pleasant conversation. He can’t be that much of an ass.
“Well, she also said you’re gay, and by the way your hand is inching down my back I don’t think that’s true either.”
God, am I flirting with the Prince of St. Claire? Settle down, you feisty minx.
Taylor goes stiff, stopping us from swaying. “Alice said that?” His speech is calm, but it feels like I’ve said something wrong.
“I guess she’s been talking to the wrong people.”
“I guess you have too.”
I swallow.
“Is this why you agreed to dance with me?” he asks. “To find out if the rumors are true?”
“No, why would I even care about that? I mean, I know about the rumor but—”
“ I know I don’t like to associate with people who involve themselves in trivial gossip.”
Involving myself? His hands are off me now.
“I’m sorry for making conversation. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I make sure the tone of my voice rescinds my apology.
“No, you shouldn’t have. You have a good night, Melina.” Taylor puts his hands in his pockets and walks off, leaving me alone and humiliated amongst all the other couples.
Jazz music. At some point in our bickering, the band must’ve switched genres.
So Taylor is two-faced and has a fragile masculinity.
I guess it’s my fault for giving him a second chance.
I need to remember not to give him a third.
I’ve met men like him before where they completely break down at the slightest mention of being into guys, like it somehow makes you less of a man.
Although Taylor doesn’t strike me as a person who’s insecure, quite the opposite, in fact.
This night was going a little too perfectly for me, of course, someone had to ruin it.
I hate jazz music.