38 | Melina
Melina
My gaze into the empty, yet comforting white void gets interrupted when my fridge beeps at me. It doesn’t like it when it’s open for too long. Maybe I’ll have nothing for lunch. Food hasn’t tasted very flavorful for the past three days anyway.
I close the door and come face-to-face with the magnet Taylor gave me in Cape Cod.
You light up my life.
I straighten the plastic until it’s perfectly straight.
Popcorn weaves between my ankles, then meows at me as if to ask Why are you doing this to yourself? Just text him back and everything will be fixed. Look at you, fussing over the stupid magnet while your apartment is a mess, and my litter box needs emptying. You’re an absolute freak, Melina.
Admittedly, my hovel has been in a bit of disarray as I’ve spent most of these last three days horizontal.
I haven’t found the energy to do something about the clutter.
I can barely focus on work or sleep. My sketchbook is filled with incoherent pros and cons lists and abstract sketches Mateo proudly called ‘serial-killer art’.
The one spot of life in my apartment is the peonies on my end table.
I didn’t find a note when they were delivered yesterday, but I know they’re from him.
What Popcorn doesn’t understand is that everything won’t be fixed.
Probably because she’s a cat and her brain is small.
While Taylor and I haven’t been together that long, something about him feels all too comfortable.
I’ve been in love enough times to know what it feels like before it happens.
I can tell when things are brewing, like when it’s about to storm, and you can smell it in the air.
My entire life would change if we were serious.
Even if we didn’t get a happily ever after, I’d be forever known as the prince’s former lover.
And if we did work out, well, that would somehow be more terrifying.
I spent two months ignoring these anxieties.
Two months of spontaneity! When a person tells you about their two-month relationship, it’s never that interesting.
They tried something new, and it didn’t work out.
Who cares? With three months, there’s more intrigue.
You think, I wonder what happened there.
That’s a whole one-fourth of a year to be spending together.
Two months is casual. Three is something more.
So now’s a good time for me to weigh the consequences. That and I’ll explode if I don’t.
When my apartment’s intercom buzzes, I blink a few times. It suddenly feels like I’ve been staring at the same tree across the street for the past hour.
I press the button beside my door. “Hello?”
“Ms. Ramirez?” The low and serious voice crackles through my speaker.
“Yes?” Is this more flowers?
“Your presence has been requested at the palace.”
My what has been requested where? God, his family is so weird.
I look out my window to the sidewalk below. A bald man in a black suit is standing right outside my door. When he looks up, I pivot out of view.
I press the button again. “Taylor wants to see me?”
Why couldn’t he just text instead of sending this goon? Probably because I wouldn’t text back.
“No. His Royal Highness, Prince David.”
A pit forms in my stomach. What would he have to talk to me about? Do I have to go? It’s not like they can force me, right?
“Ms. Ramirez.” Somehow, the voice sounds even more stern.
I glance down at the T-shirt I’ve been wearing for the last three days. The rag is adorned with the face of Justin Timberlake and embellished with a coffee stain. “Uh, could you give me a second?”
––––––––
Baldy takes me to the palace’s south side entrance in a royal Mercedes-Benz.
On the way, we pass tourists taking pictures of the architecture and teenagers filming TikTok dances in front of the centuries-old statue of Queen Agnès.
Our landmark limestone building uses miles of columns and windows to form its beauty, but I’ve driven past the place so many times I don’t even bat an eye anymore.
I’ve never gone inside because I was sick the day my school did a field trip, and I still haven’t gotten over it.
It feels like I’m the prime minister when we roll under the carport.
The feeling heightens when my door is opened for me, and my immediate step is onto the carpet.
I’ve seen this part of the palace photographed many times before, featuring whatever statesman or woman the royal family invites over, people with issues way bigger than mine.
In front of the French doors stand two military guards in black uniforms, each with a sword attached to their belt. Real swords! What’s their plan if there’s an intruder? Swashbuckle them to death eighteenth-century style?
“Hello,” I say to one of them.
He doesn’t say anything back. I guess they’re just for decoration.
When they open the doors, a small woman immediately appears at my side. I almost jump.
“I can take your coat and scarf, Ms. Ramirez,” she says with a smile. The woman wears pearls, a black dress, and a graying updo.
Does everyone here know my name? I want to ask her.
I shrug my coat off, never taking my eyes off the ceiling. The rotunda is held up by eight green marble columns. Small windows surround the base of the dome so natural light can illuminate the molding. The place is a work of art.
“You can follow me,” says another suited gentleman, this one with Mark Ruffalo-esque salt and pepper hair.
As my heels echo against the tile floor, I admire the chandeliers, Victorian-looking furniture, and the giant gilded-edged portraits of past nobles along our way.
Periodically, I crane my neck to gawk at the high ceilings in a manner that might look a tad gauche.
Sometimes I forget this is Taylor’s normal. He talks about his life so casually.
We pass by a man clutching a leather notepad in one hand and a phone in the other. It’s Alex. When we make eye contact, his brows shoot up to his hairline. Before I can wave, he turns on his heel and walks as fast as he can without running in the opposite direction from me.
What world have I entered?
Eventually, I’m taken into a small room at the end of the hallway.
It’s maybe about the size of my living room.
There sit two gold-colored couches that face each other with a glass coffee table in between.
This must be the reception room one must endure before they can see the Crown Prince.
I faintly hear him and another man talking on the other side of the double doors.
“... press secretary liaison. Mara’s retiring soon.”
“But, sir, that’s a demotion, a large one. It’s traditional that the senior advisor position is for life.”
“You know I like you, Antoine. Maybe a little too much, actually. I just need some new blood.”
Their voices get quieter when my escort tells me to have a seat.
“It should only be a minute. Can I get you anything?”
A Ferrari, I want to say, but don’t. I wonder how crazy I could make my request and it still be fulfilled.
He slinks inside the office, keeping the door gap closed as much as possible.
Five minutes pass and I become restless. I open empty drawers, turn on and off Tiffany lamps, and look behind gold curtains. When I hear the rustle of a doorknob, I quickly sit down and give my best I’ve-been-waiting-here-patiently-this-whole-time pose, hands folded, back straight.
Two men emerge from the office. The one I know from before allows me in. The other angry-looking one doesn’t acknowledge my presence, just walks past me like I’m the last thing in the world he wants to deal with.
When I pass the threshold, Prince David stands up from his desk. “Melina,” he greets with a smile as if nothing happened between us. He gestures toward one of the two plush chairs across from him.
The lit fireplace is the most noticeable thing about his office.
That and the giant window overlooking the lawn.
There’s a mirror on the opposite side of it to reflect the scenery, making the room look bigger than it is.
Behind him, there’s another door that leads to who knows where.
The place is topped off by a chandelier that isn’t turned on.
It’s a rare no-cloud day in St. Claire, and the window provides enough light to fill the room.
His desk is a surprising mess of papers and open envelopes.
An ashtray sits amongst the abundance of framed pictures shoved to one corner. I’m curious to know what they’re of.
I sit across from him and set my bag on the floor. Even though I’m nervous, I try not to fall into my habit of making myself look meek by crossing my arms or legs. This isn’t a meeting with the principal, and I’m not in trouble.
“Can I be honest with you, sir?”
“Call me David.”
“I think that you talking to me is going to make this whole situation worse.”
He barks out a laugh before his face goes serious.
“You weren’t supposed to hear what I said at the party.
” David pauses. I think he expects me to say something.
I don’t. “Uh, while image plays a factor in a lot of my decisions, it’s not the end-all be-all.
I was raised in an environment where it was, and I promised myself it would never be more important than my children’s wellbeing. ”
“What about my wellbeing? What if I don’t want to be a part of any of this?” I gesture around me, both my hands outstretched above my head. This building alone makes me feel like I don’t belong. It pushes me into lockers, makes fun of me at lunch.
“I understand, Melina, I really do. At the beginning of my relationship, it often felt like Charlotte was being pitted against my family, and I get how frustrating it can feel. You should know I’ll be on your side. Truly. The last thing I want is to get in the way of things.”
I scoff. “Yeah, because your family stands to benefit from Taylor getting married and producing heirs.”