39 | Taylor
Taylor
Alex Lam bursts into my office. Usually, he knocks.
Not that I’d care to be interrupted. The letter the ornithology society sent me isn’t the sexiest document I’ve ever read.
Apparently, there’s this rare ugly finch that really likes St. Claire’s shitty weather and I’m supposed to give the bird people money to save it from extinction.
Alex pants like he’s just been running.
“Why are you sweaty?”
“She’s here,” he makes out.
I feel the color drain from my face. “Right now?” I never see my grandmother unless it’s a planned visit.
He takes a breath. “Not her, ” he clarifies. “Melina. I wasn’t sure if you knew. I mean, I didn’t know, so I’m guessing you didn’t kn—”
“Where?” And why?
“Your father’s office.” He must’ve run from the other side of the palace. “So you had no idea? Must be a secret meeting. They’re probably talking about you.”
Two things could be happening. Either Dad’s done what I asked and he’s apologizing or Melina’s locked in a closet and my father won’t let her out until she agrees to marry me.
I rise from my chair.
“Also,” he starts, and pulls out something from his pocket.
The object he throws to me is a set of keys: two modern ones and two skeleton ones that look like they could give someone tetanus.
Hopefully, they’re for the stables and not the front door.
Alex points to them and says, “Real estate agent was pissed when I told her she wasn’t going to close the deal of her career. ”
“Yes, thank you. I have to go now.”
Alex nods, and I scurry past him like a desperate rat.
It’s a long walk to Dad’s office. I should have been thinking about what I was going to say to them on the way over, but my mind goes blank when I open the door to find her and my father...drinking tea?
Dad doesn’t say anything when he leaves the room, only giving me some sort of message via facial expression, but I’m too preoccupied to decipher it.
Melina sits with her legs crossed, her demeanor calm and collected.
She looks beautiful, ethereal almost. Her black hair falls in perfect waves like a waterfall that crashes on her shoulders.
The blue dress, which flares out at her forearms and ends just below her knees, fits her like a glove.
And, of course, the red handbag waits patiently by her blush-pink heels.
She once told me it’s her ‘daily driver’.
The only thing that comes out of my pathetic mouth is, “I’m sorry.”
“Would you like some?” she gestures to the teapot as if it’s hers. “It’s English breakfast. Thought we hated them.”
Come on, Taylor, say something!
“Ryan K. won the bachelorette,” she says to fill my awkward silence.
“I know. Hannah’s way too good for him.”
She picks at her nails. “Your Dad’s been telling me stories about your mom. About how she thought he was a pretentious asshole. About how your family didn’t like her until he brought her on vacation, and she won everyone over with her—”
“Chicken piccata.” I finish. “Yeah, I’ve heard it a million times.”
My mother was always quiet around strangers, but her lack of words was made up for in other ways. In a sense, she passed her craftiness on to me. I don’t hate other people, I think I’m just painfully shy.
“It sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Melina takes a sip of tea, but not before glancing at the teacup to line up the previous lipstick mark with her mouth.
The action reminds me of something Mom once told me.
I’d caught her looking disgusted toward the woman sitting across from us at a dinner and asked what was wrong.
I haven’t thought of the conversation in years.
écoute-moi, Taylor. Always drink from the same spot on a glass. If your lipstick is going to stain the cup, at least have the consciousness to only do it in one place.
Useful advice, maman. Je le dirai à Tom.
Well, not for you, darling. Just don’t waste your time with a girl who’s so thoughtless she doesn’t notice when she’s turning the china red.
Except my problem won’t be with a woman who’s thoughtless, it’ll be with a woman who thinks too much.
She sets down the saucer and scrapes her nails through her hair. I’ll do anything so it’s my hand running through her locks again.
“I should’ve given you space,” I say. “But I have to talk to you.”
“Okay,” she says without judgment. “What do you need to say?”
I’m reminded of what a winded mess Alex was in my office and realize I probably look the same. What do I need to say?
“I took my grandmother’s estate off the market,” I blurt out.
“Why?”
“I hate living in Clément Manor. It’s weird I’m still living in the place I grew up, right?”
She looks at the chandelier above. “A lot of things in your life are weird.”
“And maybe in the back of my mind, I thought if I lived in a real house with doors that lock, you could see yourself moving into it one day.”
Melina doesn’t even flinch.
“There are so many things about you I love. It’s fucking nauseating.
Like how you make eggs or put your hair up in that clip thing, and the face you make when you’re drawing, and your collarbones for some reason, I’ve never been attracted to collarbones before, so I’m sorry if that’s inconvenient or too soon or crazy or—”
“Taylor.”
I hold my breath as she crosses the room.
“I get it.”
She takes my lapels and I let her pull me.
Our lips collide like, I don’t know, things that collide, like two fridge magnets being put together.
How long has it been? Three days? Three centuries?
I try to calculate it as we make up for lost time.
Her caresses are of varying lengths, erratic and unplanned.
I push forward to give us what we’ve been waiting for.
Everything about this woman is so warm and familiar, like a morning cup of coffee.
After a short breath, she’s quick to match my intensity.
It seems she finds me just as comfortable, and we savor every last bit before breaking apart.
If she’ll let me, I’ll never leave again.
Melina leans her head on me, and I rest my chin on her.
I tell myself to remember every part of this moment.
I’ll remember the dust floating in the air.
I’ll remember the light from the window shining on the oriental rug.
For once, it’s an obnoxiously sunny day in St. Claire. I’ll remember that too.
“I’m never going to be done thinking,” she says with glassy eyes. “I wish I could just turn this stupid brain off.”
When I palm her cheek, I notice my ring and its engraving.
My family’s crest, House of Rengault, is better known to the public as the image on their passports and driver’s licenses.
My dad has an identical ring that he wore for a while.
I used to think it was cool as a kid because of the phoenix.
Honestly, I still think it’s cool because of the phoenix.
I pull it off my finger. Maybe I should finally do the thinking for a change.
“I got it on my eighteenth birthday for my investiture,” I tell her.
“It’s the age where they trust you to become the sovereign if you have to, which is insane because which teenager knows how to run a monarchy, let alone their own life?
The investiture was the first one in St. Claire to be televised.
It used to be a private affair, but my dad wanted to democratize the event.
He was eager to throw me into the deep end with the whole public speaking thing.
The only way you can learn is by practicing, much to my chagrin.
He actually had me write some of the speech myself.
Mom made me get a haircut and contacts so I seemed less awkward teen and more prince charming.
I may have looked the part, but I was a nervous, stuttery wreck through all of it.
Better yet, the speech was delivered in both English and French, which really maximized the number of people I could be an embarrassment to.
Not exactly the image of stability people wanted from the throne.
Tom sends me the video every year on my birthday because he knows how much I hate it. ”
In the middle of my incoherent rambling, I realize Melina is wide-eyed and staring at the ring in my hand.
Shit.
“I’m not asking you to marry me.”
She lets out a breath.
I take her hand and place the ring in her palm.
“I get that our marriage would mean a lot more than just changing how your taxes are filed, and I would never want to pressure you into doing something you’re not ready for.
” I curl her fingers around the metal. “But if the world allowed me to complain just once, I would say that I think God has played a sick joke on me, putting an introvert in this position. Princing has never come naturally to me like it has for my father or Tom. It drains me to not be miserable and pessimistic. My honest self isn’t going to be good enough for all the citizens of St. Claire, but do you understand how good it feels knowing it can be for just one? ”
She sniffles. “Taylor.”
“Every once in a while, you look at me in a certain way or laugh at something I said. It’s never been this effortless.
I’m supposed to be the luckiest man in the world, but I’ve never felt it until a few months ago.
” I run my thumb over her knuckles. “This marks the cringiest moment of my life, but somehow, I figured it out. Honestly, to exist is to learn and be embarrassed, right? So if you can get over that, you can get over anything.”
“Even if you’re really shit at first,” she finishes.
“Even if you’re really shit at first. The ring is in case your silly tattoo isn’t proof enough.”
Her eyelashes flutter as she tries to blink away the tears. One slips through and wets her cheek. I swipe it aside with my thumb.
“You are the life I want to live.” I lean in close because I’ve never been more serious about anything in my entire existence.
“But you’ll be the one who has the ring.
If there comes a day when you want to give it to me, I’ll do everything I can to help you feel like you know what you’re doing, even if I don’t most of the time. ”
She rubs the gold between her fingers. “What if I’m never ready? What if I decide I don’t want this? It’s going to take me a while to warm up to the job, Taylor.”
“I don’t care. Every second, every moment I get to spend with you will be worth it.
” Curling some hair behind her ear, I say, “Don’t worry about me, Melina, I don’t deserve it.
Just promise you’ll never think you aren’t good enough.
Because if you aren’t, well—” I sigh. “Then this whole monarchy thing must be a total sham.”
“You’re not a sham, Taylor.” She lays her head against me again.
“Yeah. I’ll try not to be,” I say, stroking her hair. “Maybe my position is less shadow on the cave wall and more—” I pause to think of the right words.
“Birthday party princess?” she offers to my chest.
I look down at her and snicker. “What?”
“Like, maybe the magic is played up, but you try to do good for kids.” Her grip creeps down my arms. “And family.” She takes my hands. “And me.”
“And birds.”
“Birds?” She stands straight.
“The gold-breasted finch. They’re endangered. Maybe I should start flying commercial.”
Melina tilts her head back and cackles.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”
“I didn’t think you were,” she assures me.
Melina watches me take out the set of keys from my pocket and slip off a duplicate.
It’s about time we do a fair exchange. The gesture isn’t symbolic this time, as I don’t care much for symbols.
Rings, tattoos, crowns—they’re all meaningless until someone puts in the work.
I enjoy practical objects, like the toothbrush that’s next to mine, the scrunchie left in my car, or the spare key to her apartment.
Useful things that one keeps, treasures, and trades.
Our collections can only grow so large before living together becomes a necessity.
I can only hope she succumbs to her senses. I certainly have.