11 | Melina
Melina
Nail salons are filled with all the things I love. Color, massages, gossip. And as the owner’s daughter, I get special treatment. Mateo could get special treatment too, but he only comes in here if Mom wants him to carry a heavy box.
This place is my mother’s third child. She’s recently half-updated the interior with white leather seating and modern light fixtures, an operation with which I was updated ad nauseam.
I’d like to think it’s so popular not only because of the location but because my mom tries to memorize all her regular customers’ names to greet them the second they walk in the door.
Except mom’s too busy for greetings today.
The salon is packed. There’s even paparazzi loitering outside.
Maybe it’s because today is National Small Business Day, but I’m guessing word got out about Prince Thomas gracing us with his presence.
Hopefully, the buzz will drum up some new customers for the place in the long term.
I’d assume Thomas is more pleasant to converse with than his brother.
From what I heard, they’re complete opposites.
Thomas is known for being the messier of the two, always dating a new celebrity and partying at billionaires’ houses.
The video that comes to mind is of him and an American actress shotgunning a beer together.
If Thomas wants to meet me, that means Taylor must’ve brought up my name.
I wonder what else he’s said to make his brother this interested.
I’m not telling Mom that his visit is related to me.
I don’t want to ruin it. I’m hoping she assumes that our family getting involved with yet another prince is just a coincidence.
Is this you? she screamed over the phone the night the photo went viral.
Though I enjoyed reading everyone’s celebrity guesses, leave it to my mother to be the only person to correctly identify #purpledresswoman.
He’s an asshole, Mamá, I don’t know much more about him than that, I told her after the barrage of questions.
I didn’t mention he came over to my house that morning.
Or that he’s been cooking for me. Or that I find him attractive.
All of that stuff would be too hard to explain.
My mother looks exactly like me except older and with curly brown hair. Like me, she has a square face and small hands, which are currently being used to scrub the front desk for the fifth time in a row.
“I think it’s clean enough, Mom. El salón se ve bien. ”
Mom speaks better English than she thinks she does, but we’ve always spoken Spanish around her. I’m not translating my thoughts before talking to my own children, she said.
She huffs. “ Lo sé. I just want everything to be perfect. A prince showing up at your door doesn’t happen every day.” Ha! “I mean, first you danced with Taylor, and now his brother wants to come here? We should feel very lucky, Lina.”
Should we? They’re just humans. They eat, breathe, and, as I learned recently, cook like the rest of us. The fancy title only means they’re richer.
“Did you see your father yesterday?” Mom asks. For the first time this morning, her giddy and slightly manic smile slips.
I nod. The topic has always been awkward for us.
“How is he?”
“He’s fine. You know, as fine as you can be.”
Mom doesn’t ask more. That’s all the information she wants to know about him these days. I know she cares about my dad, but not enough to ask a deeper question beyond his general well-being.
Cameras flash from outside. A serious-looking man in a serious-looking suit walks in first, followed by the Prince himself.
He runs a hand through his hair before coolly taking off his Ray-Bans and hanging them on his blue linen button-down.
Thomas resembles a younger Taylor except with a shorter haircut and a little more of their mother’s features.
This prince is also smiling, a gesture Taylor doesn’t do very often, off camera at least.
“You must be Ms. Ramirez?” Thomas asks my mother in perfect Castilian Spanish. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Sonia, please. Your Spanish is beautiful.” Mom looks like she’s about to faint as he shakes her hand.
He’s twenty-four, Mamá. “Let me introduce you to my staff. We’re all so excited you’re here.
Oh, this is my daughter, Melina. She’s the Mel in MelMat.
” Mom leans into him and wiggles her eyebrows. “She’s also single at the moment.”
I shoot my mom a disapproving glare. She lasted a whole five seconds without being an embarrassment. “Ignore her,” I say to Thomas.
“Melina,” he says softly. Thomas looks me up and down before taking my hand. I think he is just going to shake it, but he brings my hand up to his lips and gently kisses my middle finger. What century is this?
“Lina, I think the Prince likes you,” Mom teases.
“Yes, I hear he does,” Thomas says, still speaking Spanish. Then he winks at me. Winks! What in God’s name did Taylor tell him?
I peel my hand out of Thomas’ grasp as some young girls behind us call his name.
He leaves to go take selfies and flirt with them, probably.
Mom squeezes my shoulder before I leave to take a seat behind an empty nail station.
I’m not sure how Thomas conjured up this fantasy about his brother and me.
Maybe Taylor told him about making my dinners, and he got the wrong impression. It is a bizarre situation.
I pull out my phone.
Me: your brother just kissed my hand
Taylor: yeah he’ll do that
A prompt texter, Taylor. Earlier, he sent me a picture of a red phone booth. Though I would’ve enjoyed a cheesier shot of him taking a fake call like a tourist, it warms my heart he remembered the request I made in passing.
I start to ask why his brother’s acting weird but stop typing when Thomas walks back over. He shows the notification on his phone.
Taylor: stop kissing Melina’s hand. I will kill you.
Thomas slides in the chair across from me. “You don’t have to worry about me, Melina, I’m just having fun.”
Now that he’s switched to English, I realize how uncannily similar his voice is to Taylor’s. I bet if they were talking on the phone, I wouldn’t know which is which.
I should clear things up as fast as possible.
“Listen, I think there’s been some misunderstanding. I know it seems strange he’s been cooking for me, but we haven’t done anything together that’s not gastronomy-related.”
There. I feel better now.
Thomas’ eyes widen. “Wait, wait, wait. He’s been cooking for you? It’s more serious than I thought.”
Now I’m very confused. “What exactly has Taylor told you?”
Thankfully, Mom isn’t close by, and it’s too loud in the salon for anyone to hear us.
“He hasn’t told me anything, that’s the thing. All the dancing together and the fact that he giggles like a schoolgirl when he reads your texts, I just assumed.”
Oh. Things are making more sense now, but I think Thomas is exaggerating.
He inspects the wall of nail polish next to us, meticulously organized by brand and color. “Why has he been cooking for you?”
“It’s his way of apologizing for bullying me in my own apartment. He thinks if he cooks me enough food, I’ll eventually make the website for the charity he’s starting.”
“Oh yeah, he’s been trying to get that thing going for ages.”
My heart pangs. I’m just another one of Taylor’s roadblocks in the bureaucratic nightmare that is starting a nonprofit.
“Did he not offer to pay you?” he asks.
“Oh, he did. But I refused. Long story.” I’ll change the subject to avoid going down memory lane. “Has he always been a good cook?”
“Taylor cooks when he’s stressed out,” Thomas explains. “Which is a lot of the time. I think it helps him to do things with his hands. Sometimes, if it’s a frustrating day, he’ll leave out a three-layered chocolate cake for the house staff. We call it his stress cooking.”
That is a weirdly adorable coping mechanism. I just have a cozy glass of wine when I’m stressed, not a full-on hobby. I used to paint, but not so much anymore.
“So there’s nothing between you guys? You’re just friends? That’s boring.”
“We’re not even friends. We’re strictly business.” Though I know much more about Taylor personally than I do my other business partners. The universe may be shifting our relationship to ‘reluctant acquaintances’.
“Yeah, that would be hard to believe.” He scoffs. “He’ll swear he’s not into friends, but he just says that so no one will feel bad that he doesn’t have any.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t feel bad for him.”
“I do. Taylor hates being schmoozy, and he’s stuck in a dead-end job where he has to schmooze for the rest of his life.” He takes down a bottle of sparkly gray nail polish. “I think I like this one. What about you?”
“He doesn’t want to be king?”
“Christ, no,” he says, waving my mom over. “Neither do I.”
Huh. I may have been wrong about the man making my dinners.
I thought Taylor was the type of person who strives to hold as much power over people as possible.
If he doesn’t want to be king, then what are his ambitions?
I figured this charity was just a way for him to kill time.
If I knew my destiny was going to be a job I didn’t want, I would try to get as much done as I could before filling the position. Fuck. Am I the asshole?
“Is Melina helping you pick out colors?” Mom interrupts.
“I can get more than one?” Thomas scans the wall again and grabs a bright red bottle. “I should do this one too, so I’ll match my car.”
I laugh. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You just being here is publicity enough.”
“It’s just paint. It’s not like it hurts.” He looks around. “It doesn’t hurt, right?”
I can’t tell if he’s being serious.
Mom shoos me out of the chair and takes the bottles from his hand. “I think sparkles are very manly.”
Thomas leans over to me. “If he ever tries to bully you again, let me know. He can take it as good as he can dish it.” His voice is low and serious as my mom files his nails.
I think I can handle Taylor myself, but it’s nice to know his brother is on team Melina.
This must be a good photo-op, as I’m quickly swallowed up by the crowd. Before he leaves, Thomas finds me and wiggles his hot rod red and sparkly gray fingers in my face. “What do you think?” he asks.
“You and Taylor can’t be related.”