17 | Melina
Melina
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for money,” I say as Alex hands me a check. “This feels a little escorty.”
I look down at the dress I’m wearing. The dress Taylor paid for.
This is totally the plot of Pretty Woman .
I think a part of me asked for money just to prove to everyone, and maybe myself, that this is purely a business decision.
Being paid announces to the ether that I’m only here for the coin and not because going on a date with Taylor piques my morbid curiosity.
And definitely not because I’d be jealous of him standing next to some other broad.
Now that I’m able to handle Taylor’s antics, he’s just a guy I can tolerate who also happens to be attractive. I should tread carefully.
“You should’ve asked for a lot more,” Alex assures me.
Should I have? Taylor phrased it as ‘taking my anonymity for granted’, but it’s just one night, right? I’m really not that interesting a person. I don’t think the press will care about me for that long.
I stand an inch above Taylor’s private secretary in my high heels.
This is exactly why I never wear them. I hate looking like a skyscraper.
My womanly height of five feet ten inches is already just shy of circus freak.
Taylor is very tall, however, and there’s no chance of me towering over him unless I’m wearing stripper heels.
Though I might be able to finally look him in the eyes.
Alex tells me he’ll be right back, then leaves me by the door.
This is the fourth time I’ve been to Taylor’s house.
Who knew our friendship could come this far?
We’ve actually been texting. Well, I text him.
I ask questions about how his day is going, and he’s quick to respond with vague one-word answers.
I’ve realized Taylor’s a lot like my cat, Popcorn.
I put in lots of effort on my side of the friendship, and in return, between the snarky remarks and claw marks on my skin, I sometimes get a glimpse of his soft underbelly.
I preen myself in the reflection of a window.
Rachel took me shopping and we found a dress that didn’t have to be tailored.
The one-shoulder gown is made of a trillion little sequins, so the fabric appears glossy in the light.
Rachel said the rich burgundy color goes well with my undertone.
I’m not sure what an undertone is, but I’ll take her word for it.
After staring at the painting of the sailboat for what seems like forever, I start to wonder if I’ve been forgotten about.
“Alex?” I call out.
My heels echo against the marble as I slowly walk down the hall.
Peeking into the living room, I make eye contact with a man I was not expecting.
Not Alex, not Taylor, but the Crown Prince David, the man who will be king in a couple of years, depending on the Queen’s health.
Taylor didn’t tell me his dad would be attending this thing.
Prince David wears a double-breasted, gold-buttoned suit.
His position is casual. Jacket open, one hand in a pocket, the other on a cigarette.
The ever-majestic Vinnie sits by his side, holding a stuffed carrot in his mouth.
I’ve seen this person plenty of times in the media, but only now am I realizing how much he resembles Taylor, just a lot older.
The Prince takes a long drag before asking, “And you might you be?”
“Um—”
“Are you the new Alex? I thought Taylor liked him.”
Vinnie trots over to present the carrot at my feet.
“No. I’m not,” I say.
“Well, next time you break into a house, I would wear something a bit more practical.” His deadpan inflection is the exact same as Taylor’s.
“I’m not an intruder. I’m...I’m Melina.”
I sound like an awkward little kid.
The Prince smiles. “You’re Melina?” he asks like he’s heard of my name.
I don’t know why he would have.
“Uh, yes?”
Does he know about the plan? What if he doesn’t?
What would I say? Hello, soon-to-be-king of this country, I’m standing in your son’s home because we’re about to go on a date together, but not like a real date, more like a quasi-date to help distract the press from writing stories about how your other son’s a gambler.
“I’m here for Taylor,” I end up squeaking out. “Sir,” I add because I think I’m supposed to call him that.
He points behind me.
When Taylor walks into the living room with Alex, I try not to gawk, but my woman’s instincts get the best of me.
I didn’t think his suits could look more expensive.
This one is shiny and blacker than black.
I’ve probably seen pictures of him wearing it before, but the real thing is much better.
He’s even wearing a tie! I love me a sexy tie.
Taylor’s eyes widen when he realizes that his father and I are in the same room together. “Dad, what are you doing here?” He sounds a little panicked.
“What’s my son doing in Las Vegas?” he quips back.
“It’ll be okay. I have a plan.”
“I trusted you to figure this out. I didn’t think it would be that hard.”
“Tom isn’t a child anymore, and he’s going to turn into a loose cannon if we don’t let him do what he wants sometimes.” Taylor looks at me and releases a long breath. “I think everything is going to be just fine,” he says more quietly.
“You think?” his dad mocks.
“I know.”
Taylor marches over and steals the cigarette out of the Prince’s hand. “And Christ, open a window at least. Were you raised in a barn?” He reaches into his father’s jacket and pulls out a pack of Du Maurier’s. “I swear I’m going to put you in a home. You’ll be the King of Shady Acres.”
I scratch the top of Vinnie’s head. This feels like when you’re at a friend’s house and she starts fighting with her parents, and all you can do is awkwardly stand in the corner and pet the family dog.
It never ceases to amaze me how people can talk back to their parents without fear.
My mother would try to ground me at twenty-nine if I even thought about raising my voice at her.
Taylor gives the cigarette to Alex, who I catch taking a puff of its remains before walking into the kitchen.
“I was raised here, actually,” the Crown Prince retorts. “You know, I could kick you two squatters out whenever I want. Best not be mouthy.”
Taylor takes the advice and lets his father walk away without another word.
“It was nice meeting you, Miss Ramirez,” the Prince says in passing.
Alex follows him out of the living room and asks if he needs a car.
“How does your dad know my last name?” I ask Taylor.
He looks as confused as I am. “I have no idea.”
“Weird.”
“I’m sorry if he tried to scare you. He’ll do that when he meets new people.”
Taylor apologizes for his dad, like how my family would apologize for Coco, our feisty chihuahua mix that also liked scaring new people. Rest in peace, Coco.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Taylor gives me a quick up-and-down. In a perfect world, he would say something like, ‘You look nice.’
“Your hair looks bigger.”
I run a hand through my curled locks. “I got extensions recently. Why? Do they look weird?”
“No,” he says quickly. He almost yells it. “You look like the girls in the shampoo commercials.”
Well, yay me. I spent too much time and money at the salon for them to look weird.
I try not to splurge too much on vanity, but I’ve always had thinner hair.
One time I asked my stylist for The Rachel, but it turned out like The Severus Snape.
As luck would have it, I scheduled my appointment two days before the fundraiser.
Well, if he won’t say it, I will. Using my newfound height to aid my confidence, I say, “You look,” hot, devastatingly handsome, drop-dead gorgeous, “nic—”
“I got you something.”
He got me something?
“Alex, do you have the—”
“Yeah,” he says from behind me.
The skinny rectangular box Alex presents is made of dark blue velvet and gold hinges. My jaw drops as he opens it. Laid out on the satin liner is a small diamond necklace. Nothing ostentatious, it’s simple and understated, yet absolutely gorgeous.
“Holy moly,” is all I can make out.
“It was my grandmother’s,” Taylor says.
“Your grandmother’s? Jesus, I can’t have this!”
“My other grandmother,” he says slowly. “The dead one.”
“Why are you giving it to me?”
He shrugs. “She croaked and left me all her stuff I have no use for.”
I raise a brow.
“ And— ” he adds, like he realizes that the last statement didn’t sound very polite. “You’re my friend.” He sounds out the word friend like he doesn’t say it that often.
“Taylor, this wasn’t part of my deal.”
“Just go with it,” he says. “Consider it a tip.”
I nudge the diamonds. “Thank you. It’s beautiful. No more gifts, though, okay? It’s unfair.”
He nods as I take off my black velvet choker. I thought it made me look like Cinderella, but currently, the thin strip of fabric seems pathetic in comparison to the diamonds. I place it in my clutch, then gaze up at Taylor, who’s now holding the box.
He points to my neck. “I can, uh—”
I turn around and hold my hair up for him. The diamond settings are cool on my skin, his fingers gentle on my nape. A tingle runs up my spine. For a fraction of a second, he moves his hands to the back of my bare shoulders to tell me he’s done.
I run my hand across the gems. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.”
Taylor tsks. “You poor thing.”
Yep. Taylor in a tux is still just Taylor. The costume only provides a shiny coating.
“We best get going,” Alex suggests.
My date agrees and we follow him towards the Benz out front.
“I have some ground rules,” Taylor says the second we get in the car.
“Okay,” I say gruffly, mocking his serious tone.
“People might ask you questions about the nature of our relationship, but don’t lie, you’re very bad at it. If it’s a sticky or inappropriate question, get my attention. Or Alex’s. He can tell someone to fuck-off more politely.
Alex raises a triumphant fist from the passenger seat.