19 | Taylor
Taylor
“Everyone keeps asking me about you and that girl,” Dad hisses into my ear. “What do I tell them?”
“Nothing. I’m just using her as a prop.” As the sentence leaves my mouth, I realize how dickish it sounds. “Consensually, of course. Has anyone asked you about Tom?”
“No, actually, they haven’t.”
Somehow, my crazy plan is working. And better yet, my dad knows it’s working. Not that I endlessly strive to gain the approval of my father, but I can’t force myself to throw up the organ that’s been making me want to please him all these years.
“What’s she like?” he asks.
“Who?”
Dad rolls his eyes. “Your date,” he grumbles.
“She’s friend. I mean, she’s fine.”
He waits for me to go on.
“Her name is Melina, by the way. Not that girl. ”
I expect him to ask more questions, but he just nods mystically. Weird.
Hopefully, tomorrow it will be my face in the news, not Tom looking like a jackass wearing sunglasses indoors.
Though I’m very much dreading it, for my sake and Melina’s.
I asked him earlier how he was doing at the tournament, and his text back was filled with a bunch of technical poker terms I don’t understand. It sounded positive, though.
If there’s one thing Tom’s great at, it’s being the life of the party.
I’ve been doing a lot of the talking now that he’s not here to balance out our sibling dynamic.
Tom’s the fun brother who has put in the work to render his presence young and exciting, always arriving fashionably late and leaving as soon as the vibes are lame .
The master socialite is a fickle creature.
If people attend events like these, they’re coming for either him or my father.
They’re better at peopling because they like doing it.
I can be cordial, but being just cordial is boring.
Dad points to the podium at the front of the room. “I should get this show on the road.”
Though I’ve been running this charity for the last four years, most people still think he’s in charge. I don’t care if he takes the credit in the speech as long as I don’t have to make it. The party feels more important when it seems he’s the one throwing it, anyway.
Dad’s speech is a longer and politer version of ‘Hello fellow one-percenters, keep donating your money to us so teachers and children can have basic school supplies, our government should’ve solved this problem decades ago, but they’re incompetent, you probably don’t need the cash, anyway’.
I scan the room for Melina. She must be camouflaged amongst the plants.
Hopefully, she’s not bored. I certainly am.
Seeing Jamie was a bit eventful, but in the way that events make the news for having multiple casualties.
Of course, he married some nouveau riche CEO who probably has a stupid open-concept office where everyone sits on bean bag chairs and pretends to be okay about it.
I thought I already gave him enough money.
After Dad’s done, I get roped into talking with Gaёl (sans husband) and then three more people after that.
My impatience grows the longer I’m away from Melina.
Eventually, I slide myself out of a conversation about the stock market and begin my trek through the jungle.
Soon enough, I hear her voice followed by Dad’s embittered one.
Christ . They’re talking to each other again. I should’ve found a waiter to keep him distracted with hors d’oeuvres or a pole to tie his wrist.
Amongst a crowd of about eight people, I find my father pointing at Melina. “... calling me old?”
Melina puts her hands up. “No. I’m saying age can make one biased.”
“Then who would you pick?”
“Santi,” she mumbles.
I look to Alex in the crowd for an explanation. He only shrugs.
My father crosses his arms. “I don’t understand you kids. You and Tom, getting blindsided by charisma alone. I’ve met Santi and he’s a bit of an ass.”
“An ass that almost won us the World Cup,” she argues.
“Yes, and then played the worst match of football I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Still a good run. It made Foust’s career.”
“So what! All people care about nowadays is individual players. You can’t have a team with just one good forward. Back when I was in the Navy—”
“All right, Dad,” I finally interrupt. “I think everyone here is sick of your stories about the Navy.”
The crowd laughs, but it’s true.
“He’s just jealous he doesn’t have any,” he tells them.
Though I should’ve cut myself off a while ago, I take a long drink to occupy my mouth before I say something I’ll regret.
“I always tell him he could’ve been great,” Dad says as a waiter takes my empty glass.
Though the laughter is polite, in my mind, Dad’s groupies sound like a bunch of hyenas.
I’ll use this as an opportunity to leave before we end up debating the subject like we always do.
I don’t care if I’m seen as rude. He acts like my lack of military service isn’t a huge point of contention in the never-ending soap opera that is our family.
The way he feigns lightheartedness for everyone makes me sick.
He’s only punishing me by bringing it up for the rest of my life.
I stagger off towards the entrance of the greenhouse. I don’t have an aim for where I’m going, but I push past the first set of doors to the lobby, anyway. I can’t take any more cacti or ficuses. Fici?
My decision to leave the function is soon regretted when I spot Jamie alone with no husband around to keep up appearances.
His instant grin makes me want to slap it right off his face.
On paper, Jamie is a nice-looking man, swoopy black hair, a jawline that could cut steel, eyelashes that remind me of a woman’s.
If only he weren’t a demon of chaos. I would back out, but we’ve already made eye contact.
“This is a bit awkward, right?” He gestures to the air.
“If by awkward you mean having my blackmailer show up to my party uninvited, then yeah, I’d say it’s pretty awkward.”
He looks around before stepping closer. “You should move on, Taylor. I have. I don’t have any hard feelings toward you anymore. Can’t we just put my stupid actions behind us?”
He goes to grab my hand. I instantly pull back.
“Jesus Christ, you’re married. Fucking snake.”
Jamie rolls his eyes. “Married schmarried. Gael and I are kind of in an open relationship. And I miss your colorful language. I know you miss my accent.”
I don’t. He’s ruined it for me. And I’m pretty sure his Queen’s English is fake. He’s from Birmingham. I always used to hear him slip more townie when drunk.
“I’m not sure which hole you came out of to end up in my life again, but if you could kindly crawl back into it, I would appreciate that.”
“You don’t want to do any catching up? I haven’t seen you in forever. Looks like you’ve turned to the dark side in the meantime. What does she have that I don’t, huh? Besides the tits or whatever.”
“A soul.”
He shrugs as if those are overrated. “I’ve always thought bisexual was just the posh word for desperate.”
“No, Jamie, it means having sex with men and women, desperate would mean having sex with you.” Yeah, Taylor, that was good.
“Don’t you have beans to go put on toast or something?
Construct whatever it is you and your people deem as edible?
” I wish I were soberer so I could twist my knife in a way that’s more creative than mocking cultural cuisine.
He finally drops the smirk. “Whatever, if fucking a prince just ended up being something I can cross off my bucket list then so be it.”
“I really don’t have time for this, Jamie. Can’t you be a washed-up actor somewhere else? How about a shrink’s office somewhere in Antarctica?”
“I actually have been going to a therapist. How did you know? Nora says that my erratic attention-seeking behavior stems from my over-controlling parents, who forced me to grow up at an early age. Isn’t that fun?”
“I could’ve told you that.” In fact, I think I have.
Jamie was a child star. ‘Aren’t you glad I didn’t turn out completely insane?
’ he used to say to me. Yeah, sure. It’s bizarre to me that my parents did everything to keep my brother and me out of the public eye when we were kids, whereas his parents did the opposite.
His big break came from this teen werewolf drama called Moonlight .
(Yeah, I watched it. I was a moody fourteen-year-old.) I remember thinking the main girl was hot, but after getting more invested, I realized her love interest was pretty nice too.
The bizarre thing about being famous is that one day you might be fuckbuddies with the catalyst of your sexual awakening.
“The washed-up part is a fair point.” He holds up his hand to display the gold band on his finger. “No need to work when a billionaire gives you one of these. You never told me how easy it is to hoard wealth.”
“Oh no, James. Did you quit?” I ask unenthusiastically. “What will society ever do without you and your—” I close my eyes and put a hand on my heart. “Emoting.”
“Don’t act like you’re above me.” Jamie puts a finger to my chest, but I slap it away. “You look very good pretending to be all chummy out there. I always used to say we had the same job.” He smiles with what are probably veneers.
“I don’t remember you saying that.”
Jamie grimaces. “You never remembered anything.”
“I guess I never cared to.”
“You know, we can have it like the old times. Passionate and heated, yet loveless and noncommittal, just how you like it.”
Old times, meaning our pre-blackmail era.
“How is it possible you’ve gotten more crazy and more wretched over the years?”
He squints. “Don’t think you can get rid of me yet, Your Highness. Gael loves going to pretentious parties. He says it’s good for networking.”
He’s right. Now that they’re married, I’m going to have to see him at all the events I invite his rich husband to. I feel like throwing up. And not because of the alcohol.
I fill my fist full of Jamie’s lapel and shove him around the corner into a small hallway. “Do you understand how fucking evil it is? For you to hold it over someone? I couldn’t sleep for weeks because of you screwing with my life and to see you here acting like it was just a game?”
He cranes his head against the wall. “I honestly didn’t think you’d bite. It’s the twenty-first century, Taylor. No one gives a shit I’m gay.”
“How dare you say something that ignorant to my face. I’m not an actor, Jamie. I don’t come from Hollywoodland where ‘no one gives a shit’. Can you name me a royal that isn’t straight?”
He doesn’t say anything. He just blinks stupidly. I want to shake him so he understands my point.
“If I see you and your husband again, I will act cordial, I will say hi, but other than that, I don’t ever want you to speak again, do you hear me?” I think I meant to say ‘speak to me again’, but just ‘speak’ works too.
He nods and swipes his cheek. I must’ve gotten my saliva on him.
It takes all my strength to let Jamie go. “You and Gael have a blissful marriage,” I sneer as I leave the hallway.
Before reentering civilization, I take a deep breath and run a hand through my hair. Be cordial, be talkative, be the Prince of St. Claire. It shouldn’t be that fucking hard to be nice to people for a couple of hours.
As soon as I let go of the door to the greenhouse, I spot her.
And she spots me. Melina’s instant smile is so innocent and genuine.
God, she’s pretty. I can’t even describe it.
She’s like the sunshine after Jamie’s hurricane of horribleness.
Also, the sunshine that’s standing right next to my father.
She’s been talking with him this whole time as I’ve been pointlessly fighting with Jamie like it’s circa four years ago.
I have to save her.
When I storm over to them, Dad opens his mouth to say something, but I ignore him and grab Melina’s forearm to pull her behind a bush.
“I’m sorry I left for so long. I got, uh—” I look back at the entrance, “distracted.”
“I’m fine,” she says.
I put my hands on her cheeks. “You are?”
She nods.
My fingers tingle against her soft skin as I gaze into the dark portals of her eyes. Why am I touching her face again?
I ball up my hands by Melina’s ears before walking past her toward a different set of doors. These ones are blocked off by a rope. Maybe they’ll lead to a better surprise. Some fresh air if I’m lucky.
“But I’d rather not be left alone again,” she calls.
I throw out my hands. “Then come with.”
“Are you mad at me?”
My heart sinks as I turn around. “Why would you say that?”
“You gave me specific topics to avoid with your father, and I kind of had him mention all three in the span of five seconds. And you seem a little worked up.”
The reason I told her not to mention them is that my father tends to steamroll the conversation when he gets passionate about something. Melina seemed to hold her own just fine. The rule was to protect her, not scold her. Maybe I should start being more opaque with my intentions. Whatever they are.
“I’ll never be mad at you, Melina.”
She pouts her lips. “Weren’t you mad at me when you came over to my apartment the last time? When you thought I let Thomas convince me to work for you.”
“Up until you opened the door. My plan that night was to give you your keys and leave, but I ended up bringing you to my house and making you dinner. I try to avoid the people I’m mad at. Have I ever avoided you?”
She doesn’t answer me. She just stares. I have no idea what she’s thinking. I never do.