21 | Taylor #2
Everything with me has to be some huge production that affects the lives of people I haven’t even met.
And I don’t live like this. I’m not a woman.
How the media discusses male members of my family is much more sophisticated.
Before her cancer, the press only talked about my mother in terms of her relationship with my father.
Now, when anyone googles Melina’s name, it’ll be a drunken kiss that shows up first, as if that’s her life’s defining moment.
A lump forms in my throat. “I’m so sorry, Melina.”
“They said it’s only been one or two reporters, and they left after they didn’t comment. It’s not your fault you’re...” She trails off like I have a chronic illness she doesn’t want to say out loud. Nonetheless, I should’ve been more responsible.
“It is my fault,” I say. “You didn’t sign up for a stupid inebriated decision.”
“I don’t want you to apologize to me.”
“Why? I kissed you in front of paparazzi. It was the single dumbest thing I could’ve done.”
“Because it was nice, all right! It was...you’re visually enjoyable, okay?”
If my brain were a computer, it’d come up with an error message. “Huh?” is the sound that comes out of me.
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know. You’re a young royal. Your whole job is standing still and looking hot.”
“Hey,” I snap. “I do other things sometimes.” And sometimes I catch myself wondering if I could be replaced by a shiny rock with googly eyes.
It’s not like I don’t know I’m attractive.
I’ve seen the way people talk about me online, but having Melina admit it out loud feels pretty good.
Of course, she’s told me in other ways. I’ve noticed how she reacts when I touch her, the little breaths she sucks in, the way she looks away when I’m close.
I’ve been collecting her. Taking note. Studying.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“Get out of...my apartment?”
“No. St. Claire.”
“What?”
“I’m going to New England for a couple of days. Cape Cod to visit my cousin, then Dartmouth for this alumni panel they asked me to do. You should—” What am I doing? “Come with me. Get out of the bubble, wait ‘til things die down a bit here.”
She stares at me with one brow raised, waiting for more details.
She thinks I’m crazy. Am I crazy?
“I feel bad that I’m leaving you here with this mess, suffocated, like you said. It’s like I used you and now I’m running away.”
“Well, I’m glad that you feel things, Taylor, but it’s not ‘using’ if you paid me.”
Nonetheless, I feel like a piece of shit. “Five hundred dollars is like paying you with a handshake and a bushel of corn.”
She huffs and walks away from me, her ass swishing toward the kitchen in annoyance. “A designer dress and five hundred dollars is no chump change for us commoners. You gave me the necklace too, remember? I didn’t even ask for that.”
“Have you been to New England before?”
Melina asks me something about if New York counts as New England.
I’m not sure because I’m too focused on the way she runs her hand through her jet-black hair, reminding me of what it felt like between my fingers last night, giving me a taste of what it would feel like wrapped around my fist. I wonder if she knows what she’s doing.
I want to be her reward, I want to be her punish—
“Taylor?”
I snap out of my trance. “It’s great. There are lots of trees, fresh air, and people with funny accents. The best part is, Americans don’t give a shit about St. Claire unless it’s for the tax haven, let alone royal family or town gossip.”
She laughs in a way that shouldn’t make me feel as good as it does. “How often do you get recognized there?”
“Never. Only by people who are from here or really avid royal watchers. I’ll only give the first group the time of day.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Two days.”
She looks over to her sticker-clad laptop on the kitchen counter, then back to me. “What the hell. I might have to send some emails beforehand, but I could use the vacation.”
Wait a minute, I almost forgot to tease her about something. I try to do that at least once in each of our conversations. It’s good for her soul.
“You’re not doing this because you’re attracted to me, right?”
Melina rubs her eyes. “Oh my God,” she mutters in a creaky voice. “I shouldn’t have told you that. Why did I tell you that?”
She makes her buttons so easy to push.
I take her hands down, then put both of mine on her cheeks. Her skin is soft and nice-feeling.
I could probably kiss her again.
No. Stop it.
“I’m not taking you to a foreign country for sex,” I tell her. “That would be weird.”
I don’t even think there’s time for sex. And sadly, joining the mile-high club isn’t as glamorous as it sounds.
As soon as I mention the S word her eyes get big, like she’s never heard it said aloud before. She’s adorable.
Melina swats my wrists away. I think I’m messing with her head.
I think I’m messing with mine too. I don’t know why I can’t control myself around her.
She’s definitely one of the more attractive people I’ve met, if not the most, but I’ve met attractive people without acting like my brother.
There must be something more going on. Is this a bad idea?
Who cares. I want to fuck around and find out.
“Can I text you the details?”
She blinks, one, two, three times.
“It’s a free vacation. Just do it. I owe you.”
“Okay.”
I think I had too much coffee this morning. I feel jittery all of a sudden.
“But I have some ground rules,” she adds.
“ You have ground rules for the trip I’m taking you on?”
Her eyelids lower.
“Shoot.”
“No more flirting. It’s unfair. I’d like to chalk up that kiss as a drunk mistake.”
The jitters stop. Is that what she’s worried about? “But what if it’s urgent?”
“How could flirting with me be urgent?”
“Like if I have to show you how I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue right then and there.”
“You’re fundamentally unavailable,” she states. “So there’s no point.”
Fundamentally unavailable? That’s a little harsh for her. I’m not sure what she means by that.
“And you have to make sure there are enough beds for both of us,” she adds.
“Why wouldn’t there be enough beds? Since when is that a problem people have?”
“I’ve read some books about the topic. Also, don’t forget to tell this cousin I’m coming beforehand. I’m not showing up somewhere uninvited.”
“I’ll tell her right now,” I say, pulling out my phone.
“Her?”
“That’s how cousins work, right? They can be ‘hers’.”
“I just thought I’d meet some bro-y cousin you’re fond of.”
“You are. Cassie is very bro-y.”
It takes her a couple of seconds to put two and two together. “Wait. Are we talking about Princess Cassandra? Isn’t she the one that—”
“Yes. And I wouldn’t call her that to her face, or she’ll kill you.”
Cassie is technically still fifth in line to the throne.
The reason why she fled St. Claire is a lot more mundane than the public thinks.
She moved to the States to be with her American boyfriend, now husband, and isn’t interested in socialiting.
I don’t like playing dress-up and pretending to be Catholic , she’d said, which is fair enough.
I’m not a fan of it either. She and her husband run a sailing charter and ferment their own kombucha.
The press thinks we’ve completely ostracized her, which isn’t the case.
She visits St. Claire all the time, enough that I know how to cook with tofu.
The whole ‘Cassandra is the black sheep of the royal family and we’re banned from talking to her’ narrative is utter nonsense.
Melina scratches her head. “I thought she was like, living in the woods or something.”
“She’s not living in the woods. I have no idea where that rumor came from. Is that all of your conditions?”
She nods and holds up her little finger.
“What is that?”
“It’s a pinky promise you’re not going to break them.”
I interlock her finger with mine. “And you’re calling me the child.”