36 | Melina
Melina
“Is this your mother’s recipe too?” Rachel asks Taylor before taking a bite of his baked pineapple salmon.
“All of them are,” he says.
“It’s a travesty the public doesn’t know you can cook.” Cindy Zhang takes a sip of her champagne. She’s the owner of the biggest TV network in the nation and looks great in a pantsuit. “You should go on St. Claire’s Bake-Off during celebrity week.”
Taylor does a weak smile. “I’ll ask Tom if he’s interested.
” He switches to French and asks something to Elise involving the words eat and fish.
Elise Martin is an old friend of Charlotte’s and filthy rich, just like all the guests at the table, sans moi.
She’s a smaller woman with a blonde updo and a string of pearls around her neck.
Elise and her husband are why Taylor had to scrap his original idea of a roast and make something the pescatarians could eat.
Across from me sits Prince David. He leans over the marble table and asks, “Did you know, when Taylor was six, he asked Santa for a Kitchenaid mixer? He got a baby brother instead and has been grouchy ever since.”
I let out an ill-mannered snort. I yearn to meet an innocent Taylor who believes in Santa. He’d probably wear smudgy kid glasses and a shirt with a fire truck on it. I’d give him a giant hug.
Former Prime Minister Jean-Paul Rainier and his wife, Marie, gush about how much they’ve enjoyed the food.
Or at least I think they do. I’m pretty sure délicieux means delicious .
I can’t believe I’m sitting at the same table as them.
My teacher once made us all write a letter to him in school.
Even in grade five, I was smart enough to know the Prime Minister would never have time to read every single letter he received. He’ll never know I exist, I thought.
Until now.
Oh, and Julien is here too. But I know enough about him.
I stay quiet for most of dinner, letting Taylor explain all the different avenues the guests’ money is going to.
He speaks with enthusiasm and sentiment.
It’s times like these when I don’t think he loathes being a prince.
Like most jobs, there are parts he despises, of course.
Hopefully, it’s moments like this one that make it worth the hassle.
I’m able to make my way through conversation when somebody asks me questions about what I do or how Taylor and I met.
When the discussion switches to French, Taylor interprets into my ear.
Although sometimes he gets bored, and the former Prime Minister reveals he’s a secret lizard alien who’s come to plague St. Claire with ineffective corporate tax reform.
It’s nice to be with Taylor around other people.
Besides Rachel, Julien, and that one cursed meal with my family, we’ve only explored our relationship in private.
But we still do lots of cute girlfriend/boyfriend things like kissing, cooking, and edging.
We’ve been going for runs on public trails in the early morning when no one is around, stopping to watch the sunrise over the ocean.
I showed him the wondrous world of The Bachelorette, which he pretends to hate but wants to watch every episode with me.
(We seem to have completely different tastes in men.) Every now and then, he’ll share an anecdote from his life to help me fit the final puzzle pieces into his story.
He tells me how he’s worried about the physical health of his father, and I tell him how I worry about the mental health of mine.
It feels like we’re making progress, and for the first time, I’m warming up to the idea of a possible future, whatever that would look like.
While the others converse about American politics, Taylor rests his hand on my leg and leans in. “I like your dress.”
I look down at my LBD with a sweetheart neckline. It’s really nothing special. I got it on sale.
His hand creeps up, up, up, underneath the hem until suddenly he squeezes the tender spot at the base of my inner thigh. My knee bucks and hits the underside of the table, making the fine china clatter.
Rachel asks me what was that? with her eyes.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“You okay?” he asks me with a fake naive expression.
He’s so annoying. I’m totally going to have sex with him later.
After dinner and dessert, the guests linger in Clément Manor.
Taylor tried to give me a tour of it once, but we both got bored after surveying all the rooms, which at best varied in color.
So this is another bedroom , he said for the billionth time.
The greenhouse was the most interesting.
It had a dark, overgrown vibe to it that made it kind of depressing.
Sadly, I have yet to find a secret room behind a bookshelf.
I’ve concluded that the concept might only exist in Scooby-Doo.
I leave Taylor in the living room to talk with the former Prime Minister alone.
I don’t think I could add anything insightful to their conversation.
As I walk back to the dining room to grab my champagne, I hear the word Melina come out of Julien’s mouth.
Before I enter, I stop to listen because I’m a Nosey Nellie.
“If people want the monarchy to be modernized, she’s exactly what you need. A working-class woman in STEM with an immigrant parent. Someone like her could make you guys look more approachable and less elitist. More relatable, less snooty. More—”
“Yes, I understand, Julien,” Prince David says gruffly. “Though I’d rather make us look more contemporary without tokenizing Melina just because she happens to work a day job. Though it’s not up to us how the public will take her when she’s a princess.”
My heart flies up into my throat at the mention of the P word. He says when so affirmatively. Why not say if she’s a princess at least?
“Not to mention she’s the only person in the world with almost no social media footprint,” Julien says, ignoring Prince David’s surprisingly insightful comment, especially for being the utmost example of an old white man.
“No political opinions you have to worry about. She’s a tabula rasa.
And, you know, is of the child-bearing sex. ”
David laughs. “Yes, as if him seemingly wanting to be alone for the rest of his life isn’t enough, I have to worry about.” Whatever this conversation is, it’s definitely not for my ears. “Did you know her father is in prison?”
“Really? She’s never told me.”
Yeah, Jules, maybe that’s not information I share with everyone.
“What for?”
“Running a chop shop in Ville-Marie. She visits him every week.”
“Did Taylor tell you that?” I try my best to keep my voice calm.
Both of them turn to me, standing on the threshold, but say nothing.
Men.
I cross the room and grip the top of a gilded dining room chair to keep me grounded. “How do you know how often I visit my father?” I clarify.
“I had a palace aide do some research,” David says. “Melina, I—”
“Some research?”
He says it as if that information can be found by simply Googling.
“And what else did they find, my medical records? Passwords? Here we were all thinking the royal family isn’t above the law.” I thought it was only the tabloids I had to worry about digging into my life.
Julien’s brows shoot up. Probably because I just insulted the monarchy in the Crown Prince’s face. I can’t find a bone in my body that cares.
David opens his mouth to say something, but I walk away before he can.
I go in the opposite direction of everyone, down a grand hallway with gold sconces that light up its ugly red paint.
I pass a smaller living room on the right and check to see if anyone is there.
The drawing room, Taylor called it once.
So was this room meant for people to draw? I asked.
No, he said. The full name would be with drawing room. It’s meant for people to withdraw, I guess.
So I’ll be using the space for its intended purpose.
Thankfully, it’s empty. All the lamps are off, so the night sky looks extra bright.
The moonlight from the giant windows makes contours on the spooky antique furniture scattered on the floor.
I stare at the stars, not thinking or processing anything, withdrawing.
Spontaneous people are allowed to withdraw, right?
Just as I’m about to repress my feelings and reenter civilization, I’m found.
“There you are,” Taylor says. He sounds excited, drunk almost, but he hasn’t had a drink tonight. “This has been going surprisingly well, what do you think? Julien seems to have a real knack for hustling the money out of people.” He studies my body language. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s all becoming kind of real. You know?” My voice seems so sullen in comparison. It’s like we’ve traded places. He’s the one who always sounds bored.
“Is real bad?”
I stare out the window again. “I overheard Julien and your dad talking about me, discussing my character like a business decision for the Crown.”
I watch a rabbit on the lawn hop from under one tree to another. This is the first time I’ve mentioned the future. We’ve been ignoring the royal elephant in the room. Maybe now’s the time to spit it out.
“It’s your destiny to get married, which now makes it mine.
It’s not like I’m opposed to the concept, but with everyone waiting around for it to happen, it’s a lot of pressure, like we’re Barbie and Ken dolls and the rest of the world is the five-year-old smashing our heads together.
I wish we could date like normal people without all this stuff hanging over us. ”
I let out a deep breath like that’s been pent up in my chest for a while. My rationality can’t be suppressed any longer.
He puts a hand on my back. “I can’t be normal for you, Melina. But I’d never want you feeling obligated to do something that isn’t in your heart.”
Of course, he wouldn’t. He isn’t telling me something I don’t already know.
Maybe if I change the subject, my brain will stop tormenting itself.
“You seemed passionate tonight.”
He doesn’t answer for a bit, opting to look out over the lawn with me. Eventually, he sweeps my hair to one shoulder like he always does. I lean my back into his chest like I always do. Back and forth, he rubs his thumb against my shoulder.
“I don’t hate it, you know.”
“But you don’t have a choice either.”
“I do have a choice,” he says. “And you should know it’s not because of some deep-seated patriotism or authority complex or God forbid divine right.”
“So why are you choosing to be king?” Wouldn’t he rather be, I don’t know, sailing the ocean like Cassie, with only the fish to keep up appearances for?
“Because my brother doesn’t want to.” He shrugs. “Sometimes things just aren’t that deep, even if all the castles make it feel like it is.”
Taylor’s gaze is indiscernible. Is it a blank stare or a knowing look? He’s becoming king because he loves his brother. So, what should I become when I love him?
When, I thought. Not if.
I swallow and pick at the skin of my thumbnail. “I think I want to be alone tonight. I think I have to go back to...thinking.”
We were supposed to spend the night, but I need some time to mourn the death of spontaneous Melina.
His eyes dart around my face. I can tell he wants to say something, but is afraid of making any noise that will startle me. Instead of gambling, he draws a hand across my back before walking away without a kiss.