Chapter 9 Leticia
LETICIA
THE PRINCESS RETURNS TO THE CASTLE
I didn’t want to put my coat on to leave, but stepping out into the cold night air, I couldn’t wait to get into the warm SUV. Dad’s driver arrived the standard twenty minutes early, but Antonella and I have been doing the Midwestern goodbye for thirty minutes.
With the promise of getting to see her again, it’s the only reason I agree to leave.
I look at my phone. After a full three hours of not looking at it, you’d assume I’d have a bunch of notifications or at least some concern or worry about how dinner is going.
Nope.
I have three notifications.
Mom, reminding me that I need to make fresh pasta for her ‘get-together.’
Berto, asking if I needed backup, but he never followed up when I didn’t answer.
The third though . . .
Royal:
Did you have fun at the boring Cavanaghs’ house?
It’s not the funniest sentence in the world, and yet I’m already smiling.
Leticia:
Thank you, I had a lovely time. I’m sorry I didn’t message you back. I was caught up in something.
Royal:
Well, you could make it up to me by texting with me now?
That feels almost scandalous when he puts it like that. My eyes flick to the driver up front. He’s listening to the sports channel on the radio and thankfully doesn’t notice my cheeks flushing.
Leticia:
And what on earth would we text about?
Royal:
Well, I’m so lonely I would be glad to listen to more of your manuals if you have one with you.
I stifle a snort and try to come up with a response. Valor’s statement comes back to my brain and shuts down the fun. Royal was positive you weren’t flirting with him.
We’re extended family. I text with extended family all the time. I’m probably bad at flirting because I don’t ever get to do it. I could really use a friend though.
Leticia:
Well, sadly I’m away from my manuals. Though I bet I could get the car specs out of the glove box if you’d like.
Royal:
It’s a coffee maker I’m in the mood for, I’m afraid. Water elements and filters, maybe a self-contained heating element.
I roll my lips between my teeth to stop my smile from spreading and alerting the driver to something ‘unusual’ happening. I quickly type back a response.
Leticia:
Sorry, fresh out. Still heading back from Valor’s. I’ll be home and in the kitchen though in about an hour.
He doesn’t respond right away.
Did I do the wrong thing telling him that? My heart skips a beat seeing him finally texting me back after too many minutes of silence.
Royal:
Sorry, didn’t mean to leave you on read. You’re headed into the kitchen after you get home? Did Valor forget to feed you as part of ‘dinner at his house’ or???
I swear I can’t let him do anything by himself.
Leticia:
Antonella is a great cook. Dinner was divine, but I have food prep for an event for Mom and her friends.
I’m already dreading it. But if I premeasure all the ingredients and get them ready to go for all of me, myself, and I in the morning, the special get-together will be much easier. On me anyway.
Royal:
Do the D’Medicis not use caterers?
I snort, covering it with a cough so the driver doesn’t ask questions, and roll my eyes before answering.
Leticia:
Catering? For authentic Italian food served in the most esteemed Gregorio D’Medici’s home? It doesn’t matter that La Fatel Piedra is an authentic Italian restaurant. No, it all must be made by a D’Medici to be real.
After I send it, the realization that I may have said too much rises up from my toes to my head, and I go to send another message to clarify that I’m not complaining, but Royal beats me to it.
Royal:
I’ll stay up with you, if you’d like. I’m up working on a project too. Mine is more boring. If you want, we could even call.
It’ll be almost midnight when I get home. Surely, he doesn’t mean that. But it would be rude to not text him back.
Leticia:
You want to stay up well after midnight while I prep ingredients for tomorrow morning? It could take hours.
There’s a lull in texting, and I’m sure Royal has realized the insanity of that. Though a small part of me liked the possibility. My inside joy feels squashed and discarded.
A few seconds later, a notification lights up my phone.
Calendar Invite:
Late Nite Bytes with R&L
A late-night virtual soiree of Italian food in byte-size pieces hosted by the second siblings of Casa D’Medici and the Illinois Irish.
To confirm your reservation send “YES”
“Everything alright back there, Miss D’Medici?” The driver examines me in the rearview mirror.
Did I laugh out loud? I quickly cover it up. “Yes, everything’s fine, just a funny meme.”
He turns his eyes back to the road, no longer concerned.
“You could turn the radio up a bit if you’d like.” I leave off the sassy ‘I don’t mean to disturb you’ that I want to snark.
This guy is Dad’s driver, and he doesn’t work for me. He works for Dad and will probably report back everything that happens.
The volume goes up almost immediately.
I let my fingers hover over the keyboard.
I should say no. But everyone will be asleep, and I know for a fact that you can’t hear anything blaring in the kitchen up in Mom and Dad’s room.
In his room, Berto can’t hear anything coming from the kitchen either, especially not over the three fans and his television.
Leticia:
YES
Royal:
Tap the link when you’re home and ready. Can’t wait to hang out with you.
Another message comes in with a link for a well-known conference call software.
Heat brushes my face and neck. I wiggle my toes in my shoes, venting the schoolgirlish giggles that I have. Why does this feel like a date? It’s just a phone call.
My reaction is irrational and completely uncalled for. I’m not allowed to date, and if I was, it certainly wouldn’t be with Royal Cavanagh.
I don’t even know if he likes me. It could simply be him being nice.
It’s two acquaintances hanging out in the late hours of the night.
Logic can call it that all it wants, but the butterflies in my stomach say otherwise.