Page 42 of The Thing About My Prince
ME
Totally real. Hopefully the mattress is a lot newer than the frame.
BECCA
Be sure to check under it for a pea.
ME
Oh, the parents have already decided I’m not princess material. They don’t need any vegetables to clarify it for them.
BECCA
This all sounds like a nightmare waiting to happen. Take care of yourself. I’ve gotta run to proof the intern’s Instagram caption. He’s already almost posted next week’s crossword answers today.
Yeah, it probably does look like a potential nightmare from the outside. But it’ll be fine. I just need to do what I have to do to get through the next two weeks here and turn my first draft of this damn book in before Christmas.
It’s only as I haul myself up that it dawns on me that the floor-to-ceiling velvet curtains have been drawn.
And the lamp on the nightstand is on.
Neither Oliver nor I have been back to the room since earlier.
Does a staff member go around closing all the curtains as soon as it gets dark?
Or did someone do it as an excuse to come in and check on their listening device?
I peer into the vase on the nightstand. The bug’s still there.
“Bastards,” I mutter to myself, grabbing two pillows from the bed and tossing them onto the chaise as I pass it and head to the dresser.
There must be some spare bedding in here somewhere.
Opening the drawers reveals nothing but a musty aroma until I get to the bottom row and find some sheets and blankets.
I leave them in a neat pile on the chaise with the pillows. Then, two steps away from it, I figure it might be nicer if I make it up for Oliver so it’s all ready when he gets here.
Once I’ve tucked a sheet around the cushion, plumped the pillows, and laid out another sheet with a couple of blankets on top, it looks pretty cozy. And the chaise is long, so hopefully his feet won’t dangle too far off the edges.He’ll be fine.
I grab my toiletry bag from my case and head to the bathroom.
As I get out my face wash, moisturizer, toothbrush, and toothpaste, my brain rewinds over our shower sex fakery.
What the hell will whoever’s bugging this room make of that? Maybe we took it a bit far. It was very funny though.
Oliver certainly enjoyed it. The genuine delight on his face and his stifled hearty laughter lit him up. Wonder when the last time was that he had fun like that.
Of course I’ve seen pictures and footage of him at Boston Commoners’ games where he’s shouting and cheering and clapping in the owners’ box at the stadium. But that’s not the same as his unbridled hilarity at our joke.
Lathering my face in the mirror reminds me of his “I want to soap up all your special little places” comment, and my reflection chuckles back at me.
After just this short time with him, I have to concede that he seems like a genuinely good guy who has a lot going for him. Or at least he will if I can write an amazing book that helps to rehab his image and create some income for him at the same time.
I hadn’t expected this job to become one I want to do well rather than to just get over with. But it’s impossible not to be affected by the tiny glimpse I’ve had of what he has to tolerate.
Why can’t the press see who he really is?
Or his parents, for that matter? How can they not know their own son?
