Page 11 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
“Don’t be silly, Dean. I don’t speak Russian! I was six months old when my mom adopted me. I wasn’t even speaking yet. And no, I haven’t been back. I kind of won the lottery with my mom and the uncles. Theyaremy REAL parents. I have no idea who my biological parents are. I mean, I wish them well, but aside from collecting some genetic info from them, I’ve never really wanted to seek them out. I know not all adoptees feel the same way as me, but my feeling is that it’s best to leave well enough alone. Who knows what kind of nut jobs I came down from, right?” Kenna gives a little self-deprecating laugh.
“Well, their loss. They must have been crazy to abandon you,” Dean agrees, squarely stepping in it again. He’s clearly ignorant about the many complex socioeconomic and cultural issues that led to a wave of Eastern European adoptions in the 1990s. But Kenna lets this misstep slide as well.
“Obviously,” Kenna joshes, unperturbed. “Crazies!”
Her attitude almost reminds me of the momager. Every time I wanted to search for my bio parents, she would say, “Lorelei, we don’t know what kind of folks you came from. They must have been desperate. They might still be desperate. Do you really want to open that can of worms? Why can’t you just be happy with the life you have? Why isn’tmylove enough?”
Maybe the momager should have adopted this girl instead of me.
“So what’s the other reason you wanted to introduce us?”
“Well, I was really hoping to introduce you and Rafe to Kenna today.” He turns back to Kenna and says, “I’m so sorry you didn’t get to meet Rafe. He had to leave early, but he’s a great guy. You’ll see.”
“She will?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Yes, she will. Kenna is shooting the cast photos. She’s an amazing local photographer.”
“Excuse me, Dean,” Kenna interjects. “I haven’t said yes. I said I would tell you my answer today.”
“So you’re a food delivery person and a photographer?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I hope you’re not planning to become a member of the paparazzi this summer.” I’ve seen it happen before. A little access and a long lens are an enticing and lucrative combo for some ambitious amateurs.
“Never!” Kenna looks shocked and insulted. “Some of them are here, though. A man tried to follow me on my way to the theater today.”
“Really?” Dean looks concerned. “Thanks for mentioning it. We’ll have to let security know. I’m glad that you and Rafe are staying together at that estate,” Dean says. “It makes me feel better that you’re not alone and the place is gated.”
“Not to mention the security cameras all over the property,” I comment. “It’s likeBetter Homes& GardensmeetsOrange Is the New Black.”
“Oh, please,” Dean scoffs. “It’s a gorgeous estate. Beautiful gardens. They do wedding shoots there. Actually, now that I think about it, we should get Kenna over there. She should do the cast photos there.”
“Listen, Dean,” Kenna says. She looks completely dejected, staring at and talking to her shoes rather than facing the man she was joking with a moment ago.
“I’m sorry to let you down, but I need to get my camera serviced. So I don’t think I can do the shots after all.”
“Nevermind that. We’ll just rent you something.” Dean puts a hand on her shoulder and flaps his other one, waving her concerns away. “I’ll have my team set something up for next week. In the meantime, maybe you want to scout locations for the shoot? Check out the gardens at the estate? What do you say, Lorelei?”
“When are you free?” I ask Kenna. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Free for what?” she asks distractedly, still looking at Dean in the manner of someone who is trying to do complex restaurant bill math in their head.
“To scout out locations for the shoot on the property where I’m staying?” I restate the question, speaking a little slowly. She blushes.
“Um … right. Of course. I dunno, whenever? My schedule is pretty flexible. My uncles are away, but I’ve got a lot of help at the diner. I could do any day really.” Kenna shrugs as she gives her laid-back answer to my question, causing my “normal girl” jealousy to flare like one of Ember’s smoking fireballs.
Her schedule is “flexible.” She can get away “whenever.” Must be nice. The last time my schedule was truly flexible and I could “do any day” was … I think back as far as my memory allows. Oh, yeah—never!
There’s no way I’m going to be able to relax until I can ask her more questions about her adoption.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” I check the schedule on the clipboard in my bag. I have a three-hour block in the afternoon that I’ve set aside for practicing myMidsummer Nightlines, checking in with the advisory board, and scheduling my social media. I can rearrange that a little. I already know the entire play by heart.
“Nothing too serious,” she shrugs.
“Why don’t you stop by the property after lunch.” I smile cordially at her, attempting to be friendly and professional now. Like I’m not some kind of weirdo who’s toying with the idea of requesting a DNA sample from her. Like I’m not scared she’ll say no. And most of all, I’m doing my best to act like it’s not completely freaking me out that looking at her face is like looking in the mirror.
If this was aMoxie McAllisterepisode, I’d be scheming a way to steal her hairbrush right now so I could send strands of her hair in for analysis.
And what would the results show? What am I even hoping for here?
“Sure, what time?” She smiles at me shyly, and I see a flicker of the same recognition in the mirror of her eyes. This has got to be a little freaky for her, too.
