Page 22 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
Now I listen to Rafe and Lorelei arguing as I change into Lorelei’s black, silk pajamas that she’s left out for me. No sleeping in a grubby, old tee for her. I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this luxurious in my life. I don’t know why I’ve agreed to go along with any of this. The rational part of me wants to run away. But the day spa-curious part of me is rallying to stay.
“No,” Rafe objects. “No way. I am not going to be a part of this ridiculous exchange. Have you lost your mind? And have you forgotten that I have a small child? You expect me to be fine with a complete stranger staying on the property with me and my child?”
“And your little dog, too!” Lorelei imitates the witch inThe Wizard of Oz.
“You think this is funny?” Rafe summons thunderclouds.
“It’s a little funny,” Lorelei giggles. “When you did that thing with the whisk and flung her wig. And when you were all ‘who are you’ with the accent?” She wipes a tear from her eye. “God, I hope the security cam footage has sound.”
I slip into the kitchen quietly, my feet clad in Lorelei’s plush socks. My hair is wrapped in a towel, but I can still smell the delicious scent of orange-blossom conditioner. It left my hair completely tangle free without weighing it down. I don’t know how I’m going to live without it now.
“For the record, I didn’t think it was fun being threatened with kitchen implements,” I say. I can’t even look at Rafe. Lorelei’s hand waves back in his direction as if to say,Take it up with him.
“I don’t see what your problem is anyway, Rafe.” Lorelei pours two cups of hot tea and hands one to me and one to Rafe. “You’re not even going to be here. Lock up the mansion. Kenna will stay here in the guesthouse. She’s just going to hang out and chill. Nobody’s going to be any the wiser.”
“Actually”—Rafe folds his arms across his broad chest and leans back against the counter
—“there’s been a change of plans. That’s what I was coming over to tell you.”
“Change of plans?” Lorelei asks.
“I’m not going to LA. My mom decided she’d rather spend the week with me and Orly here. We’ll all fly down this weekend to visit Disney and see my sister.”
“Your mom is coming to visit youhere?” Lorelei asks.
“Why not? She’s never been to the Pacific Northwest, and she wants to spend some one-on-one time with Orly.” Rafe stirs some honey into his tea. “So you can see why all this is impossible.”
By this, he means me. He waves a dismissive hand in my direction.
“Wrong!” Lorelei disagrees with Rafe. Then she turns to me to explain. “His mom hates me,” she says, turning this into an argumentforthe switch. “All the more reason why it’s better for everyone if I’m not here this week.”
“Lorelei, are you even listening to me?” Rafe is getting frustrated. “My mother doesn’t hate you. She just hates how you won’t listen to anyone.”
“Well, I hate how she’s always trying to tell me what to do and guilt-tripping me about the momager. She has four kids of her own. She needs to back off. I am a grown-ass woman. I don’t need any more parenting.” Rafe and I both watch as Lorelei stirs a pile of colorful marshmallows into her cocoa.
“She means well, Lorelei,” he says. “She cares about you.”
“You need to listen to me, Rafe. I need some time off! I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get some downtime in between projects.”
“So take some time. Sleep in. Go to a spa. What was that wine spa place Zara recommended we try?” Rafe asks.
“The Arbors. I booked it but—” Lorelei stares off into the middle distance, sadly.
“But what?” Rafe interrupts. “What’s the problem?”
Rafe turns to look at me now, but it’s like he’s looking right through me, like I’m not really here. Like I’m an extra. A prop. “I can’t even wrap my head around the reason why this dog photographer is still here and wearing your clothes, Lorelei. You have to admit, it’s all a little weird, even for you.”
Lorelei’s nostrils flare, and she squares her shoulders as she steps closer to Rafe. Her eyes are all Ember-ified. The only things missing are the CGI fireballs. “Kenna’s not ‘just a dog photographer,’ and I’m the one who insisted we swap clothes. Did you not notice that we lookexactly like each other?”
Rafe looks from me to Lorelei and back again. “Okay, there’s a resemblance, but it’s superficial. Anyone who knows you will see right through the ruse.”
“Tabitha didn’t,” Lorelei argues. “And neither did you, right away.”
“Of course I did,” Rafe says. “I knew immediately. She wasn’t standing like you, or speaking like you. She wasn’t even breathing like you.”
“Okay, Sherlock. You’re extraordinarily observant,” Lorelei fawns sarcastically.
Suddenly, all I want to do is go home and sleep off this fever dream.
