Page 68 of The Princess and the Paparazzi
Why hadn’t I? Mostly because I’d been waiting for the other Mickey Mitt to drop. I still can’t believe it’s really happening. And with so little notice. Most people I know spend months, if not years, planning a Disney trip.
Yes. All true. Private jet. Disney. Rafe Barzilay.
I don’t have enough patience to write in full sentences, so I bullet-point with plane, princess, and star emoji.
Pinch me!
I’m pinching myself on your behalf. What are you going to wear?
No clue! Help!
Have you heard of Disneybounding?
???? What’s Disneybounding?
It’s when you theme outfits based on characters. Hold please. I’ll pull images from Pinterest and call you back on FaceTime.
Thank goodness for Georgia. Hopefully, there’s something in Lorelei’s closet that will work.
* * *
Two hours later, I head over to the main house to grab some more food items. I’m still wearing the green, silk dress for the Tinkerbell-themed ensemble that Georgia and I have ruled out in favor of Aurora.
As I near the house, I hear the hum of a motor, and I am surprised to find Rafe riding in very slow circles around the yard in an old-fashioned motorcycle. Orly is strapped into a harness in the side car, donning a helmet, and Princess is sitting on her lap, wearing her own tiny helmet and jeweled harness.
“Lorelei.” Rafe waves, rolling to a stop near me. “We were just taking a break after playing croquet.”
“I winned!” Orly reaches into the sidecar, producing a small, wooden mallet. She attempts to swing it over her head victoriously, but Rafe just reaches out one arm and snatches it away. “What did we talk about, Orly?”
“I Rey!” She screws up her face and tries to look ferocious.
“This is not a lightsaber.” Rafe shakes his head. “Someone could get hurt.” He tosses the tiny mallet onto the lawn and jumps off the bike. Quickly, he undoes Orly’s harness and helmet. Next, he removes Princess from the side carrier and sets her down, careful to hold on to her leash.
“It’s just about time for Orly’s nap.”
Orly rushes over to me, flinging herself at my legs. She grabs the hem of my silky, green dress and rubs the fabric on her face. “Pretty, Lie Lie!”
“Thanks, Lee Lee.” I settle on a nickname for her. Two can play at that game.
“Lee Lee and Lie Lie!” Orly declares, patting my leg and shoving her thumb in her mouth. Her eyes are closing as she leans against me.
“Okay, I think it’s time for Lee Lee to lie down. Someone looks sleepy.” Rafe scoops both her and the dog up, then asks, “Can you stick around for lunch? My mom made bourekas.”
“Okay,” I answer tentatively. “You sure? I was just going to grab a few things and bring them back to the guesthouse.”
“Don’t go anywhere.” Naomi comes out through the sliding doors, holding a tray full of flaky pastries. “I was just about to send someone over to come get you. I insist you join us.”
“Give me a minute,” Rafe says. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to grab the nanny and see if she can get Orly settled. Maybe after lunch, you and I can go for a drive.”
“Okay,” I say. “Can I help?”
“I think this is everything,” Naomi says, leading me around the side of the house to a shady patio where a gorgeous table has been laid for three, with beautiful, floral linens, toile plates, and silver cutlery. It looks like something out of a magazine spread. But many of the items on the table are not familiar to me, starting with the tray of flaky pastries Naomi is setting down.
“These look a little like spanakopita,” I say, “but with sesame seeds. Is that feta cheese?”
“Yes, the recipe is similar, and they have the same roots.” Naomi looks impressed. “These have ricotta as well.” She sets the tray on the table and rearranges some of the plates, moving pickles closer to the olives and setting nuts off to one side.
“What’s this white stuff?” I ask, pointing at a bowl of what looks like pale, thinned peanut butter.
