Page 117 of The Vacation Mix-Up
His father glares at the waitstaff. “That’s because they’re taking their sweet time.”
“I agree,” Kathy says, elevating her ass off the seat as is she’s preparing to tackle a waiter.
Just when I think this dinner couldn’t possibly get any funnier, Avery lifts her drawing of a stick figure with an enormous crown and shoves it toward Ben. “That’s Prince Charming. Not you.”
He grins at her. “Kid, I have a big crown too.”
I facepalm.Jesus!
“You do not,” Avery argues.
“Do so.”
“Princes are handsome and rich. You’re not.”
“I fucking am.”
“Ben!” we all cry.
“What?” he murmurs, sulking. “I am!”
After our dining session ends,Riles and I make our way through the atrium and past groups of photographers posing passengers in front of ritzy, painted backdrops as if they’re members of the royal family.
“Those poor kids,” she says, pointing at one of the setups. “They look as stiff as boards.”
“I’m more worried about the father. I don’t think he’s breathing.”
She giggles and grabs my arm. “Let’s get our formal photo taken. We can act snobby and pretentious.”
Reluctantly allowing her to drag me to the spot next in line, Icringe at the fake chandelier and grand staircase props. “This is stupid, Riles.”
“I know!”
“So why are we doing it?”
“Ease up,Riley. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun?” I point to the nearly-passed-out father. “He doesn’t look like he’s having fun.”
She ignores me, her voice posh. “If only I had my tiara and a glass of Chardonnay.”
“You have a tiara?” I ask, confused.
“No!” She blinks her pretty lashes at me. “Do I look like I own a tiara?”
I eye her up and down. “Yeah, you kinda do.”
Playfully scowling, she once again drags me forward when we’re called for our portrait.
“Good evening,” the photographer says. “Please, have a seat, ma’am.” He ushers Riles to a stool and positions her, slightly angled, her knees pressed together, her hands neatly resting on her lap. “And you, sir, stand behind her and place your hand on her shoulder.”
I do as I’m told, feeling outright ridiculous.
“Excellent! Very nice.” He snaps a few shots and then checks his screen. “Now, ma’am, raise your right hand and place it over his. Yes, like that. And now look up over your shoulder and into his eyes. And you, sir, lean forward and look into her eyes too.”
For fuck’s sake. Does anyone actually buy these stupid portraits?
Awkwardly bending down, I lock eyes with Riles.
