Arabella makes a tiny squeaking noise and I turn to her. “What was that?”
“I didn’t say anything,” she mutters, raising her eyebrows as if I’m hearing things. “For someone who says he’s in such a hurry, you certainly stop a lot to make videos.”
“It’s part of the job,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “Oh, right. Sorry. Ajobis something people do to make money. You see, they have to perform certain tasks as laid out by their employer. If they complete the tasks, they get paid so they can afford things like food and rent.”
She ignores my dig and whispers, “Are you still standing there talking?” She wrinkles up her nose and gives me a ‘you’re not all that bright, are you?’ look before she starts walking again.
I catch up with her after a few steps, then zigzag around her so I’m in front again. “I know it’s not royal protocol but out here,youwalk a few steps behindme.” Now I’m just being a prick.
“Right. I’m happy to let you go first,” she says. Dropping her voice, she adds, “If that’s what it takes to make you feel like a big man…”
I shake my head, regretting ever getting on that helicopter with her as I slash through the brush with more vigor than needed. After a minute, I turn to her and feign being apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, earlier I forgot to explain what rent was. You probably don’t know.”
“I suddenly understand why you love it so much in the wilderness,” Arabella says in a facetious tone. “It’s the only place big enough for your giant ego.”
“I donothave a giant ego.”
“You most certainly do.” She lifts her chin at me. “You’re by far the most arrogant, smug man I’ve ever met. And I knowKanye West.”
“Really? Of the two of us, you thinkI’mthe one with an attitude?” I let out a frustrated chuckle. “That’s rich coming from someone who’s probably never even seen a washing machine.”
“You know what?” she asks, her eyes growing wild with rage. “Shut up!”
“Shut up?!”
“Yes. Shut up.” She nods once. “I can’t bear another word of your self-satisfied, know-it-all commentary about the jungle and survival and … and …me! You don’t know the first thing about my life, so just shut up already.”
“Let’s get one thing straight. This ismy show.” I stab my chest with my thumb. “Mine.And in case you hadn’t noticed,youneedme, and not the other way around, so don’t tell me to shut up or to do anything else for that matter. Because if you do, I’ll happily leave you here to get eaten by leopards.”
Her head snaps back. “Oh really?!”
“Really!”
“You thinkthat’sgoing to scare me?” She scoffs. “I’d actuallyratherbe torn apart by a pack of hungry leopards than have to suffer through another minute of listening to you drone on and on with that smug smile on your stupid face.”
Stupid? Wow. Just wow. “For your information, leopards rarely travel in groups, and if they do, it’s either called a leap or a prowl,” I yell. “Not a pack!”
With that, I turn on my heel and storm through the brush, whacking at anything in my path with a rage-filled vengeance. I’m getting the hell out of here now—with or without her royal hagness.
13
If a princess poops in the woods, is she still a princess?
Arabella
I stomp along behind him,imitating his voice quietly but furiously, “I’m sorry. You probably don’t know what rent is. Oh, that’s rich coming from someone who’s never seen a washing machine.” Holding up both middle fingers, I scowl at his back like the world’s most immature woman. “I’ve seen washing machines, thank you very much. I own a television.”
Oh, stop it, Arabella. You’re the one who wanted to go on a big, shiny adventure.
We walk along for a long time in silence, and after a while, my anger gives way to exhaustion. Yes, he’s an arse, but I’m not exactly Princess Peach at the moment. It’s so bloody hot here that every article of clothing I’m wearing is sticking to me. As is my hair. Errant pieces of it keep landing on my face and adhering themselves to my skin like those sticky hand toys kids love so much. You know the ones—they’re like tiny neon hands with long stringy handles that you slap against the window, then get yelled at by the maid because it’ll leave a mark and shejust cleaned that!
I'm sure I must be absolutely disgusting. At this point I'm literally dripping with sweat, my antiperspirant doesn’t seem to be up to ‘jungle standard,’ and my mouth is so dry it feels like cotton balls have been stuffed into it, even though the rest of my body is completely moist. And even the fact that I just used the word moist shows you exactly what kind of shape I’m in at the moment because,moist. Eww.
I hear the faint sound of running water, maybe a creek or a river or some such, but I'm so close to delirium I assume my mind is playing tricks on me. It seems like we've been walking for years now, even though I know it's all just one horrid, sweat-filled, starving, terrifying, humiliating afternoon. The sound of the water reminds me I haven’t gone to the loo in a very long time, which reminds me of something I’m trying very hard to ignore. I need to pee… and dothe other thingyou do in the loo. But since I refuse to ask Mr. Condescending how, I’ve resigned myself to holding it until we reach the sweet relief of a hotel toilet.
I can hold it for several days, can’t I? I’m sure I’ve heard of people doing it before. I doubt it’s advisable, but then again, nothing I’ve done since my first flute of champagne at that bloody wedding has been in any way a good idea.
It's not just the overwhelming ocean of regret I'm swimming in. I’m drowning in hatred for this man. I can’t believe I’ve chosen to spend the next several days (or thelastfew days of my life, depending on how this works out) with someone like him. All day, he’s been providing his ultra-condescending survival commentary. I know he has to do it as part of the show, but there is a definite undercurrent of passive-aggressiveness to it, like everything he's saying is with the express intent of scaring the living shit out of me.
