Regards,
Dylan
P.S. Were you surprised to see an eight-foot version of yourself on the side of the plane this morning?
I stare at her email for a full minute, then let out a long, irritated sigh. When Dylan says she’s got something epic in the works, it usually involves me taking my clothes out of my suitcase, putting them directly through the wash, only to pack and leave again. Only now, I get to do it on a plane with a horrifyingly large image of me grinning and giving two giant thumbs up on both sides. When they said they were making me the face of the new network, this isn’t what I had in mind. I forward the email to Arabella, knowing she’s likely to say a big no to the meeting. She hates Dylan with a passion, and I can’t blame her. Dylan did try to out her family’s deepest, most painful secret for a ratings bump last year.
Arabella responds almost immediately via text.Why on earth would she want me there?
Me:No clue. Probably a new show idea. It’s fine, I’ll tell her you can’t make it.
Her:I think I should go. It’ll give me a chance to put my diplomacy skills to work. See if we can’t put a stop to the oiling up of my fiancé’s upper body.
"Don't tell me you're working," Mac says. He seats himself next to me. "Isn’t this the part where the crew gets to celebrate on the flight home after weeks of filming?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to save my celebrating for another time. I need to get through these three booklets by the time we land."
The flight attendant appears with my coffee and some biscuits. She sets them on the table in front of me. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Banks?"
"No, thank you."
"Coffee?" Mac asks. “The rest of us have ordered whiskey sours."
"Well, have one for me," I say, returning my gaze to my laptop screen.
Mac picks up the Royal Protocol Handbook and starts flipping through it.Here we go. I should not have left that out.
He barks out a laugh, then says, "Proper bowing order?” He reads from the page, but not before switching from his Scottish accent to a very posh English one. “Upon entering the room, you must bow at the waist, first to King Winston, followed by Prince Arthur, followed by Princess Flora, Prince James…" He pauses and looks at me. "Aren't they the babies?"
I feel my skin heating up with embarrassment. "Preschoolers, yes. But they’re third and fourth in line for the throne, so they outrank everyone else."
"And you’re sure you're going to be happy having to bow to your wife every time you enter a room?"
“Obviously no one expects me to do this in everyday situations. It's only during formal occasions."
He flips another page and then busts out laughing again, getting Tosh’s attention.
He walks up to us with a broad grin. “What’s so funny?”
Mac’s still chuckling while he says, “He has to study to become a royal husband. Get this—Will has to walk five paces behind his future wife for the rest of his life."
I grab the book out of his hands and place it underneath the other ones. "We’re not going to follow that one."
“Then why’d they put it in the handbook?” Mac asks. He looks at Tosh, who’s sporting a huge grin. “I don’t think Will’s going to be the one to wear the crown in his family.”
“I don’t think so either,” Tosh says, making a clicking sound and wincing. “That’s quite the life you’re setting up for yourself.”
“Yes, it is—an extraordinary one—so if you two tossers would excuse me, I owe it to my future wife to prepare.”
“You sure you want to do this, mate?” Tosh asks. “You’re not exactly the kind of guy who lets other people tell you what to do.”
“What are you talking about?” Mac says to him. “He’s spent the last six months letting Dylan Sinclair and Veronica Platt micromanage his every move. At least with Arabella, there are some lovely benefits that come with the package.” Mac waggles his thick red eyebrows in a way that makes me want to pop him one.
“First of all, we arenotgoing to talk about my benefits with Belle.Ever. Second, she’s an incredible person and she’s worth any amount of studying or whatever else I’d have to do because I’m lucky to get to spend the rest of my life with her.” I narrow my eyes at Mac. “And third, Arabella and I are fully committed to making our decisions as a team—with both of us having equal say in everything.”
He holds up his palms in surrender. “No need to get defensive. You clearly both are going to wear the crowns in your relationship,” he says. “Hers’ll just be a little bigger.”
I sigh and roll my eyes, then it occurs to me that the more I show how irritating this conversation is, the longer it will last. “Okay, have your fun, but realize that when this plane lands, I’m going to spend the night with the love of my life and you’re going home to your empty flats.”
