He was asked? Sure he was. More like ordered by Daddy under threat of having his allowance revoked.
Man-child indeed.
"No need. Apparently, someone called Rita will be here soon to do just that."
"Rita has been called away, so I've had to take on the task."
The way he says the word “task” makes it blatantly clear how thrilled he is about being here.
"How lovely. Although I wonder, can you really spare the time from your busy schedule of princely duties?" I ask.
His jaw tightens. "I can."
"There's no slip n' slide you need to hurl yourself down? No fish to dislodge from a royal pond somewhere?"
Yes, I'm being rude back. Much like my treatment of the scatter cushion earlier, I'm good with it.
A muscle in his jaw leaps, his eyes narrowing a fraction. "Shall we begin the tour?"
We shall, Your Royal Reluctance.
"Give me two minutes." Without waiting for his reply, I close the door over—which feels better than it probably should—and quickly change into my Fabiana armor of a skirt suit, a pair of pumps, and my fake glasses. I apply my preferred shade of lipstick, aka Battle Red, and then swing the door open once more.
"I'm ready," I pronounce…to an empty hallway.
What the…?
I glance up the hallway, and then down it. There's no sign of him.
I chew my lip. Where is he? Is this a case of the great disappearing prince? Or maybe he's just playing a game, royal tit for tat as it were: I closed the door on him so he disappears.
Despite my irritation, I laugh. Because really, this is the most ridiculous situation we find ourselves in. Neither of us likes the other, neither of us respects the other, and yet here we are, about to embark on a lengthy project together.
I'm going to need to find a way to get on with this man, or else the next month will seem like an eternity.
"What's so funny?" asks a deep, velvety voice and I almost leap out of my heels.
I place my hand over my heart, which is hammering like it's at a rave, and turn to see the man-child himself, returned from wherever he'd scurried off to in this game of one-upmanship we both seem to be playing.
"Nothing, sir," I say brightly. "Now, this tour. Lead theway." I gesture down the corridor, and naturally Prince Max walks in the opposite direction.
This man!
I follow him through the corridor, doing double steps for each of his long-legged strides.
"If I'd realized this was going to be a cardio workout, I would have worn some running shoes," I say as we turn a corner and enter the public area of the palace.
"As you mentioned, I have other duties I must attend to," he says over his shoulder, and he actually speeds up his pace, so now I’m tottering in my heels at a potentially dangerous speed just to keep up.
"What would they be? Your duties?"
"The usual. Champagne on super-yachts. Partying in VIP sections of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs. A private jet trip with a supermodel." He comes to a sudden stop, and I almost slam right into him.
"So just a regular Monday for you?"
He glares at me. "These are the state rooms where we receive foreign dignitaries." He gestures at ornate double doors. "The throne room is through here."
He pushes the doors open briefly, and I see sparkling chandeliers, red carpet, portraits of monarchs dating back centuries. The atmosphere drips with privilege and power.
