Usually, people tell me toturn that crap off, orwhy the heck do you like this?This response is a new one, though, and it fills me with a strong sense of joy to be accepted for who I am.
“I’ll have to indulge you another time. My head won’t be a fan of that right now. Reality TV it is,” I say as I find my show,Singles in Saint Lucia. Since it’s one of my guilty pleasures, reveling in the lives of people and their drama, it’s already helping me relax
A few minutes into the show, Quentin places a plate of food on the center table, along with a glass of water.
“I could’ve gotten it myself,” I say as I sit up and slide across the couch to the table.
“And I could bring it. It’s no big deal,” he replies as he walks back into the kitchen, and the sound of a plate being taken out of the cupboard tells me he’s getting his own dinner ready.
I don’t why I do it, but I wait to take my first bite until Quentin sits on the other end of the couch with his plate on the center table.
My mouth bursts with flavor as I take my first bite and an uncontrollable moan hums in my throat.
Quentin raises a brow at me, his fork paused mid-air. “That good, huh?”
“You weren’t lying when you said you spent a lot of time in the kitchen as a teen,” I tease him, wanting to erase my moaning from his mind.
Rich laughter flows from his lips at my teasing, followed by a shrug as he casually says, “I was bored back home in Lorsica. WhenI didn’t have to check that Camille wasn’t being a menace, doing royal duties, or I wasn’t busy playing baseball, I was in the kitchen, learning from the staff. It made me feel good to help, and I wanted to learn something that would be useful in case my baseball dreams didn’t work out.”
Of course he would have an explanation as wholesome as that. I may not know him very well, but what I do know is that he’s an honest and caring person.
“What was it like growing up as a prince?” I ask curiously. “Sorry if I’m prying, but, well, I want to know. It’s not every day you meet a fairy-tale creature.”
“I think you need to redefine your definition of a fairy-tale creature.” His tone is light and sarcastic, making me smile and relax. It’s so easy to talk with him, which puts me at ease knowing this co-parenting thing isn’t going to be as hard as I thought.
I signal him to go on as I roll my eyes playfully, and he smirks but does as I ask.
“It was boring, honestly. As a kid, we had certain events we had to attend when all we wanted to do was play. We couldn’t go to birthday parties or social events unless we brought our entire security detail. My brothers and I had more freedom than Camille did, which is bullshit if you ask me. But since she was the only daughter, my parents were protective of her,” he remarks, his smile turning into a grimace. “Then, when I got older, my dad would drag me into his council meetings, and I nearly fell asleep every time. Politics bored me. The whole lifestyle did. But Antoine and Simon always loved it, and my dad made it known he resented me for not being like them.”
“You mentioned you still talk to one of your brothers, right? What about your parents?”
“Matheo’s the only one I talk to. He’s always been down to earth like Camille and me. My parents, on the other hand, I don’t speak to at all.”
His answer makes me think of my mom and how I had always wished she were around more. Yet his parents were there, but not really there. And I don’t know which is worse.
I swallow down the ache in my throat at the memories of my mom.
“So you traded one fame for another kind of fame,” I say after a sip of water, wanting to understand him more.
He sets his fork down as he pauses eating and says, “I guess. The kind of fame I had back home was…too much. Every move was being watched. I had to perform a certain way, and my actions reflected the crown. Whereas the fame here is different. Yes, I’m being watched by fans, but it’s not with such scrutiny. Unless I were to fuck up, of course. But it’s nice just being myself and doing what I love. All I have to do is stay out of trouble, which is easier to do now that I’m not rebelling against the constraints of my life.”
I nearly spit my chicken out. “You? A rebel?”
Quentin side-eyes me, but shakes his head as he chuckles. “You’re not the only one with a rebellious streak. I see you’ve had your fair share of disagreements, video compilations of you telling off paparazzi, wild fans and such.”
If only he knew about my most recent disagreement, the one that cut my career short. Well, for the time being, hopefully.
My body instantly heats with embarrassment as the memory of what happened comes crawling back, wrapping itself around my chest and squeezing so hard that it aches. No one besides Clara and Kaya know, and no one else ever will. Not if I want to make it back to the Olympics in two summers.
I wasn’t embarrassed about how I reacted. I was embarrassed about the lie I was protecting because of my own selfish desires. How fucked up am I not to go forth and tell the press about what really happened with my coaches and their threats, all because I so badly want to compete again?
I’m the girl who never puts up with any bullshit, and yet here I am, putting up with the biggest kind of bullshit ever. It’s so unlike me, and it drives me crazy, but I always suppress the thoughts because I’m too scared to do anything about it.
It’sa debate for another moment because right now all I want is to escape this conversation and slip into bed where he can’t see the coward I am.
“I’ve been in situations where I had to defend myself,” I respond curtly, my tone cold and biting.
Quentin sets his plate down as concern mars his face. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
