Five
Becca
If my less-than-graceful exit from the carriage is any indication, I’m not going to be on this show very long. I’m bound to get a concussion from tripping in a ball gown, and I can’t imagine even a tragic back story will save me then.
Also, why are the driveway stones wet? It hasn’t rained in forever. Do the producers purposely spray them down? I’ll need to ask Nate.
More importantly, I need to stop thinking of excuses to talk to Nate again and focus on the man I’m walking toward—Prince Charming. I’ve got to admit, the guy is really good-looking. Not a demi-god, but he’s got the clean-cut handsomeness of an actor in some Golden Age of Hollywood film. A film about European royalty, judging by the costume. He’s got dark hair styled neatly back and a nice, even smile.
A smile that doesn’t have nearly the same effect on me as Nate’s.
“My lady,” he says when I reach him. He bows and kisses the back of my hand lightly. “I’m Preston.”
I can’t blame him for the stilted greeting.They always make the princes do this, which means he’s already kissed about twenty other hands by now.
I don’t care about that, though. My hand is still feeling the tingles from when Nate was holding it in the carriage; My whole body is tingling from all that talk, risque and otherwise, and that deep draw of being around him. God, Ireallyneed to rein this in. I mean, yeah, five months is a long time, but I’ve gone way longer between getting laid and not had this level of reaction to a guy. Is it his inherent unattainability? Is it the way he—
Stop. Focus.
I force a smile back at Preston and withdraw my hand quickly. I’m going to need it for my greeting, after all. I try to ignore the cameramen and producers around us and the mic pack I keenly feel again, taped against my back under my dress.
“It’s nice to meet you, Preston,” I say, signing as I talk. His eyebrows rise, but I keep going with my prepared speech, which I thankfully remember just in time. “I’m Becca. I have two incredible daughters, and one of them is deaf, so my family has all learned sign language.” I silently thank Nate for the ideas on how to best phrase this introduction. “I’d love to teach you some when we get a chance to talk later.”
“I’d love that,” Preston says, and he actually sounds sincere. “I look forward to getting to chat with you some more, Becca.” He kisses my hand again, and I make a little curtsy like the producers encouraged me to do when we went over my intro.Then I turn and walk down the (also wet) lantern-lined pathway toward the mansion.
There. Short and sweet. I’ve met the prince. I managed to make it past step one, and other than the initial tumble in the carriage—fromthe carriage,from—I think it went well.
The thick carved-oak door of the mansion is partially ajar, and I push it the rest of the way open and walk in.There’s a cameraman inside filming my entrance and reaction to the house.The entryway itself is large, with dark, shiny tiles and arches that have a similar carved wood to the door. But it’s the main gathering room right off the hall that makes my eyes widen, for a few reasons.
First, because it’s a gorgeous room, furnished with plush couches and glass-top tables and tufted ottomans.The room wouldn’t look out of place in Caesar’s Palace in Vegas, what with all the creamy marble and etched columns and delicate golden mosaic patterns in the floor.
I recognize this room from past seasons ofChasing Prince Charming, but it’s far more impressive in person.
The second and bigger reason I am taken aback is because this room is filled with beautiful women in big ball gowns, and the moment I step inside, I swear they all turn and look at me like they are one creepy, multi-headed entity.The ambient noise of talking dips to virtually nothing for about two seconds, then they turn back to whatever they were doing before, having either sussed out the latest threat or determined that I’m not Preston. A few keep sneaking looks this way, though, and one supermodel type with long strawberry-gold hair gives me a wide, overeager smile that I have the instinct not to trust.
It’s like I’m the new girl walking into the lunchroom, but worse. I’m the new girl walking into the lunchroom at the Hunger Games Academy. My palms are getting sweaty, and I resist the urge to wipe them on my dress. I look around for Nate, but don’t see him anywhere.There are lots of crew members around—cameramen, producers, sound people, assistants—but he’s not one of them.
He said he’d meet me inside, but probably he didn’t mean right away. It’s not like he isn’t hard at work at a busy job that requires much more of him than to babysit me. And I’m a grown woman. I can handle difficult situations and new challenges, all on my own.
It’s one of the many things my therapist has had me tell myself over the last three years. I’ve gotten to where I believe it most of the time. I’m not sure this is one of those times, but “fake it ’til you make it” isn’t a terrible strategy. I start forward, hoping to avoid setting my dress on fire from any of the millions of candles clustered on every conceivable surface.
That’s never happened on this show, but there’s always a first time.
The strawberry-blond girl walks briskly over to me, her movements in her glittering pale-green gown so fluid that it’s clear she’s not new to fancy evening wear. She’s got a champagne flute in her hand. “Hi there,” she says with a southern drawl, still smiling too wide. “I’m Madison. I’m from the southern part of Arkansas. You can probably tell from my accent, right?” She launches on before I can answer that I don’t think I could pinpoint Arkansas on a map, let alone the local accent. “I was Miss Arkansas just last year, actually.”
Wow, going right into the brag. Okay. “Hi,” I say. “I’m Becca. From about an hour away from here.”
She watches me expectantly, like she’s waiting for me to follow it up with, what? Pageant credentials? I’m tempted to say, “I was Miss Sunset View Apartments. I beat out Mrs. Hubbert next door, but only because she had hip replacement surgery.” But I’m not sure my humor would translate well with this crowd, andThea begged me not to tell stupid jokes.
I think Nate would have laughed, though.
Would Preston?
“Oh,” she says when a beat of silence passes. “So, how was meeting Preston? He really is just as charming as the title, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” I say, though I’m not sure how much charm I can read off a polite greeting. “It went well. We didn’t get a chance to say too much, but I figure I’ll talk to him more later.”
“You can’t just assume that, you know,” another voice says, and we turn to see a short, perky brunette in sleek, shimmery lavender, also with a champagne flute in hand. “Have you seen this show before? You have to make every minute with Preston count, because you may not get very much time with him.” She looks utterly convinced of this—petrified even, her blue eyes comically wide.
