by Karr, Kim
Duty calls.
I have a duty to my country. Remembering this, I know I should leave now and avoid questions that go along with goodbyes. What’s your number? Can I call you? Etc. No, that’s a lie. I should leave now, so I don’t ask the questions that go along with goodbyes.
Numbers.
Names.
Places.
Ridiculous.
I can’t give him any of that.
Always ruled by discipline, I force myself to rise to my feet and slip out the door where I then hurry down the hall before I can change my mind.
I don’t look back.
Time is short.
I have a plane to catch and a husband, too.
A ROYAL FLUSH
The Eastwood Examiner
Breaking News
A ROLL OF THE DICE
By Dominick Wilfork
The gaming rooms in Eastwood are what it is all about, and many people come from miles and miles to roll the dice at the casinos.
King Rutherford’s argument for commercialized gambling throughout the Vespa Isles is that it will stimulate the economy by promoting tourism, increasing tax revenue, and creating jobs.
Unfortunately, his opposition might be stronger, though. The argument against him is that commercialized gaming harms both the economy and the people of our countries by causing bankruptcy, addiction, violent crimes, theft, and substance abuse. In addition, it will take business away from surrounding attractions.
Both sides are right. But the gaming industry’s economic impact on the Vespa Isles might not be what the King is worried about.
Could it be his own coffers he fears for?
You didn’t hear that from me.
NO GLASS SLIPPERS
The plane banks over TF Green Airport and I can see the Providence skyline. The forty minute commute to Newport, the city where almost every royal family from the Vespa Isles has a cottage, still seems so far away.
But it’s where I must go.
It is, after all, known as the majestic playground.
This little New England town has long been associated with its Gilded Age mansions, its fancy boats, luxury cars, water, its money. And to us, it’s been the summer vacation destination spot for those very same reasons.
Although the monarchs themselves hardly ever summer in the States anymore, they’ve chosen Monaco as their new playground, their extended families still make use of their luxurious estates every year.
With dozens of unwed royal jetsetter playboys in this one location, I have chosen to come here and search for a man to sit beside me on the throne.
The Blanchette cottage is empty, as it always is, however, Rachel and I won’t be staying there. It’s one of the first places my uncle will look for me. Instead, we’ll be staying at the Montgomery Estate. According to Rachel, social media has decided I’m a runaway bride. No one would think to look for me at my ex-fiancé’s place, which makes it the perfect spot for what I have planned.
The flight from Paris has been long and bumpy, and I am glad to see the ground from where I sit.
Glancing over to the seat beside me, I notice Rachel has her computer open on her lap, and although she should be packing it away, she’s tapping the keyboard like mad. More than likely, she’s wasting time while waiting for me to give her my attention so she can show me the profiles of men she’s selected for the open position.
Men.
I don’t want men.
I want one man.
A man I absolutely cannot have.
And yet, he’s all I can think about right now. A light shiver works over my skin as I recall last night in vivid detail. The way he touched me. The way he moved. The way he brought me to orgasm over and over. Unwanted, the soft sound of a sigh leaves my lips.
“This is a very inappropriate question but I have to know,” Rachel says wistfully. “Was his sword like ten inches long?”
I snort. “His sword? I said I think he might be a soccer player, not a knight in shining armor.”
“You know what I mean,” she huffs in exasperation. “His ding-dong, Twinkie, hockey stick, penis.”
Covering my ears with my hands, I shake my head. “Enough with the descriptions, I get it.”
The older lady who is sitting in front of us turns around and raises her brows as if waiting for me to respond to the question. She’s made small talk with me most of the trip. The lonely woman said I remind her of her granddaughter. Wonder if she still thinks that?
“I’m sorry, Miss, I’m going to have to ask you stow your computer,” the airline hostess says to Rachel.
The woman quickly turns back around and Rachel’s and my own laughter halts. Although I’m not sure who heard what, I am sure my identity is intact because Rachel and I look like a couple of bumbling twenty-four-year-olds who are boy crazy.
Begrudgingly, Rachel slides her laptop in the case and shoves it in the overhead compartment. When she sits back down, she places an elbow on the armrest and whispers, “We are not finished with that conversation.”
Easing my head back against the seat, I close my eyes. “I think we are.”
“Fine, but for the record, you have a long way to go when it comes to learning how to let a friend live vicariously through you.”
I shrug. “I don’t kiss and tell.” Tiredness seeps into my bones and the smile I give her is the last thing I remember before I feel the bump of the plane landing. When my purse rolls out from under the seat in front of me and my lip gloss tumbles from it along with the plastic room key, I sigh again.
“You have it bad,” Rachel comments as she bends to get my things. “One-night stands are supposed to be flashes in the night. Now, get him out of your head. We have a lot of work to do.”
Compartmentalizing, organizing, arranging, are all things my private secretary is very good at. But understanding isn’t one of the ing’s where she excels. “It isn’t that easy,” I tell her when she bends down and hands me the key.
“Guess you forgot to turn this in,” she says.
“Was I supposed to?” I ask.
She shrugs. “It’s plastic and not reusable, anyway. I’ll do remote check out when we get to the house. It will be fine.”
The pilot is making announcements and the flight hostesses are tidying up, and both save me from having to say anymore on the matter.
When the plane arrives at the gate, Rachel immediately stands. I never fly commercial, so watching the passengers who are in a hurry to deplane, cluttering the aisle, is somewhat entertaining. Everyone will be off the plane promptly, so I don’t understand the rush.
“Come on,” Rachel tells me with such impatience, I find that I’m standing and hurrying myself.
A quick glance at my watch tells me it’s later than I thought. The woman in front of me turns back. “It was nice talking to you.”
“You too,” I respond, glancing up and smiling. “Have a safe trip home and enjoy your grandchildren,” I tell her.
She smiles at me and then starts for the door. “You’re such a sweetie.”
And I sigh again. Sweetie. Sweet thing. Why does everything remind me of him? I do have it bad.
Rachel rolls her eyes and then steps behind her.
“What?” I whisper in her ear.
With a slight turn of her head over her shoulder, she whispers, “You’re supposed to be incognito, and that includes not talking to strangers who might very well recognize you.”
All I can do is shrug. People are merely drawn to me. Rachel says it’s my charm, I hope she’s right. Every head of state needs charisma to get anyone to listen.
“Put these on,” she tells me, handing me an oversized pair of sunglasses. “And take this.” When she shoves one of her two bags at me, I’m a bit surprised and do a poor job of hiding it.
“You look strange with nothing in your hands. Travelers always carry bags or at least those who planned to travel.”
Sighing once again, I place the oversized Jackie O glasses on my
face and hoist the heavy bag onto my shoulder. No problem, I can look like a traveler.
Announcements for incoming and outgoing planes continue to be called out from overhead. There are gate changes and delays, but none of those are for us. This is our final destination, for the next two months, anyway.
Out in the terminal, Rachel starts looking around. She’s moving fast and keeping her head down. I really think she’s paranoid at this point. In America, the state of Alexandria’s royal drama isn’t top news.
As soon as we reach baggage claim, I hear, “Rach! Over here.”
Lowering my sunglasses, I glance around. I know that voice. I hear it all the time over the phone line. It’s Ava, Rachel’s younger sister, and I feel my soul immediately lifting. The girl is like bright sunshine on a cold day.
The moment I see her, I feel better already about being here.
Her sable-colored hair is shiny and pin-straight and frames her flawlessly made-up face with the cutest nose and most pink lips.
I set the bag down without giving a thought to blocking the flow of passengers behind me and throw my arms around her.
Ava just graduated from Brown University with her degree in fashion and business management. She wants to be the next Law Roach, and I think she will achieve her goal. Case in point, the chic gladiator sandals and strappy top she’s wearing. Look out America’s Next Top Model, I think she’s going to be a new judge.
“Miss, do you think you can move it?”
Still hugging Ava, I smile at the older man over my shoulder. “Yes, of course, I’m very sorry,” I tell him, and pull away.
He stomps past me, muttering, “Have a nice day.”
“See, even when someone’s mad at you, they love you,” Rachel grumbles, and then goes in for a hug herself. In the midst of the embrace, there’s some sort of angry exchange taking place.
“What are you doing here?” I ask the dark-haired beauty when she’s finally freed.
“I’m here to help.”
Rachel glares at Ava. “I told you no.”
Ava makes a face at her. “No, you said, you’d let me know.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“What are you two talking about?” I ask.
Twisting to look directly at me, Ava says, “I asked Rachel if I could hang out with you both for the summer.”
“Because she got fired,” Rachel informs me.
My eyes go wide. “What happened?” I ask, looking toward Ava.
“Well,” she says, “The job with Karla Welch wasn’t exactly what I thought.”
“You were working with Karla Welch?” I ask with excitement. “Doesn’t she dress Karlie Kloss?”
“Look at you on top of the American personalities.” Ava grins. “And yes she does.”
“Along with Justin Bieber,” Rachel smarts.
“So what happened?” I ask.
“She was the errand girl and didn’t like it,” Rachel cuts in. “And I’m sorry Ava, but I said no. You need to job hunt, not hang around Newport for the summer.”
“Whatever.” Jingling a set of keys in the air, Ava leans closer to me and whispers, “I could work for you until I find something. I have my car, and that means no Uber, which means less chance of getting recognized.”
I raise my brows at Rachel who doesn’t look at all happy.
“Oh, come on,” Ava says looking at her sister. “What’s one summer. Besides,” she lifts a hand to my hair, “I could totally be the Princess’s double if she needs one.” She looks back at me. “By the way, love the color.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, “and yes, of course, you can stay with us for the summer.”
Now Rachel is glaring at me.
My shoulders lift. “What? We could use a driver.”
After grabbing the keys from her sister, Rachel picks up the bag I dropped and flings it at Ava for her to carry. “Come on you two,” she sighs and motions to follow her to the belt with the luggage. “We have a lot of work to do.”
I’m behind them and can’t help but notice how the Smart girls share almost identical looks. Ava’s hair is the same dark rich brown as Rachel’s, except whereas Rachel’s is cut to her chin and tidy, Ava’s is longer and looks windswept. And whereas Rachel is sturdy, Ava is willowy. I pick up my pace. If I had sisters, I’d want them both to be mine.
We stop at the sign that reads, BAGGAGE CLAIM, where people stand four deep, ready to trample each other when the first bag comes around the carousel.
While Rachel looks for her suitcase, I turn my attention to Ava. “You look great. How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Super. Fantastic.” It’s not convincing.
“You’re better off without that son-of-a-bitch,” Rachel says peering at the tag on one of the suitcases rounding the corner.
“Rachel,” I scold. “They were together for two years. She’s allowed to be sad.” Perhaps some of my own emotion bleeds through in my response.
The black Samsonite with the gray tag comes down the belt. “Yes, they were, but that doesn’t make what I said is any less true. Dylan Doyle just wasn’t the right man for Ava. He was much too selfish to understand relationships.”
“Well, dear sister,” Ava sighs, “I didn’t realize you’d become a relationship expert.”
Rachel gets closer to the conveyer as her luggage heads our way. “I haven’t, but I do know you, and you deserve better than a guy who spends his time gaming and screwing around.”
“You do have a point,” Ava concurs. “And my bestie, Gigi, said the very same thing, too.”
“How is she doing after her break up?” Rachel asks grabbing the handle of her suitcase.
“You know Gigi, she’s a hopeless romantic.”
With the single piece of luggage on the ground, Rachel rolls her eyes and pulls up on the handle. “You two are a lot alike,” she tells her sister and starts walking.
“Wait!” Ava calls. “What about the Princess’s bags?”
“Shhh…” we both scold.
“Sorry,” she whispers and then turns to me and even softer says, “What about your bags?”
“She doesn’t have any.” Rachel sounds annoyed. “She ran away, remember? We are trying to keep her location a secret, and you are not helping.”
“Right, yes, of course,” Ava says, then scrunches her nose. “But you have a suitcase.”
Rachel looks annoyed. “That’s because we stopped at my apartment on the way to the airport. Any more questions?”
“Yes, one.” As we pass through the automatic doors, Ava turns to me. “What if I call you PV?”
There’s a light breeze and I inhale the fresh air. “PV?”
“Code for Princess Victoria.”
A loud aerodynamic sound fills my ears as a plane hammers overhead and I say loudly, “Tori will be fine.
She glances toward her sister, who gives her a nod and then she steps off the curb toward the parking lot without looking left or right. “Well, Tori,” she says puckering her lips, like the word feels foreign on her tongue, “I’m sure you have a closet full of clothes at your estate.”
“We aren’t staying at Blanchette house,” Rachel informs her.
“What?” Ava stops in the middle of the street and when a horn beeps, I’m shocked that she ignores it so she can speak her mind. “Rachel, you can’t seriously think staying with Dad in Brooklyn is a good idea? He’s always got the news on to scan the stock market and has poker games every Friday. She’ll be found out for sure.”
“God, no, we’re not staying there. We’ll be staying at Prince Maximus’s cottage.”
“Oh, that sounds incredibly scandalous.” Ava falls into step beside her sister as we cross to the parking lot, and I follow them both.
Rachel rolls her eyes. “Where’s the car?”
Ava points, and then automatically, her and I alter our rhythm. Rachel is always rushing and meandering isn’t allowed.
“What are you going to wear?” Ava asks me.
&nb
sp; Feeling a bit uncertain, the only thing I can do is shrug. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”
“I plan to order her a summer wardrobe tomorrow and have the items delivered,” Rachel tells Ava.
“Tori,” Ava says again, as if testing the word, “You can borrow anything of mine. I have an entire trunk full of clothes.”
Rachel pauses beside a very old Volkswagen convertible. I recall Rachel referring to it as a bug. Not sure why.
Out of nowhere, Ava runs up beside her sister and yells, “Don’t,” just as Rachel puts the key in the trunk to unlock it.
Rachel turns toward her. “Don’t what?”
“Open that,” Ava points as the trunk flies open. When I look inside, I start laughing. It’s obvious she literally meant trunk full because there are no suitcases holding all of her things in place.
“Too late.” Slamming the trunk closed, Rachel says nothing about the mess and walks around to the side of the car, where she opens the driver door, pushes the seat up, sets her bags in, and then says, “Please sit back here, Princess, so no one will see you.”
“It’s Tori,” her sister whisper yells in the parking lot, where no one is paying any attention to us.
“Only when people can hear,” Rachel huffs, as Ava opens the passenger door.
“Geez, don’t get your panties in a wad. Clearly, I’m not aware of all the rules you’re creating as you go.”
“I am not creating anything as I go,” Rachel assures her.
“Whatever,” Ava barks before getting in the car.
“Panties in a wad?” I laugh as I duck into the car and find myself snuggling up next to a stack of pillows and blankets.
Ava looks back. “Oh, it’s a saying, you know like, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
I nod in understanding. “I’ll remember that.”
Curious about this old car, I watch as Rachel ducks down and pushes the seat back into place. “Please don’t,” she tells me.
Ava doesn’t say a word as Rachel slides into the driver’s seat. I’m sure she knows it’s not worth the argument because she’ll just lose. Opposites. They are complete opposites, like Rachel and me. And that’s what makes them love each other all the more. They talk on the phone every day and know every single thing about each other.