The Royal Treatment

by Lindsey Leavitt

  I typed the texts, musing that I had never used the letters ASAP so much in my life. After hiding my manual again, I showered and was brushing the tangles out of Floressa’s hair when Ryder fluttered in, squeezing a notebook of some sort in his shaking hands.

  “A fun mother-daughter getaway,” he said. “That’s what I was supposed to prepare for. Maybe, maybe a shot by the paparazzi here or there, but an interview with Brenda Waters? News that will make national—no INTERNATIONAL—headlines! That takes months, months to prepare for!”

  I guided him into a chair. “It’ll be all right.”

  “All right? All right!” Ryder flung the book across the room. It banged against the wall and flopped onto the bed. “This is a career-defining moment and I don’t have an ounce of taffeta at my disposal.”

  I leafed through the book. Photos of Floressa in different outfits were pared with sketches and swatches of fabric. A bright, exotic, floral print caught my eye. I knew in a moment it was perfect. In this, with her hair long and flowing, there would be no denying Floressa was island royalty. She wouldn’t have to say a thing. The dress would say it for her. “Do you have this fabric?”

  “Sure. Bought that last season in Hong Kong.”

  “Do you think you could whip something together with it?”

  Ryder narrowed his eyes. “You sure it’s not too…too? You’re going to fit right in with this, not stand out.”

  “Oh, I’ll still stand out.” I thumbed through some of the designs, an idea taking shape as I noted the items in Floressa’s wardrobe. I’d come a long way from designing T-shirts. “Did you bring those earrings?” I pointed to a pair of delicate gold-and-coral hoops.

  Ryder shrugged.

  I nudged him with my elbow. “You know, I am a designer too.”

  “So?”

  “So it’s not like you’re dressing a mannequin. We combine my fashion sense and your design skills and…Ryder, you’re right. This will be career defining. We’re going to make me look like an island princess. No one will be able to deny who I really am.”

  Ryder’s eyes widened. “Can we use that gold belt I love?”

  “Belt away.”

  “Come then, my princess.” Ryder jumped up. “Your subjects await!”

  It took three hours to get me properly polished. Ryder whipped up a dress using the fabric I’d found, and together we accessorized Floressa.

  Gina sent in her PR team to brief me on what to say. I was supposed to play the clueless daughter who’d always wanted a father. And I had to cry—Brenda Waters made everyone cry. I wrote down everything. I wouldn’t be answering these questions. Floressa would be back by then. She had to be.

  I was alone in my bedroom organizing the notes when my manual zinged with news from both Meredith and Floressa. Ha! No Brenda Waters tears after all.

  Desi,

  My reception has been bad, so I barely saw this. I think you’re going overboard with the ASAP. We already knew she was a royal—that’s why she qualified for a sub. I’ve personally contacted Floressa concerning the matter, and she’s asked us not to intervene. As a Level Two, her desires take precedence over Façade’s usual protocol. Besides, you’ve been trained—take care of it and let me finish up this vacation. And DON’T contact Genevieve. That would make us both look bad.

  Hang in there. AND NO KISSING.

  Ta-ta,

  Meredith

  Kissing? There was much heavier stuff going down here than kissing. Instead of monitoring this job or trusting a valued employee, Meredith was listening to Floressa, WHO WASN’T EVEN HERE. Floressa had no idea how big this was. Brenda Waters was on her way to make me bawl on international television!

  I didn’t bother to write her back. A cyborg had obviously taken over my agent’s body. How I missed workaholic Meredith. What was she doing that was so important anyway? If I messed this interview up, it wouldn’t just impact royal circles. Everyone in America—heck, everyone who owned a TV—would know about it.

  But it got worse. Much, much worse. Enter: Floressa’s text.

  Floressa: I’m not coming back.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Did Floressa and Meredith have a Let’s Make Desi Go Crazy party? Were they sitting together laughing right now? Because this was bananas.

  Desi: What?

  Floressa: I’m sick. I have a stomachache. Can’t leave.

  Desi: You have to come back.

  Floressa: No, I’m sick. My stomach feels weird.

  Desi: Did you throw up?

  Floressa: Eww, no. Okay, so I’m probably fine. But I’m not coming back.

  Desi: It’s nerves. I can relate, but you should get back for this interview. The questions are going to be personal. It would help if the person answering was YOU.

  Floressa: I don’t care about the interview anymore. I don’t care about anything.

  Desi: I know this is hard.

  Floressa: I’m not coming back ever. There is no way I can see my dad after what he did. And my mom! My mom lied to me my whole life. This resort is super posh. I’m going to stay.

  Desi: I don’t know if that’s an option.

  Floressa: I’m rich. I can make anything an option. Barrett can even visit, since he’s royal. Now go live my life for me and leave me alone.

  Desi: Floressa, seriously, I think if you come back, you can make it through this. You have your mom and Barrett and your design stuff and…a life! A fabulous LIFE!

  Three minutes later…

  Desi: Floressa? R U there?

  Five minutes later, Barrett knocked on the door. “Babe, I think they want to freshen up your makeup again before the interview.”

  “Yeah, coming.”

  Desi: Floressa, I’m going to this interview, and then we are going to work this out. You know you can’t leave forever. Façade won’t let you. I won’t let you.

  I added three frowny faces at the end. There I was, trying to help her, and she’d completely checked out on me. She couldn’t stay at the resort. Every princess returns sometime.

  Um. I think.

  Chapter

  20

  Of course I knew Floressa Chase was famous. I’d seen her name and face plastered on countless magazines; I’d watched dozens of her interviews. If I wanted to, I could even buy my own Floressa Chase doll. But no amount of BEST could have prepared me for what it was like to be Floressa Chase.

  Maybe that’s where the obsession with celebrity stems from anyway. You think of this life, you build it up, and even the person living in it can’t meet the ideal everyone has set. Floressa still had fears and sadness. Heck, she even had stomach problems.

  Which I certainly could relate to, at least the stomachache part, as I watched the mass of paparazzi camped outside our yacht. The number of people on the small island had doubled overnight. If I’d thought the school play was going to be scary, this had to be a million times worse. There were cameras filming. And I had on roller skates. One flub and E! would be replaying it for weeks.

  I closed the curtains in the sky lounge—the luxurious main-level space easily twice the size of my family’s living room. It seemed like months ago that Gina and I had relaxed on the overstuffed leather couches, discussing her early movie career. Now we all waited for Gina to make her entrance so we could start our escape-to-interview plan. Ryder did one more makeup stroke and spritzed me with perfume.

  “No one will smell me,” I said.

  “You will. And that essence will exude in your interview.”

  Barrett laughed at a video on his cell phone. He held it up. “This guy on a motorcycle crashed into a puppy. It’s hilarious.”

  Prince Charming.

  Karl sat at the wet bar, drinking grape juice and eating pretzels. This might be the last time I talked to him. Or worse, I could be Floressa for the rest of her (and my!) life, and Karl would always be my boyfriend’s little brother.

  I patted Barrett’s knee. “I’m thirsty. You want a drink?”

  “No thanks, babe, I’
ll stay here. The lighting works for me. Which one do you think is my good side, by the way?”

  “Uh, hard to choose.”

  “You’re right.” He rubbed his chin. “They’re both good.”

  I left Barrett to his lighting and wheeled over to Karl.

  He had that same tormented look on his face from last night. The same look on his face from the night in Metzahg when we’d kissed. I grasped the edge of the bar to stop myself from grabbing his hand. Plus, it’s always a smart idea to hold tight with roller skates, a rocking boat, and weak knees.

  “Doing any better than yesterday?” I asked.

  “Better is relative.” He ran his finger over the lip of his cup. “How are you doing, that’s the question. It’s not every day you find out you’re a princess.”

  That was the question, the question Barrett had neglected to ask Floressa all morning, even though the reason he and Karl had come by was to help us deal with the press. “It’s a lot to have dropped on me at once.”

  “I would imagine. Actually, I can’t imagine what it would be like. It’s like…the world as you knew it has changed now.”

  Man, he was deep. “You’re right,” I said. “But I’ve been talking about it all morning. I’m going to talk about it all afternoon. I need a break.”

  “Understood.”

  “So let’s talk about you instead.”

  “I’m not a very interesting topic at the moment.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’ve got that weird love triangle going for you.” Or love rhombus if I added myself. Love…trapezoid? “Is that why you broke up with your girlfriend?”

  Karl turned to appraise me. “Wow. You cut right to the chase.”

  “It’s my last name.”

  “Well…” He rubbed at his eyebrow. “This makes me a terrible cad, but…the tabloids are actually true. I did break up with Olivia. For Elsa.”

  “That doesn’t make you a cad.” I stopped on the word. Who talks like that anyway? Karl was more formal than I remembered. “You went with the advice you gave me last night. Follow your heart.”

  “True.” Karl ran his thumb along his jaw. “But now that Elsa knows how I feel, it’s like this new piece of me is exposed. I’m not accustomed to it. It’s exhilarating, but it’s terrifying.”

  “Oh.” So that basically summarized how I felt. About Karl. Liking someone you know you’ll never have, or that you’re not supposed to have, does cause this…this ache. I glanced out the one open window at the growing crowd and realized my time with Karl—if I could really call it time with Karl—was almost done. And I had to know if what I’d had with him before—when we’d spent the day together in Metzahg—was real. So I could hang on to it. So I could do what I needed to do.

  Let go.

  But I couldn’t just come out and confess everything. I’d start with a hint. A reminder of our conversation as Karl and Elsa. We’d both professed a love for the 1940s movie Casablanca. It wasn’t a film that teenagers often, if ever, quoted. An easy start.

  “So…Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into yours. Right?”

  “I’m sorry…what?”

  “It’s a movie line. From Casablanca. You know, Here’s looking at you, kid?”

  “I’ve never seen it.” Karl sipped his grape juice. “I’m not one for the cinema.”

  “Really? You sure?” I tried to keep my voice from going shrill. “Humphrey Bogart?”

  “Is he an actor? Sports star of some sort?”

  He’d just broken up with his girlfriend. He had to be distraught…forgetful. Because the last time I talked to him (as Elsa), he was quoting Casablanca lines with ease. It made no sense.

  Unless he had been doing that to impress Elsa. Or was he lying now? He could be a liar. How well did I really know him, anyway? For the last two days he’d been stiff and forlorn. Which is understandable, sure, but where was the funny conversationalist I’d gotten to know in the garden? Did he only turn that on for Elsa?

  Gina marched into the sky lounge, her beautiful features already set in her for-the-media smile. “Time to go, Flossie.”

  “Do you need help getting up the stairs?” Karl asked, all chivalry. “Don’t want you to take a spill in front of the press.”

  I took his arm, resisting the urge to lean in too much. Karl was a good person. And he was honest. And I did feel something for him. Even though he was different on this job, our day together had been special, and nothing erased that. As Humphrey Bogart said in his famous last line to Ingrid Bergman, We’ll always have Paris (well, Metzahg, but whatever).

  Barrett caught up with us at the top of the stairs. He nodded at Karl and wordlessly took my hand. “Good idea, brude,” he said. “We’ll be far more distracting on the dock. Let’s fake fight and let the girls rush to the limo. If we get enough cameras pointed our way, Gina and Floressa might make it through that wave of people.”

  I couldn’t imagine ever getting through the solid wall of onlookers. Our bodyguards circled around us as we walked/ skated down the ramp. Once we were on the dock, Barrett pecked my cheek. “Good luck. You gonna miss me?”

  I looked past him to Karl, who grimaced as flash after flash went off.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “That’s my girl. Now watch this.” Barrett winked at me before shoving Karl. Although Karl knew they were faking a fight, the blow caught him off guard and he hit the ground. Sure enough, the cameras swiveled just long enough for Gina and me to slip into the waiting limo and swerve around the crowd. Some photographers scrambled to their cars, but we left the bulk of the crowd—and the dueling princes—behind.

  The PR people inside the limo gave us the latest briefing. Royal News Today had broken the story that morning, and now news programs around the world were sharing and speculating. Our interview with Brenda Waters would be aired live—the sooner the better, as far as damage control went.

  Gina had found us a hillside mansion for the interview. We would stay there until we could find a way off the island. The house was chosen partially for the scenery, but mostly because of the intense security—and dense jungle—surrounding it.

  The place was already packed with crews: camera crew, makeup crew, lighting crew, the guys-in-suits-on-their-cellphones crew, and of course, Brenda Waters’s crew. Add Gina’s crew to the mix and that’s a whole lot of crew going on.

  The balcony overlooked the lush green mountains and ocean. Despite the insanity around me, I took a moment to lean against the railing and take in the view. In all my princessy traveling, I’d never seen anything like it.

  “Hold it.” Gina’s personal photographer snapped my picture. “Perfect. Reflective and wistful. We’ll use that for print interviews.”

  Why did every moment, especially this personal moment, have to be documented to prove that Floressa was human? Couldn’t she just be human? All those people out there salivating over her story would expect—no, demand—alone time if their life fell apart like this. Instead, they were gleefully watching every second. It made me sick.

  The balcony door slid open. “Flossie?” Gina wrapped her arms around me. “They’re ready for us.”

  “I don’t know if I’m ready for them.”

  She kissed me on the forehead. “I’ll be right next to you.

  You don’t have to say anything. Actually, the less you talk, the more sad you’ll seem, and it will appeal to the viewers—”

  I brushed past Gina and into the interview room. I doubted Floressa would care about her image right now—the girl was so upset, she was willing to give up everything rather than face this. The makeup crew rushed over to brush, fluff, and spray. I waved them off and sat down on the couch, across from Brenda Waters.

  She leaned over and patted my hand. “Thank you for granting me this interview.”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “I’ll make sure you’re depicted well.”

  “And I’ll make sure I cry at some point, s
ince it’s apparently what the people want.”

  Brenda nodded, oblivious to my sarcasm. Gina joined me on the couch and gave my knee a squeeze. Someone adjusted a light so it was right in my face. A mike was attached to my dress, my makeup was fixed again, and then the camera guy counted down to zero and pointed at Brenda. A red light went on, and we were live. Live across the entire country. No, across the world.

  “I’m Brenda Waters from PulsePoint News, talking to you live from Tharma. With me are Gina and Floressa Chase, whose recent family scandal was leaked to the world. Let’s air the raw footage.”

  A TV by the teleprompter showed the paparazzo tape. The images of the king and Gina were grainy, but the sound was clear. Gina cringed when the king stormed away, then pasted on a weak smile before the camera went back on her.

  “That was hard to watch, Brenda.”

  “I’m sure it was hard to endure.”

  I know when you’re being interviewed, you’re supposed to look at the person interviewing you, but the red light above the camera kept diverting my attention. Behind that lens, millions of viewers were watching this very private moment. They shouldn’t be a part of it. I shouldn’t be a part of it. Floressa would see this and regret that her reactions, her authentic emotions, were not the ones being played out on the screen.

  Brenda went on with her condolences. “It must be so difficult to have your private tragedy broadcast to the world.”

  “It’s been an extreme trial,” Gina said.

  I wanted to point out that Brenda had broadcast the footage too, but I knew the point would be lost.

  “This too shall pass.” Brenda leaned over to pat Gina’s hand. Gina dabbed at her eyes. I scrunched lower on the couch.

  I’d seen this all before. This story—a royal scandal—was told in tabloids over and over again. This story was a prime example of why tabloids even existed. And I’d always read the gossip before, with a sick kind of curiosity. I’d even found old interviews and newspaper articles about my favorite screen sirens, exposing their secrets long after they’d died. And now, looking into the hollow camera lens, I started to shake because I finally understood how it felt to live life on a stage.