Daddy's Pretty Baby

by Cassandra Dee

  “Well if you think it’s a good idea,” I said doubtfully.

  “I do,” replied my mom emphatically. “You’ll be back in no time. Pack your bags honey, prepare to be dazzled!” she squealed.

  And all I could do was laugh because Candace’s excitement was contagious. Sure, there was school, there was my job at the library, there was the endless amount of studying. But screw it. A weekend trip was exactly what I needed to get myself back up.

  Slovania was on the radar again … in the most unexpected of ways.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Holt

  Our big bro has never been our favorite guy. Halson has five years on us and we should have looked up to him, even idolized him as a role model, he was the crown prince.

  But Halson has always left us feeling flat, like a bottle of fizz left uncapped. More often than not he’s mopey, droopy and limp, only half a man. And this isn’t a new thing. Even when we were kids, he was empty, a wilted plant compared to us, his active, outgoing younger brothers.

  “Again!” our tutor would bark.

  “Faster!” our dad would yell.

  So Halson grew up under a lot of pressure, and to deflect it, he evolved inwards. It was rare to hear him speak, and he barely even made eye contact sometimes. The Japanese have a word for it – “herbivore men,” guys who live with their parents, shun sex, and are effeminate, taking up crochet, knitting, making clothes for their stuffed animals.

  Well, I’ve never seen Halson crochet or knit, but who knew what he did in his private quarters? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t working out or eating right. Although blessed with classic patrician features, Halson’s haggard already, his frame wispy, his face already shadowed, shoulders slightly stooped.

  And Hayden and I tried to understand. As younger siblings, we had none of the pressure to act “royal” so my twin and I were like lunatics running around the castle as kids, getting up to no good, creating a ruckus. And now we towered over our brother, twin beacons of power and dominance, throwing him into shadow.

  So it was with surprise when Halson stopped us in the hallway one day.

  “Hey brother, how goes?” Hay remarked. We could hardly see big bro in the dim lighting of the corridor, they needed to get better bulbs in here.

  “Good, good,” Halson rasped, his voice chalky from disuse. “How was the medical mission?”

  I frowned. Operation Smile had been a shitshow after the girls left. We’d hoped to help at least a hundred more kids, but everything had broken down and only a few more operations were performed. The mission had ended with everyone going home dejected, accomplishing only a fraction of what we’d set out to do.

  But that was behind us now, and besides, Halson had never been interested in charity work. Frankly, no one had any idea what he was interested in, he was barricaded in his wing most days.

  “Operation Smile was okay,” I said blandly. “You should have come, brother, the Kolstya Mountains would have been good for you.”

  Almost on cue, Halson broke into a racking cough.

  “Yes, yes,” he sputtered between wheezes. “But my allergies won’t let me go. By the way, what do you guys know about New York?”

  That was a weird question. We’d been to Manhattan multiple times of course, staying in the ritziest hotels, dining at the Four Seasons. Not to mention hitting up clubs in our free time, the debauchery and nude girls right up our alley.

  But I decided to skip that, no point in confusing big bro.

  “It’s a great place,” I said smoothly. “Museums, the park, the shopping, can’t beat it.”

  “Great, great,” he rasped. “Because I met someone there.”

  Hayden and I shared a look. Really? It was unlike our brother to leave Slovania, heck, he barely even left the palace most days.

  “Oh really?” Hay asked casually. “Someone special?”

  And Halson nodded, coughing again.

  “Real special. In fact, I wanted to introduce you … she’s coming to Slovania this weekend.”

  I frowned.

  “All the way from New York? What, she has a business trip or something?” It was unlikely, but you never knew. Our country was slowly opening its borders, people of all sorts came by these days.

  “Not business,” rasped Halson. “Just a friend. Meet us at Sant Ambroes tomorrow night for a drink,” he said, referring to a bar nearby. Although we were instantly recognizable, the staff at Sant Ambroes was famously discreet and we could probably get a room in the back without too much fanfare.

  But I frowned. Why all the secrecy? After all, a drink wasn’t a huge commitment.

  “Sure,” grunted Hayden. “We’ll be there.”

  And Halson smiled for the first time, his teeth almost fluorescent in the dim light.

  “You’ll love her,” he rasped. “I just know it.” And with that, he limped down the hall.

  Hayden and I looked at each other again, shrugging. It was just a drink, right? No harm done.

  But those were famous last words.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Summer

  I was stunned. We’d been chauffeured to the airport and if it wasn’t my imagination, the same plane that had flown me out of Slovania was waiting for us here in a private hangar.

  I scrutinized the logo again. Could it be? Was it the same heraldic lion on a fancy-looking crest? I scolded myself, shaking my head. You’re dreaming girl, I reprimanded myself.

  But even the stewardess looked familiar, greeting us at the top of the stairs.

  “Hello,” she said, her tones dulcet, smiling warmly. “Welcome aboard Royal Air Force One.”

  “Aren’t you?” I asked, looking at her quizzically, my head cocked.

  “Aren’t I what?” she asked, looking me directly in the eye.

  And I just shook my head again, not finishing the question. My mom, of course, was completely oblivious to the exchange, brushing by me into the cabin, a big floppy hat on her head, dozens of bags in her hands.

  “Come on Summer, let loose, let’s get going!” she cried. “It’s going to be so fun!”

  And I had to laugh. My mom was like a little kid on the plane, bouncing around the cabin before plunking down onto one of the spacious white seats, buckling herself in all the while ordering up a flute of champagne.

  “Bring on the bubbly!” she cried, her voice excited. “Let’s party it up!”

  I sighed, playing chaperone already.

  “Mom, don’t you think you should tone it down?” I warned. “We don’t want to be soused when we get there and make a bad impression on the royal family.”

  “Oh please Summer, take that stick out of your butt,” my mom pouted. “It’s an all-expenses paid trip to meet my new boyfriend and all you can talk about is ‘toning it down.’ I haven’t even gotten started yet!” she exclaimed, downing another glass of bubbly.

  And that’s what I’m afraid of, I thought silently. But fortunately the seatbelt light came on and I turned to strap myself in.

  “Let’s go, high-ho!” squealed Candace. “Halson, here I come love!”

  Unfortunately, the rest of the flight was like that, proclamation after proclamation of my mom’s excitement, her adoration for her new guy, the exploits we were going to have in Slovania City, even her new dye job.

  “Summer, how do I look?” she asked, whipping off her hat.

  And I had to gasp. Because my mom had been blonde before but now she was positively platinum, her hair touseled and sexy in big barrel curls, her eyes cornflower blue and positively doe-like with their long lashes. I was a mouse compared to my own mother, people probably thought I was the ugly friend to Candace’s Marilyn Monroe.

  “Mom, you look great,” I said hesitantly. “But you looked amazing before. Why the change?”

  “Nature can always be improved on,” she said airily. “You should think about dyeing your hair too. Maybe there’s a salon at the hotel that you can use for a make-over.”

  I fingered my brow
n curls ruefully. I get my looks from my dad and was all curves and jiggles, unlike Candace’s sleek, slender lines.

  “Maybe,” I said doubtfully. “But blonde would never work on me, my skin’s the wrong tone.”

  “Tone, schmone,” Candace brushed off. “Just try it, platinum does wonders for everyone.”

  I shook my head. She didn’t get it, life was different for middling brunettes like me, we could never pull off a head of white-blonde hair, it would make me look fake and weird.

  But at that moment the stewardess happened by with a tray of warm hand towels.

  “Ms. Miller, if you like, we have a mini-salon on board. I’d be happy to show you our spa services,” she said with a warm smile.

  Holy cow. This was the fanciest flight I’d ever been on, bar none. What else did they have on-flight? A swimming pool? Tennis courts?

  “Come on Mom,” I said, “let’s check it out. Doesn’t some pampering sound good?”

  But by now, Candace had collapsed into a heap in her seat and was snoring ever so softly, a tendril of platinum hair vibrating with every breath. I sighed and shook my head. Better she slept off the champagne now than later.

  So with tentative steps, I followed the stewardess towards the back of the plane, where a discreet door was tucked into the oak paneling.

  “This way,” she said, pressing a hidden latch, and I was whisked into what looked like was a full-service salon. There was a chair with a mirror in front, complete with a tub for a foot soak and glam lights for make-up application.

  “Wow,” I breathed. “All this for me?”

  The stewardess merely smiled and gestured to a man who’d appeared out of thin air.

  “Henri will help you,” she said, swallowing the “H” with a characteristic Slovanian accent. “Please enjoy,” she said, bowing once before letting herself out of the room.

  I turned and surveyed the scene. Again, I’m not a fancy person and can’t afford pampering most of the time. Sure, I’ve had manicures and pedicures before, but mostly I do them myself to save money, and my hair? Well, the last time I’d been to the hairdresser was ages back and my curls were wild, of all different lengths and totally unbalanced. A cut was desperately needed.

  Henri seemed to think the same. The small man was already circling me, studying my head thoughtfully while poking and pulling at my strands.

  “Chérie, when was the last time you took care of this?” he said, waving his arms theatrically in the general direction of my head.

  “Um, maybe six months ago?” I hazarded a guess, growing red. I must have been the ugliest client he’d ever had, Henri was used to grooming princesses aboard the royal plane.

  “Well, you are a diamond in the rough,” he proclaimed majestically. “Good bones, good shape, but ma chérie, you’ve done nothing with it! Why ever not? Don’t you want to find a man?”

  I blushed again. How to explain that despite my latest escapade, I was actually really inexperienced? Sure, there’d been a couple guys here and there but they were already fading from memory in comparison to the handsome twin doctors.

  I flushed again before stuttering.

  “Um, I’m not sure,” I said hesitantly, “maybe you could help me?”

  “Cherie, I do more than help,” Henri said majestically. “I transform!”

  And with that, he got to work. I was hustled into the chair and an assistant appeared out of nowhere with a rolling cart full of goodies.

  “We start with your face first, no?” Henri asked, spinning me around so that I couldn’t see the big mirror. He whipped out a palette of brushes and the largest make-up kit I’d ever seen and immediately began dabbing away at my features, using colors that I didn’t think would work.

  “Are you sure?” I asked doubtfully, when he whipped out a hot pink blush, the color positively electric.

  But Henri pooh-poohed my hesitance.

  “This goes on like air,” he proclaimed with a queenly sniff. “You’ll love it, you’ll see!”

  And chastised, I submitted to his ministrations. It was really nice, to be honest. There seemed to be a million different little brushes that he daubed with pigment before applying to my cheeks, not to mention the creams, gels and lotions skillfully applied to my skin. Meanwhile, the assistant started brushing highlights on my hair.

  “Not too blonde!” I exclaimed, looking at the green goo in a little colored pot. “Not like my mom!”

  Henri sniffed again.

  “Cherie, you are a thousand times more beautiful than your mother. She is the woman sitting outside no? The one snoring like a baby elephant? That is her? Don’t worry, you will outshine her like Aphrodite outshining mere mortals.”

  And I had to smile. Okay, the flattery had gone overboard, Candace would always be more beautiful than me, but I appreciated it. It felt nice to think that someone might prefer brown hair, brown eyes, and a curvy figure to a blonde glamazon. Wishful thinking of course, but right now I was letting myself dream.

  So with a big sigh, I sank into the experience, the pampering, the sheer luxury of the makeover. Closing my eyes, bliss rolled in waves as warm water jets splashed on, massaging my feet, cool compresses pressed to my temples as the fussing continued.

  I admit, I’d almost fallen asleep when a gentle shake on my shoulder woke me.

  “Mademoiselle?” asked the assistant timidly. She was a tiny girl, just a slip of a thing, utterly overshadowed by her flamboyant boss. But she’d done a thorough job with the highlights, painstakingly dividing my hair into tiny sections before brushing on the dye for a natural effect.

  “Thank you, Amelie,” I said kindly. “I’m sure I look great.”

  And with that, Henri swung the chair around, showing off the new me.

  I gasped. I knew that Henri was a professional, but “maestro” and “virtuoso” weren’t enough to describe his skill. My totally average features were now sculpted, contoured so that my nose looked smaller, elegant even, my cheeks delicately rounded. My hair had been blown out so that it fell in graceful waves around my face, framing the heart shape so that my eyes were luminous, my lips a perfect cupid’s bow.

  “Holy,” I gasped, my voice trailing off.

  “You like?” smiled Henri. “I told you, my magic makes women into princesses!”

  “Henri,” I gaped, “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you, thank you, thank you, this is so amazing! Any chance you could do this again?” I asked wistfully.

  “Of course mademoiselle, you can always find me at the palace,” he said, with a slight bow from the waist. “But first, let Amelie help you select something to wear.”

  Something to wear? There was a closet full of clothes on the plane as well? This flight should have been re-named “The Magic Airmobile,” as far as I was concerned.

  And Amelie flicked a switch, highlighting a large armoire in the corner. It was oaken, heavy, totally out of place in the sleek, modern environs of the G5.

  But there was a reason for the heavy wooden furniture. Because as Amelie struggled with the doors, finally creaking them open, a vast treasure trove of clothes was revealed. This wasn’t stuff that you could store in plastic boxes. The finest satins, the softest silks, even real furs greeted my eye. This was stuff that could be showcased at the Met’s annual Costume Gala. There must have been everything a woman could want, from the finest, most delicate lingerie, to evening gowns, cocktail dresses, heck, even a wedding gown delicately packed in the back.

  “Is this really?” I gasped, afraid even to touch the clothes. They were priceless, beyond the reach of mere mortals.

  “Yes, mademoiselle, please,” said Amelie, gesturing to the selection.

  And mesmerized, I moved forward to finger some of the fabrics. Wow, Himalayan elk cashmere, and was that a Chanel bag I saw in the corner? But the sight snapped me back to my senses.

  “I can’t,” I said softly, stepping back regretfully. “Sorry, I can’t.”

  Henri frowned.

  “Wh
at do you mean? Why ever not? The royal family offers the finest to their guests.”

  I nodded, understanding the mix-up.

  “Sorry, I mean that this isn’t me,” I said simply, gesturing to the lavish couture collection. “I’m a simple girl, working class really. I don’t think I’ve ever bought an item of clothing that cost more than a hundred bucks,” I added ruefully. “So I’d feel out of place wearing things like this. I’d probably spill something on it as soon as I put it on,” I said with a wry smile.

  “Mademoiselle, do not spill on these gowns, they cost five figures,” gasped Henri, his eyes shocked. I laughed gently. These dresses were probably his babies, he’d die if they were soiled with anything as commonplace as food.

  But it only proved my point.

  “Henri, thank you so much, but I can’t,” I said firmly. “I can’t take from this collection, the royal family is too generous and besides, where would I wear this? We’re just visiting Slovania City for a weekend, we’ll be walking around seeing the sights. Sure, Mom said we’d be meeting Prince Halson, but she assured me it’d be casual, at a bar somewhere.”

  Henri frowned.

  “A beautiful girl like you needs clothes for all facets of her life,” he proclaimed. “Take something, you never know when you’ll need it,” he hinted darkly.

  I guess he was referring to my generally disheveled appearance, the simple jeans and t-shirt I was wearing now.

  “No Henri, I can’t,” I said firmly. “I appreciate the hair and make-up do-over, I look better than I ever have in my whole life, but the clothes are too much. I can’t.”

  And with a sigh, Henri gave up.

  “As you wish, Mademoiselle,” he said, bowing at the waist, and with a gentle click, Amelie closed the doors of the armoire. It was like seeing a mirage vanish, the display disappearing into thin air.

  “Thank you for respecting my wishes,” I said, nodding at them both. “If you don’t mind, I’ll join my mom again?”