Princess for Hire

by Lindsey Leavitt

  Elsa’s bathroom was right at the top of the stairs. Chipped tile and cracked plaster, Victorian-style fixtures, with an oval-shaped mirror hanging over a tiny porcelain sink. I showered and toweled off quickly, then carefully rebraided Elsa’s long blond hair.

  The face looking back at me in the mirror seemed to belong in a fairy tale book: delicate and glowing without any makeup. And I know this doesn’t make sense, because it was me inside of there, but somehow I could tell that Elsa was sad. I felt her sadness—in a way it belonged to me too. She had circles under her eyes and tiny worry lines in her forehead. This was a girl who needed some impact. But why? And how?

  I got my first clue when I came back downstairs. Nana Helga, who clearly was color-blind, wore mismatched shoes—the left one, road-sign orange; the right, green with tiny flowers. I had no idea if Elsa would point something like this out but…who wouldn’t? It was so wrong.

  “Nana, are you sure you want to wear those shoes?” I asked carefully.

  Nana Helga squinted down at her feet then broke into a nutty cackle. “Don’t you like my look? Haven’t you heard? This is all the rage in Paris!”

  I bit my lip. She didn’t need to be rude. I was just trying to help.

  “Quick, call the paparazzi! Post it in your Royalty News magazine. Another royal has made a fashion faux pas. The world will come to an end. Civilizations will crumble! Please, Elsa. Maybe I like to wear mismatched shoes. Proves how little I care about all those elitist buffoons.”

  I tried not to look stunned. Elsa was probably used to such outbursts. Poor girl. “Sorry.”

  On the way out, I grabbed a gardening magazine from the three-legged coffee table (not the top of it. The fourth leg was a stack of magazines) so I could pretend to read it and hopefully disguise the fact that I had no idea where we were going. Nana Helga hobbled ahead of me, muttering to herself under her breath.

  The more time I spent with Nana Helga, the clearer it became that she and Elsa were not in the habit of holding hands and enjoying quality time together. More than anything, Helga seemed determined to annoy and embarrass her granddaughter as much as possible.

  Although the magazine helped minimize conversation with Nana Helga (and taught me the best time to plant daffodil bulbs), it kept me from taking in the full beauty of the village. I tried to stay focused and not stare at the rustic storefronts and quaint farmers’ market, all things Elsa would be wholly familiar with and so uninterested in exploring.

  As soon as we walked into the village pharmacy, Nana waddled straight to the counter at the back. “Hey, Edgar, those pills won’t pour themselves.”

  I left the two of them to chat and browsed a chocolate aisle the size of Hershey, Pennsylvania.

  Almonds or no almonds? Truffles? Hazelnuts? Oh, wait. Elsa doesn’t like nuts. At least she didn’t have braces. Bingo. Caramel.

  I automatically dug into my pockets. Great. Of course I was subbing for the penniless princess when I finally beheld European chocolate Nirvana. Sighing, I put the sweet bar of goodness back on the shelf.

  “How much do you need?” asked a male, accented voice.

  I whirled around. In front of me was Prince Karl of Fenmar. THE Prince Karl, the younger brother of the hottest man alive, Prince Barrett. Here. In Elsa’s village. Staring at my frozen hand and smiling tentatively.

  “Well? How much?”

  “I…I…Three…three…euros? But it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

  He held out the money, his gold cuff links catching the light. “No, really. It’s the least I can do for an old friend. Come now, Elsa. Aren’t you going to say hello?”

  Of all the awkward subbing moments, figuring out how Elsa knew Prince Karl and how well she knew him was the worst. Well, after dancing half naked. And, okay, the roly-poly incident.

  I took the money out of his still-outstretched hand and smiled. “Thanks. Uh…it’s good to see you. How…are you?”

  “Brilliant. I saw you across the village square and thought I’d stop in and say hello.” Prince Karl cast his dark eyes around the store. “This whole village is a massive mob.”

  I looked around the store. It was nearly empty, but there was a huge crowd gathered outside the window, watching us. “I know. What’s with that? You’d swear they’ve never seen two people buying a candy bar before.”

  He nodded eagerly. “Good form, Elsa. Yes. Yes, just buying a candy, eh?”

  I finally lowered my hand and shifted my weight, unsure if I’d made a wrong move. Was Elsa funny? Did Karl know her well enough to know her sense of humor? Was he teasing? Aside from Drake, I didn’t know any older guys.

  “Listen, I’m here on holiday for a few days, and I’d really like for us to sit down and talk.” He scanned the store, looking for a seat. “Or not sit down.”

  “No, it’s fine. We can stand, Your Highness.”

  He startled. “Elsa, since when do you call me Your Highness?”

  Uh-oh. Ugh! Why wasn’t there anything about this prince in Elsa’s bio? “Since…now?”

  “Just Karl is fine.”

  “Okay…Karl. What did you need to talk to me about?”

  “Oh.” Karl ran a hand down his face. “Well, first off, how is everything? How is…your Nana Helga?”

  We glanced at Nana Helga, who glowered back at us. “Friendly as ever,” I said.

  “Yes. Quite right. And you? Have you been well? I’m sorry I haven’t…called. There are things I’ve wanted to say that I felt you deserved to hear in person.”

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Yes?”

  “What did you want to say?”

  “Oh…um…well, let me just tell you I think you are wonderful. You know that, right? You’re an incredible friend and probably the sweetest girl I’ve met. Ever.”

  So did they like each other? Was he asking her out, here? Or was he giving her the “friends” line because they used to be an item? Was this a breakup? I needed to get away and check the manual! “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

  Karl was gazing at me. Taking in every line on Elsa’s face, like a silent movie actor who can’t say how he feels, and has to show it with his eyes. “Elsa, it’s always shocking to see how…You look nice.”

  I looked down, uncomfortable. “Thanks. So was that it?”

  He reached a hand out like he was going to touch me, and grabbed two caramel bars instead. “No. It’s not. Maybe this isn’t the best setting. I’d love for you to come visit our summer home.”

  Come on, MP. Give me a clue what’s going on here.

  “Wow, um…”

  “It’s only Barrett and me. Mother and Father didn’t want him attending the wedding after his last escapade, so we came here last minute. Well, I’ve been hoping to come anyway, so this worked out. I’m my brother’s keeper, I suppose.” He smiled at the floor. “Perhaps you can help me.”

  My eyes nearly popped out. ME! MEET PRINCE BARRETT!!!!! Whoa, whoa…and whoa. If I see Prince Barrett, I might have a heart attack. Or a heat stroke from all his hotness. I tried to contain my excitement. “That would be great!”

  Prince Karl frowned in concentration. “When would be an appropriate time? I could send a car or something.”

  Let’s see. Busy schedule back at the Casa AntiRoyal. “I can make time for you.”

  “See? So sweet.” Prince Karl stared at me again, his expression edging on anguished, before turning away, suddenly hurried. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am that we can finally talk. It’s been a long time coming.”

  I followed him to the counter and handed his money to the openmouthed cashier.

  “Thank you again,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.” Karl did a quick little bow. “Enjoy your chocolate, Elsa. I’ll call you soon.”

  He walked out of the store and into a mob of villagers, which swallowed all five and a half feet of him in seconds. Men in black suits swept in and ushered him into a limousine.

  As the limo drove away, Nana Helga s
tormed up next to me. “Please tell me you didn’t just agree to see the Prince of Fenmar again.”

  “I guess I just did.”

  “Humph. You know how I feel about those people.” She folded her strong arms across her chest. “Schatz, I know you two were friends when you were kids, but you’re a big girl now. So why don’t you run out there and tell that boy to shove off?”

  Whew-hoo-hoo. Issues, much? I doubted Elsa had any say when it came to “those people.” I surveyed Nana Helga. When you’re facing a hard wall, a few rocks aren’t going to shake it down. So instead of fighting it, I tried to find a way around. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I’m glad you finally get it. Your mother never did.”

  I unwrapped the chocolate and took a delicious bite, but the sweetness couldn’t counteract Nana Helga’s bitterness. Looked like I’d have to go stealth on this job.

  Chapter

  17

  When we got back, Nana Helga tore open the frost-filled freezer and slapped two frozen dinners on the counter. “Cook these in the oven this time; it tastes better. And bring them into the TV room when they’re done.” Her polyester pants brushed together as she shuffled out of the room.

  Yuck. Half-dark, half-white turkey meat. All natural, sodium free. I stuck them into the easy-bake-looking oven and poked around the kitchen for some real food. Goat cheese, apples, and old bread. Royal, if you’re living in the 1300s.

  While “dinner” cooked, I ran upstairs to Elsa’s room. I’d learned from my Simmy experience that you could find out more about a person just snooping around than you could from those stupid profiles.

  There wasn’t much to investigate. Elsa’s wardrobe was monochromatic—T-shirts and button-downs, all blue, white, or gray. Khakis in every color. One white floor-length dress with a matching jacket that probably hadn’t fit Elsa in years languished in the farthest corner of her closet. I fingered the stiff fabric, imagining what royal engagements, if any, Elsa had attended.

  I bumped into her nicked dresser and heard a tinkling from inside the second drawer. Underneath a stack of neatly tucked white socks was a silver jewelry box, the kind locked behind glass doors in nice antique stores. A remnant of the royal days. But the real treasures were inside: pictures of Elsa with her mom, who was every bit as beautiful as her daughter; a fraying luncheon invitation dated five years back, bearing Prince Karl’s family crest; sapphire stud earrings and a silver oval-shaped locket. Eager for a clue, I carefully opened the oval, but it was empty.

  I set the box and necklace on the dresser. Elsa’s privacy had officially been invaded already, so I thought I might as well go for the gold. I dropped down to my hands and knees and fumbled under her bed until I found an unassuming spiral notebook with I ♥ KARL scrawled in flowing print on the cover.

  Newspaper cutouts about Karl and his family were pasted onto the pages, along with dried flowers and photographs of Elsa and Karl from childhood to their early teens. There were also drawings of Karl’s hands, his family crest, and a tree swing with “Our tree” written underneath.

  The sweetest things were the notes. They started off simple, the Do you like me? Check yes or no variety, but over the years, Karl and Elsa had written more—shared more in their letters. The most recent was dated over a year ago. Karl had even written—get this—poetry for Elsa. The last poem read:

  Those golden braids

  Are just like you

  So complex, yet so simple

  Beautiful and steady

  They’re also like us

  Me and you

  Parts divided, overlapping

  But that third piece

  It surrounds us

  Keeps us apart

  If we can cut it

  Then it will just be

  Me and you

  Forever

  Then there were a few months of nothing—no pictures or letters. Finally, Elsa started keeping journal-style notes, beginning a few months back.

  Today I was in the antique store with Nana Helga and saw these old gold cuff links with an engraved tree. They were so Karl, I didn’t care that they cost me nearly all of my savings (which was only about thirty euros, but anyway). Nana would kill me if she knew, but I sent them to Karl with a little “Thinking of you” note. And I wrote love at the end. Not I love you. Just love. That’s okay, right?

  A week later:

  Was that stalkerlike of me to send those cuff links? We haven’t talked in forever, but that never mattered before. And I know he likely has a million pairs of cuff links, but…it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it? Anyway, I just haven’t heard from him. I’d hoped it would be a good reconnection of sorts. Maybe he threw away the envelope and doesn’t have my return address? Or the palace mail carrier hasn’t delivered them yet?

  Another week later:

  Still nothing. I know he was at an event for Africa Is Hungry last weekend, so maybe he’s busy. I love that about him—he’s always contributing to all these causes and he’s so passionate about them! I wish I could be a part of it. I even mentioned to Nana how much I’d like to help out. When she made fun of charities, I tried to think of something smaller, something local, like starting a new soup kitchen. At this point, I’d be happy to attend a charity polo match! Anything to get out of the house! But Nana Helga shouted a big N-O. It’s such a waste that I just sit here in this house. If I was real royalty, not whatever-I-am-now, I would really change things, you know? I want to matter.

  A month later:

  I heard from my old friend Petrina. She said she’d heard a rumor at her school about Karl and some girl. And if it’s true then I guess that explains why I never heard back from him. My heart…it’s breaking. It’s broken.

  My heart broke for her. Maybe because I kind of…was her. I could totally see us being friends. Just like me, she wanted something bigger. And she had liked a guy—Prince Karl—forever. Pretty much a royal version of my Hayden thing, except there was no evidence of a dunk-tank disaster in her book.

  There weren’t any posts about Elsa on the message board, so I put in an inquiry on the General Quick Tips thread.

  LostLoveFound?: Hey, apparently Elsa is friends with Prince Karl and there is a rumor swirling around about another girl. Any hints who she is? Because three’s a crowd, if you know what I mean!

  My answer came quickly.

  ALittleBird: There’s all sorts of stuff on the Karl thread. Check out this link and here’s a pic that might help. Who is Elsa anyway? Some Level One?

  The picture—grainy and taken from far away, no doubt by a paparazzo—showed Karl on a yacht in those yucky boxer-brief swim trunks, lying next to a bikini-clad girl with a towel covering her face.

  I clicked on the Karl link to figure out who the girl was.

  SinkMySub34: The girl in the Karl picture is definitely Duchess Olivia. She’s actually a sweet gig if you can get it—sunbathing on a yacht all day in the Mediterranean, wearing dental-floss bikinis. So question: are they dating?

  LetThemEatCake: Yep. I can tell you firsthand Olivia is dating Prince Karl and has an interview coming out where she confirms it. I think it’s mostly an image thing, but she wants her subs playing it up big-time now. I mean, wear an I ♥ PRINCE KARL! shirt big-time. And can you believe her bikinis?

  Ah, so…all that “you’re the sweetest girl” and “I wanted to do this in person” stuff was Karl trying to tell me about the Duchess of Dental Floss. And if Elsa knew the whole story, oh man. She would be even more crushed.

  Meredith said to contact her with an emergency. Yeah well, there was no way the manual covered love triangles! I sent her a short e-mail:

  Meredith,

  I need your help. This prince just popped into town. I’m not sure what his intentions are, but Elsa’s known him forever. She’s in love with him, but he has a girlfriend.…What should I do?

  —Desi

  Within moments of sending, a message pinged in my inbox.

  MAIL DELIVERY FAILURE: Princess m
ail temporarily unavailable. Your message cannot be sent.

  Well, I guess my choice was made for me. I couldn’t let Elsa down; I’d just figured out how to impact. Sorry, Princey. You aren’t getting rid of these golden braids that easily.

  Prince Karl’s thin nose and close-cropped brown hair flashed in my mind. It’d be nice if he were at least cute. Or Prince Barrett. But whatever. He didn’t really have anything to do with me. This was all Elsa. Get Prince Charming for the lost princess and get out.

  Easy peasy.

  Chapter

  18

  The brunch invite came the next morning via a footman. Okay, maybe he wasn’t a footman. A royal worker of some sort. But footman sounds so cool, right? Almost as cool as being invited to brunch. And, seriously, this had to mean Karl felt something for Elsa. I’d seen the way he looked at her. And they had so much history.

  Unless this brunch was just a private place for him to give her the royal boot. In which case, I would be all charms, all sweetness. Not to mention I planned on putting Elsa’s classic beauty to good use. I realized love issues might be one of the hardest ways to impact, because there’s only so much you can control, but it was a fight any screen siren would gallantly take on. I would channel my inner Grace Kelly. No guy could resist that.

  My plan was quickly nixed when Nana Helga snuck up on me and read the invitation.

  “What is THAT?”

  I hid the paper behind my back. “What?”

  “This.” She grabbed the paper and held it up between her purple polished nails.

  “Um, an invitation. To brunch. Really quality paper, huh?”

  Nana Helga ripped the paper in half and tossed it on the coffee table.

  I folded my arms. Whoa, okay, so Nana needed some impacting of her own. This whole forcing-Elsa-not-to-beroyal thing was not jiving with me. Why deprive her granddaughter of all those opportunities just because she’s some bitter grump? Elsa had mentioned a polo match. At the very least I would get that girl to a polo match.

  “Nana. Come on.”

  “Either that boy is persistent, or you didn’t give him the brush-off.”