by Holly Rayner
Eva gathered her willpower and walked into the hall. She knocked on the door directly across from her own. She had no idea who lived there, but she was running out of options. She prayed the inhabitant wasn’t at work.
She heard footsteps inside. The door opened to reveal an elderly man with a shock of white hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a plaid shirt and sweatpants.
He probably lives here with his retirement money, Eva thought.
Somehow doubting the man had internet access, she decided to push forward.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Eva Nightingale. I live across the hall.”
“I recognize you,” the man said in a raspy voice. “You like to play music.”
“I’m sorry if I haven’t been the best neighbor,” Eva said.
“No,” the man said. “I like the music. My name is Seymour, by the way.”
Eva smiled.
“I’m glad you like the music, Seymour,” she said.
“How can I help you?”
“I’ve had a crazy morning,” Eva said. “I left my purse in Manhattan and I need to get in contact with someone who can help me. I have a laptop, but I don’t have Wi-Fi in my apartment.”
“Wi-Fi?” Seymour looked confused.
“An internet connection,” she said. “Do you happen to have one?”
Seymour shook his head.
“I don’t,” he said. “But I think the young man below me does. He and his wife are always arguing about it.”
Eva smiled.
“Thanks, Seymour. I’ll check there.”
“Good luck!”
She turned and followed the stairs to the sixth floor. The apartment directly below Seymour belonged to Art Harrington and his wife, Marie. They were notorious for arguing late into the night, disturbing nearly everyone in a single apartment radius. One morning, about a week ago, Marie had been sitting on the landing. Her eyes were red from crying. Eva had discovered her on her way to the grocery store.
“Are you all right?” she’d asked, not knowing the woman.
“No,” the woman said, looking at the floor. “I think my marriage is over.”
The woman had bright blond hair, hazel eyes, and clear skin. She looked a few years older than Eva—probably no more than thirty. Eva couldn’t imagine getting divorced before thirty. Her parents had always said divorce was pointless, at least from a legal standpoint. It did nothing but cost people more money than they had.
Once, when she was nine or ten, Eva had asked her parents what married couples should do when they don’t love each other anymore, since divorce was so expensive. Her parents had exchanged glances, then shrugged the question off. She’d never asked again. She was afraid of the answer and what implications it might have for her family.
“I’m so sorry,” she’d said, sitting down next to Marie and putting an arm around her. She wasn’t usually this forward with strangers, but divorce was bigger than social cues.
“You don’t have to be,” Marie had replied weakly. “At least everyone in the building will stop hating us.”
Understanding had dawned on Eva.
“Oh, you live in 6B.”
“See?” Marie had said bitterly. “You know me. We’re famous here.”
Eva had tightened her grip and pulled the woman closer.
“I’m not judging you,” she’d soothed. “I think we’re all just worried about you. Feel free to knock on my door, anytime. I’m 7A.”
“I will,” the woman had said. “My name is Marie, by the way. Marie Harrington.”
Marie had come up for coffee the very next day. She’d talked for the majority of the evening, telling Eva about her broken marriage. She’d said Art was leaving, and that she’d be taking over the lease on her own. Eva wasn’t sure how she was going to afford it, especially since Marie didn’t work, but she’d decided not to say anything.
Marie had left later that evening, saying she felt much better than when she’d arrived. She’d downed her third cup of coffee and gone straight downstairs. The broken couple had had one more fight after that. From the sound of it, they’d both wanted to keep a particular family heirloom. Not long after, the fighting had stopped.
Eva wasn’t the biggest fan of Marie. She was nice enough, but she seemed rough around the edges and slightly self-centered. Getting a divorce was a huge thing, but Marie hadn’t stopped to ask anything about Eva once in three hours. In fact, she’d barely stopped long enough for Eva to say more than “wow” or “okay” or “yeah.”
Now, Eva was preparing to knock on the door of 6B. At this point, she could only hope Marie would be home—and that she still had an internet connection. Otherwise, Eva would spend the rest of the day going door-to-door, attempting to be friendly to people she’d never wanted to meet in the first place.
The door swung open. It was Marie. She saw Eva and grinned.
“Boy, am I glad to see you!” Marie cried. “Art is gone. He’s been gone for four days now, and I feel so great. I feel free.”
Eva smiled. She was genuinely happy for Marie, even if the woman struck her as emotionally unstable.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Eva said. “I wish I could stay and talk, but I left my purse in the city and I really need an internet connection. Would you mind letting me use your Wi-Fi for the afternoon? You can kick me out as soon as I’m done. Scout’s honor.”
“Of course!” Marie exclaimed, loud enough for the entire complex to hear. “After what you did for me, you can use it as long as you’d like. Art’s paying for it, anyway.”
“Thanks, Marie,” Eva said sincerely.
“Come on in,” Marie said. “I’ll write down the information for you.”
Eva stepped inside, but didn’t venture beyond the doorway. Marie took a pad from the counter and began to write down the Wi-Fi name and password. When she finished, she ripped it off and handed it to Eva.
“Are you hungry?” Marie asked. “I can make something for lunch, if you want. It’s the least I can do. I know I talked your ear off the other night.”
Eva shook her head.
“I really wish I could,” she said, not meaning it at all. “But I have to get this taken care of as soon as possible. Thank you so much, Marie. You’re a life saver.”
Eva smiled, turned, and went back upstairs. She didn’t have time to wait for Marie’s response. Filipe could be doing anything with her belongings right now. She needed to make a plan.
She locked her apartment door, sat down on the couch, and logged into her old computer. After a few tries, she successfully connected to Marie’s Wi-Fi plan. Eva was relieved that the signal traveled far enough to reach her apartment. She’d been concerned that, in ten minutes, she’d end up knocking on Marie’s door in defeat, asking to use her living room.
Eva wasn’t sure where to begin. She needed a new state-issued ID, bank card, subway pass, cell phone, and more. She decided to start by making an inventory of the things she needed. She could cross them off the list when she obtained them.
She opened her email to make a draft, and that’s when she saw it.
A new email sitting in her inbox.
But that didn’t make sense. After she’d moved away from her parents, Eva had made a new email address. She didn’t share it with anyone else. In fact, she mostly used it to create reminders for herself. She’d never even accessed it from her laptop before—only from her cell phone.
So, how had someone known to email her? And who was it?
The email handle was ‘FDB1988’. The subject line read, “Personal Belongings.”
Eva opened it, and started reading.
Eva,
I had a nice time with you last night. I’m not sure if you share the same sentiment. You left your bag here, and I’d like to return it.
I can’t imagine getting home was easy for you, so I’ll be happy to send a car to pick you up tomorrow afternoon. It will bring you to the Ramada. I can meet you in the lobby with your belongings. Please let me know i
f this works for you. If so, reply with your address. I’ll send the car at one o’clock.
Sincerely,
Filipe di Benici
Despite her mixed feelings about Filipe, Eva felt relief wash over her body like a tidal wave.
di Benici...
His name certainly didn’t fit the businessman profile. In fact, Eva was fairly sure she’d heard it before in one magazine or another.
She opened a new tab and typed his full title into the search bar. The more she read, the angrier she became.
Filipe di Benici was a European prince. Benici was a small, but wealthy, microstate in Italy. His family line traced back to Italy’s earliest kingdoms. He was known for his charm and his wit. His title was mostly symbolic—his government was run by a parliamentary system—but the fact remained. He was royalty.
She should have been awed. Any normal woman would have run downstairs and shared her story with the first person she met. But Eva wasn’t awed. She was disgusted.
All the things he’d said the night before flooded her brain. He didn’t feel like he could be his own person. He wanted his life to mean something. What could be more meaningful than being a prince? And his complaints about being used were laughable. He’d used her, hadn’t he? He could use anyone he wanted. He probably brought women back to his personality-less hotel room for late night talks and sex on a nightly basis—all under the same businessman ruse.
In a way, it was worse than being used by a low-life. Filipe had everything. And he got his kicks by messing around with girls lower on the totem pole. It made her sick.
To make matters worse, her mystery man had lied about more than his profession. He was married. According to several articles, Filipe di Benici had married Baronessa Luiza di Caruzzi six months ago. She, too, was royalty. Luckily, they didn’t have any children together. Eva didn’t think she could stand that. If they had kids, she’d probably rather have her purse lost altogether than to see him again.
Seething, Eva slammed her computer shut. He’d been toying with her this morning, acting like he had somewhere to be. He just wanted her gone. Maybe he had a meeting with his wife. Maybe he had a date. He was a prince, after all. He could woo anyone he wanted. Who wouldn’t go home with him?
She could hardly believe it. How had something like this happened to her? She hadn’t asked for much, had she? One night of the high life. Is this what the high life was like?
It seemed to her that men didn’t grasp the concept of a successful hookup. Women didn’t always have to walk away hurting and embarrassed. It didn’t take much. A few sweet words after waking up, an offer for breakfast, and a sincere goodbye. These were the only things expected. Even a prince couldn’t deliver. Maybe, when it came to romance, she was screwed.
A very large part of her didn’t want to meet Filipe at the Ramada tomorrow. But what choice did she have? She needed her phone, wallet, and a clean uniform if she wanted to get to work on Monday morning. If she lost her job, she would lose everything else, too.
It’ll be fine.
Yeah, it would. She would strut into the hotel lobby, take her bag coldly, and walk out. She might tell him off in the process, but it would be short.
For now, though, there was nothing to do but take advantage of the internet connection. She certainly didn’t want to be around Marie. She decided to respond to Filipe with her address, watch a few shows, and surf the web. There was half a glass-worth’s of OJ in the fridge and leftovers for dinner. She was determined to relax and wait it out.
It would all be over tomorrow. Then, she could get back to the boring normalcy that her current lifestyle allowed.
Reassuring herself, Eva surfed the web for an episode of trash TV, and settled into the couch. It had maybe three or four months left before it fully collapsed, and she was going to enjoy every second.
Chapter Eight
Sunday afternoon came far too soon. Eva wasn’t prepared. The past twenty-four hours hadn’t been enough to calm her. In fact, she was angrier than ever before.
He was a prince, for crying out loud. Why did she have to go meet him? Couldn’t he have her purse dropped off at her doorstep? Why did she need to jump through hoops?
Something about it just didn’t add up. She figured he probably wanted to see her in person. That way, he could mock her for being gullible. Or, maybe he’d looked in her bag and discovered that she had a secret identity of her own. He’d known her new email, after all. There weren’t many ways to find it, which meant he’d probably been on her cell phone. She cursed herself for not using a password.
Honestly, it didn’t matter much whether he knew her secret or not. It paled in comparison to his own. Besides, she doubted anyone would be invasive enough to go through the entire contents of her purse, prince or not. He had some semblance of manners. If she’d been in his shoes, she would have opened his phone (if possible), found a way to contact him, and left the rest alone. He had no business going through her things.
Calm down, okay? He probably didn’t.
She was whizzing around her apartment, trying to find something halfway clean to wear. By the time laundry day came around for Eva, there was hardly anything clean left. She wasn’t looking to impress, but she didn’t want to give him any reason to be condescending.
She finally settled on a red blouse and blue jeans. In the bathroom, she fretted over her hair. It was getting too long. She’d used to have it styled once a month, but that had been back when she’d lived with her parents.
Now, she could barely afford to have it cut. The problem was made worse by the fact that her hair was wavy and blond. The split ends were obvious, and she didn’t have the necessary tools to tame her curls. She pulled it into the neatest braid she could and sighed.
She was exhausted. No amount of makeup could cover it, not that she could afford things like foundation and mascara anymore. Even the light in her green eyes seemed to be fading.
Something has to change.
But what?
There was a knock at the hallway door. Eva was impressed. She hadn’t expected Filipe’s driver to come up seven flights of stairs just to pick her up. Then again, how else was she supposed to know when he got there?
She gave her reflection one last glance in the mirror, decided she was satisfied, and crossed through her apartment. Her shoes and coat were waiting by the door.
“I’ll be right there!” Eva called.
Her black sneakers were far less classy than the heels she’d been wearing two nights ago, but Filipe would have to settle. She wasn’t the same woman he slept with—and she had every intention of making sure he knew it.
Eva opened the door. The chauffeur, a dapper young man with a rosy smile, greeted her. She thanked God that it wasn’t the same man from the previous morning. That would be embarrassing.
Right. Because nothing about this is embarrassing.
“Are you Eva Nightingale?”
Eva nodded.
“I am,” she affirmed. “Did Filipe send you?”
“He did,” the chauffeur said. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“I’m ready right now,” Eva said, slipping her coat around her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
The man stepped aside as she walked through the threshold and into the hallway. Eva shut the door behind her and took a deep breath. Then, they started down the steps.
As the car approached the Ramada, Eva’s heart began racing.
Calm down. You can do this.
She was meeting a prince. Sure, it was the same guy she’d hooked up with a couple of days ago. But he was a prince, and now she knew it. Everything was different.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t tell you.
Either way, what he did wasn’t right. He was married. He didn’t need to sleep around in the first place, let alone lie about his identity.
They pulled up to the Ramada, and the chauffeur opened her door. She stepped outside, praying this would be a short visit. Now that she was here, she wanted
nothing more than to be gone.
She walked through the revolving doors and into the lobby. She felt empty without her purse over her shoulder. It was a wonder she didn’t notice it missing the moment she left. She must have been too frazzled, being dismissed the way she was.
Eva promised herself she wouldn’t let him dismiss her like that again.
She scanned the lobby for Filipe. At first, she didn’t see him. It was a Sunday afternoon, between check-out and check-in time. The lobby was almost entirely empty. How could she miss him?
“Hey,” a voice said softly from behind her. “I thought you might not come.”
Eva spun around. Filipe was leaning against the check-in desk. He was just as handsome and dreamy as the night they met. Except, this time, he wasn’t just Filipe. This time, he was Prince Filipe di Benici.
She realized that part of her—a very strong part—hated him.
“Your Highness,” she said, doing a slight curtsy.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused.
“I suppose you practiced that,” he said.
“Actually,” Eva said. “I practiced a lot of things I wanted to say to you. But that? That came naturally.”
Filipe shook his head and looked down at the floor.
“Well,” he said, biting his lip and handing her purse over. “I guess you’ll be needing this for your next shift at Gustavo’s.”
Eva felt her face turn red.
He went through my things?
She snatched her bag from his outstretched hand. Reaching inside to ensure her belongings were intact, she felt her phone, wallet, keys, and the plastic bag with her uniform inside. It was all there.
Eva turned to leave. She had every reason to walk out the door. But something stopped her. Who was he to pass judgement? She turned back, glaring at Filipe.
“I might work at a coffee shop,” she said a bit louder than she planned. “But you’re a prince. And you’re married. Only a complete asshole cheats on his wife. You’re not better than me. And you don’t get to act like it just because you went through my things.”