by J. J. McAvoy
“Three pounds of chicken thighs should be enough. What do you think?” Her head whipped to me far too quickly. Her brown eyes looked directly into me.
It took me a second to catch up, but she just shook her head. “Never mind. How would you know?” she said to herself and then looked over the counter at the man waiting. “Hello, can I get three pounds of fresh chicken thighs.”
“Seasoned or unseasoned,” he asked.
“Unseasoned, please,” she replied, bending over to look at their selection of meats.
I bent over beside her, too. “I saw a modern art piece once that had humans in a glass like this with animals pushing carts. I did not understand everything about it at the time, but now it is clear.”
Her head turned to me, and the look on her face was odd. “You sure know how to make conversation.” She giggled.
That sound, for some reason, made me feel good. “Thank you.”
“Your chicken thighs,” the butcher said, handing it over to her.
“Thank you,” she said and once more and looked at her list. “Three pounds of chicken thighs, salt, ground black pepper, cooking spray, olive oil, two bulbs of garlic, chicken broth, heavy cream, thyme, cayenne pepper, lime, and butter. Yep, we have everything.”
“So, we are done?” I asked as she put away her phone. “How do you pay then?”
The guy behind the counter looked at me as if I had two heads.
“Super-rich kid,” Odette whispered over to him, though seeing as we could all hear her, there was no point.
The guy’s mouth made a large O, and he just nodded. He looked me over and then shook his head. “Must be nice,” he said with tone.
“She is a—”
“Come on, Mr. Warbucks.” She linked arms with me, preventing me from outing her as a super-rich kid herself. “This will be your last obstacle of the day. The self-checkout lines. You’ll be my bagboy.”
“Wait. Your what?”
Chapter 18
My first day here had taught me cooking was much harder than it looked. Now, after days of being here, I had learned that cooking was still hard, and I did not belong in a kitchen.
“It burns!” I hollered, grabbing hold of the sink, trying to wash out my eyes only to have Odette rush to me.
“No water!”
“It burns! Agh!”
“Why would you rub your eye as you’re cutting peppers?” she yelled at me.
“I forgot!”
“Who forgets something as they’re doing it!”
“I am in pain! Why are you yelling at me?”
“Because! Ugh!” She grabbed my arms and led me from the sink.
“Where are we going?” I panicked because I could not open my eyes.
“Don’t worry. I have you. Come on, sit.” She guided me to the stool, helping me sit down. The panic was gone, but the burning still ate its way through my cornea. It hurt so bad my legs shook.
“We should take him to the hospital,” Iskandar said from my left, and I wished I could see his face because he sounded worried.
“You do not take people to the emergency room for this—get me milk,” she said back.
“Milk?”
“Ms. Odette—”
“Iskandar, do you know anything about the American medical system? No. You don’t. If you did, you would know that all the time we used to get there, explain what happened, and did the paperwork, would only leave him like this for longer!” she snapped at him.
“I would not prefer that,” I muttered, wincing in tears that only spread the pain.
“Here’s the milk,” Wolfgang said to my right.
She did not say anything back, but I did feel the soaked paper towel she dabbed on my eyes, milk seeping into them, calming the fire. It did not take too long for my legs to stop trembling. I exhaled with relief.
“You are like a little kid trapped in a man’s body. You know that?” she whispered, her face directly in front of mine.
So close that I could feel her breath on my skin as I could also feel her hands on my face. She turned my head in any direction she needed without even asking.
“I have been told that once or twice,” I whispered. Though I doubted a little kid would fight the desire to touch her like I was. I felt exactly where her body was in front of me. The temptation to wrap my hand around her waist and bring her into me was strong.
“How does it feel now?” she whispered, and a shiver went up my spine.
It felt like I needed more pepper in my eyes to make her stay this close. “Better,” was what I actually said.
“Can you open your eyes?”
I did but only for a half a second before having to close them. Her brown face was a blur, but a very pretty blur.
“Why are you smiling?”
Shit.
“Ugh, am I? I’m just trying to keep my eyes from watering,” I sort of lied.
“Okay, you should lie down.” She put her arm over my shoulder and hugged me... Oh, I definitely need more pepper to the eye.
“I can get him—”
“No, you cannot,” I uttered back to Iskandar in Ersovian.
“What did you say?” Odette asked, her arms still around me.
“I told him not to panic. I’m better.”
“Okay, watch your step,” she said, making us circle around something for a moment. It took a bit more maneuvering before she finally got me to the couch. “Okay, lie back.”
Her hands on my chest and shoulder burned worse than my eyes. When she put a wet towel on my eyes, I reached up, and her hands met mine.
“No, don’t move it. Stay like this for a few minutes.”
“Where are you going?” I grabbed her hand.
“To finish dinner. Don’t worry. Your bodyguard is right here.”
I pouted. “You would leave me in his care? He would call an ambulance if I sneezed now.”
“I see you are feeling better. Part of me wished it burned longer,” Iskandar replied but spoke in Ersovian.
“He said he is not sure if you know what you are doing,” I lied.
“Well, excuse me!” she snapped at him, and I closed my lips. “It’s not my fault this happened, and as you can see, he is getting better. You don’t have to be so uptight about everything. He’s a person. Accidents happen.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
“I’ll be right back. Just give me a few seconds. Call out if it starts to hurt again,” Odette said down to me, and I nodded.
It was only when her footsteps faded a bit that Iskandar spoke again.
“Are you pleased with yourself, sir,” Iskandar whispered.
I grinned. “I apologize, but let me enjoy this. This is the most tender she has been to me since I came here.”
“Fine, so long as you do not go injuring yourself for her attention.”
“I would never do that.” I would definitely think about it, but I would not actually do it.
What a day. I had much more fun than I thought I was going to have. This was how normal people lived. Getting haircuts in kitchens—or wigs—going to grocery stores, making their own dinner, getting pepper in their eyes.
It was all so ordinary.
I lay there for a few more minutes before reaching up. I took the towels off my eyes, blinking a few times, and the pain was relatively gone, though I did have a minor headache starting. However, the smell of whatever she was making reached my nostrils, and I looked over the couch at her, seeing her tasting her sauce on a wooden spoon. I assumed it was to her liking because she grinned and took out her phone again, reading. Then she grabbed the vegetables we had bought, put them into the pot, and finally turned a knob on the stove. With each step, each move, my eyes followed her. She was really...something different.
“Okay, a few more minutes, and we can eat—you’re up.” She looked surprised, stepping over to me. “How are your eyes?”
“Happy to see you.” The words just slipped out.
“That’s more like you. You hadn’t said anything cheesy in a few hours, so I was starting to get worried.”
I had a reply, but I let it go. Be friends, Gale. I was going to try to be her friend first. “Do you need help with anything else?”
“No, don’t help. I don’t want you to get anything else in your eyes, or worse, cut a finger. Iskandar here might lose it,” she teased him.
He frowned into his book, looking away from us both.
“Do not worry. I will protect you.” I snickered, looking back to her. “I am enjoying being so normal.”
“Fine, you can help me set the table and bring out the food,” she said.
“That I am sure I can manage!”
He looked so relaxed.
So...normal.
Like any other guy around my mom’s dining table. A table we only ever used when people came over. Most times, we just ate in front of the television. Even on Thanksgiving and Christmas, we would spend our mornings and afternoons at fundraisers or charity events and then come back and eat while watching some sappy drama.
Yet here he was, just being a guy at dinner, talking, eating, joking. But I noticed he was no longer trying to hit on me. It kind of bothered me. It also bothered me that I had no idea what had happened while I was gone. However, I pushed those thoughts down and tried to focus on all the stories that were going around. My mom was doing her best to once again embarrass me, telling Gale every horrible story of my childhood. Luckily, Wolfgang and Iskandar had a few of his to share as well.
It felt like Thanksgiving came early this year.
“Odette, why don’t you take Gale to the study to see your old photos and trophies while we clean up,” my mother said with a wink and a nod. Her setup was clear to everyone at the table, which was why Wolfgang was already rising from his chair, leaning over to take Gale’s plate.
But Gale picked it up instead. “Ms. W—Wilhelmina, it is fine. I want to clean up, too.”
“You both did the shopping and the cooking, so the least we can do is clean. Iskandar, pick up a plate,” she directed Iskandar, who looked at her for a moment. She gave him a look, and he got up, taking Gale’s plate from his hand.
“Odette, go on.” She pushed with her eyes saying, if you do not take him in there, young lady, I will hurt you.
“It’s fine, really,” Gale interjected.
Did he not want to go with me? “Come on. She will keep giving me the evil eye until we go.”
It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. He walked around and followed me through the dining room into the hall and across from the stairs where I slid open the study door. It was not used to study but to showcase all of the awards she and I had received, along with photos and teddy bears.
“Wow,” he exclaimed, stepping inside.
“Yep. Welcome to my mother’s shrine.” Some parents displayed their kid’s drawings or college diplomas. My mother had all my little tiaras, wands, tutus, sashes, and photo shoots.
“Little Miss Sunrise and Little Miss Moonshine?” he said with a grin, reading the sashes draped over a velvet pillow. “Did you win Little Miss Star, too?”
I pointed behind him. “I won the Brightest Little Star at nine months.”
He looked at it in shock. “There are competitions for infants, too?”
“Yep, and it’s serious. Like my mom says, not every baby is cute.” I shook my head. “I always wondered how in the world she convinced my father to put me through all of that.”
“He probably let it happen because it made her so happy. Look at her smile with you.” He pointed to the photo of me as a baby wearing my little tiara and her with her crown.
We were in matching dresses and smiling like they glued the sides of our faces up.
“When my mother was your age, she wanted to be a ballerina. She wanted it more than anything. She had gone to school for it, and she had actually even performed in a few productions. But then she met my father, and there was no way the future queen could be seen twirling around on stage. She was forced to make a choice and chose my father. My father did not want her to be unhappy, but he could not yet change the rules, as my grandparents would not have allowed it. After they were married, he had her perform in the palace. The only people who saw the performance were a few close members of the family. But it made her happy, anyway.”
“I thought you said women did not have to give up their careers?” And the amount of worry that came over me was strange, seeing as how I hadn’t agreed to marry him.
“My father changed the rule when he became king. But she was older and more focused on being a mom to the three of us. She did not dance again after that, but she did make Eliza try.”
“So, your sister is a ballerina?”
He snorted, shaking his head. “She did not even entertain our mother’s idea. She went to one class and refused ever to go again. Everyone tried to tell her to give it a few more tries, and she outright refused. She was six. My mom took her anyway, and so Eliza decided to just sit down for the whole class. My mother gave up.”
“Why do moms always try to live vicariously through their daughters?”
“Not just mothers and daughters but fathers and sons, too.”
“Your father is a king, and he tries to live through you?”
“Not me at all. I always joke that I am the spare. He tries more through Arty, my brother, the Adelaar.”
“The what?”
He lifted one of the photo books, looking through them. “It means the eagle apparent, or what you would say as the crown prince. In France, they call theirs the Dauphin. In Ersovia, we say Adelaar. And the wife of Adelaar is called the Adelina. The white eagle is the symbol of the House of Monterey and thus the monarchy.”
“How long has your family reigned?” I asked.
“Since 1597.”
“What?” They had been kings and queens before America was America. Jamestown hadn’t even existed yet.
His eyes focused on me, and the corners of his lips turned up. “The House of Monterey is the longest-ruling family in Europe, not that it matters much. There are not many kingdoms left.”
There was a flash of sorrow as he closed the book, putting it back where he got it from.
“Are you worried about that?” I asked, coming closer to him.
“All royals are worried about that,” he whispered. “However, I always wonder if that time came for us, what will it be like for the last king? I’m sure Arty will make it through, but what about his future son or daughter, and their children. The people love us today, but love is not always enough—as history has clearly shown.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Tell me about it. People ask if I have wanted to be king. And I always say absolutely not. I get almost all the same perks without the stress.” He chuckled.
“But the fact that you think the way you do means you are worried about your brother. It’s sweet.”
“The fact that you were worried about missing your sister’s husband’s event shows that you are not as angry as you seem and still want to look out for her.”
We both eyed each other.
I couldn’t say anything; he had caught me off guard with that. Luckily, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll be right back.” I didn’t want him to say anything. Dashing to the front door and without even thinking, I opened the door.
There was my sister in the flesh, dressed in track pants and an Etheus active, long-sleeved shirt under her zipper jacket, with a headband in her hair. Her light-brown eyes widened as she saw me.
“Where have you been?” she screamed at me, pushing her way into the house. “I’ve called over and over. I went to your place, and the doorman would not let me up. I tried calling again. No answer. Your shows were over hours ago. Why didn’t you come today? Are you seriously so pissed off at me that you wouldn’t even show up? I had the press asking me why you weren’t there. There are rumors all over the place saying we are
fighting—”
“Augusta, breathe.”
“No, I’m angry!” she hollered. “Yes, I was wrong for getting married and not telling you. But you know why I had to do it! We have been in litigation for a year. We need to pay lawyers and bills. It was a simple solution. I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to judge me! ‘Oh, you will do anything for money? Oh, Augusta, we can find a way.’ I couldn’t. I don’t have another career like you do to fall back on. And don’t say I could go work at a restaurant or something—as if that could pay our kind of bills! I kept lying because I was embarrassed. This wasn’t some elaborate plot by me to take all the money.”
“Augusta—”
“Okay, maybe my mom was plotting something, but I told her I would never do anything to hurt you. You can’t blame me for what she does! You know she acts crazy whenever it comes to your—”
“Augusta, shut up!” I screamed back.
She stopped, crossing her arms, exhaling from her nose like a raging bull.
“Thank you! I get it. I’m sorry I missed it today. I will call you tomorrow. This is not a good time.”
“You are kicking me out after everything I just...” her voice trailed off as her eyes went wide, clearly focused on someone behind me.
Dammit.
“Hello,” Gale said.
Augusta didn’t reply and instead focused on me. She stepped closer, turning to hide her body from him and whispered in a very hushed tone “Odette, I’m not sure if you noticed, but there is a white guy with a strange accent and a lace-front wig on behind you.”
“Yeah, I know,” I whispered back.
She was ridiculous, sometimes. She leaned over and looked back to him for a second before coming back up. “He’s kinda cute, but what’s with the hairpiece. Is he bald?” Why was she like this?
“Can we talk about this later?” I begged, but it was like I was cursed.
Both Wolfgang and Iskandar appeared at the end of the corridor to see what was happening. She, of course, noticed, and her eyes widened farther.
“Are you conducting interviews or something?”
I reached forward with one hand and started to push with the other. “Goodbye, Augusta. I will see you later.”