by Mona Cox
Natalie
Thirty.
That's how many days it's been since the opera. Since the night I wrapped my arms around Connor and let him know that I didn't want to be anywhere else in the world. That I wanted to be safe in those big arms of his.
Thirty glorious and wonderful days that have made me the happiest woman on earth it seems like. I don't know how else to explain it other than the fact that I'm delirious with happiness every time I try to think of the various reasons that life is good.
Do you remember FRIENDS? You remember how Phoebe called Ross Rachel's lobster after that scene where she almost got stood up for senior prom?
Yeah, so I'm not sure I can call Connor my lobster yet, but let's just say that he's some form of crustacean right now. Like, maybe crab?
Okay, that doesn't sound good. Connor and I are not crabs.
Oh my God. No, I'd say right now we're progressing to lobster stage, but we haven't gotten there yet.
Ninety.
I'm serious when I say that's how many times in the last thirty days Connor and I have had sex.
Yeah, it averages to maybe about three times a day, but some days it's more and some days it's less.
What I'm not including are days where I'm like on my period and maybe I just go down on him. So a blowjob is not counted as sex in this instance, hun, because otherwise you would just shake your head at me and think that I went from sweet and cute and straight to nympho—that I didn't even pause at the slut stage.
And, yes. The sex is out of this world.
Like, life altering sex.
I swear I've blacked out too many times. I've seen stars. I've been in a sex haze.
A sex haze is absolutely real. You end up just sitting there for minutes, or sometimes even hours just zoned out because your brain is just firing too many pleasure synapses. Your neurons are literally tired. Your limbs feel like they're going to fall off. Your clit is raw. Your muscles inside are sore too, but it's a good sore.
Yeah, this is more sex than I've ever had in my life. And I couldn't be happier.
Three.
That’s how many bags of stuff I’ve brought over to Connor’s place.
Okay, his apartment at the Dakota is just so much nicer, okay?
Besides, it makes it a lot easier to not have to buy everything from Duane Reade every time I spend the night at Connor’s house.
Sure, it’s a big step. But so is the key he gave me to his place. We both joked that if we broke up, it would be pretty messy. Because I’d have to pack. And he’d have to help me move.
God, let’s hope it never comes to that, huh?
Two.
That's how many times Connor's face is close to mine and I almost tell him that I love him. Almost.
I don't yet. I need to be sure.
I can't tell him I love him and not mean it.
But more than anything else, I can't tell him I love him and have him treat me like every other girl that I've seen on YouTube.
I mean, this isn't a romance novel, you know, hun? Just telling a guy that you love him may not get rid of all his wild ways.
No, I need to be sure that he's changed or at least that he's willing to make a commitment before I do that.
Until then, I'm okay sharing my body. But I just can't get to that point where I can share my heart.
Six.
That's how many days ago I swear Connor was about to tell me that he loves me.
Why is this so important to me?
It's just three little words. They don't even mean anything to most people.
But to someone like Connor D'Avington, who prides himself on telling the truth and being upfront, it means a good deal.
Connor has always gone through life telling women that he's only there for the fun. He tells them he's never going to love them and they can hop on board, literally, and enjoy the ride. They totally do, but after that, when he's ready to move on they usually get upset.
Well, Connor never told me to hop on board. But he hasn't said anything else either.
It's like he doesn't know what we're doing.
Like the blind leading the blind.
Ten.
That's how many hours a day the D'Avington account is taking up of my life at work.
I swear to you that sometimes when I sit down and look at just the insane levels of shit we have to clean up from Connor's life, I wonder how I could ever be attracted to someone like him. I mean, I've always gone for the solid, sophisticated and silent types.
At Harvard, they were usually members of the Porc.
See, that's what I mean? The Porc actually stands for the Porcelain.
I'm not some snob, I swear. But that's just the kind of guys I used to date.
But maybe that's why I used to be so bored with men. Because after trading the effete Ivy League legacy for a real bad boy royal, I don't think I'll ever be able to think of another man again.
Zero.
I swear that's how many men I've thought of in my head since Connor and I have been going out.
I mean, I'm not even fantasizing about any other guy.
It's like no other man exists in my life.
I almost want to say that Connor D'Avington has ruined me for other men.
It's true. I mean, how am I supposed to really think of other men and fantasize about them when he's fucking me three times a day? Ninety times in thirty days, remember? Not including blowjobs.
And to be quite honest, I couldn't care less that I haven't thought of another guy since Connor came in.
I mean, I look at guys nowadays as almost a guy does, like beings that take up space that I interact with. Do I look at them and wonder if I want to have sex with them? I honestly never get to that point.
Because before I can have even a single sexual thought about them, thoughts of Connor push everything aside.
I may be thinking about him a little bit too much.
But for now, I'm happy to go with it and see what happens.
14
Connor
Life’s good. And I mean, really fucking good.
You know, I thought that all of this would be way harder. I never expected that change could be this fucking easy. I don’t miss all the drinking and all the partying and… well, this is going to sound fucking insane coming from me, but I don’t miss fucking around with random women. And all this because Natalie’s by my side.
Yeah, I know, right? What the fuck happened to Prince Connor? Natalie happened, it’s as simple as that. She came into my life with that shy smile of hers, and I was done the moment we locked eyes. I knew I had to have her… And the moment I had her, I realized that I would never let go of her. And I haven’t.
So why haven’t I told her that I love her? Now that’s a good fucking question. I never have a problem telling people how I feel, but somehow, this is different. This makes me feel… fuck, I don’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but this makes me feel fucking vulnerable. I know that the moment those three words leave my mouth, that there’ll be no going back. That’s just how I fucking work. Whenever the moment comes for me to say it, I’ll love her until I’m six feet under.
“Connor to Earth, respond,” I hear a woman’s voice break through the fog of my mind. Fuck, it’s hard to pay attention to anything whenever I start thinking of Natalie, and I’m always thinking of her.
“I’m right here,” I tell Nadia, leaning back against my seat and looking straight at her. She’s standing in front of the conference table, pointing at something on the wall-mounted screen. Christ, these Royal briefings are getting more and more boring by the day. It almost seems that Nadia chooses the most irrelevant or biased bullshit for these meetings.
“You weren’t paying attention,” she tells me, hands on her hips as she frowns.
“I was,” I tell her with a grin. “The Constitutionalists are pushing for a referendum to abolish the monarchy, that’s what you’ve been hammering on for the last fifteen minutes.”
“That’s what Natalie and I have been doing for the past few weeks,” I try to tell her, but the way she looks at me makes it pretty fucking clear that she doesn’t give a fuck about what I’m going to say. “You know, I’m just wondering why you haven’t mentioned the latest polls; the good press I’ve been getting from the media is making the Constitutionalists lose a lot of support in the Senate. They’ll never manage to push this referendum bullshit through.”
“You don’t know that, Connor,” she tells me, completely ignoring me. I don’t know what bug crawled up her ass, but Nadia has been insufferable since we hired Gage Price’s services. “I think that whatever you’re doing with that girl Natalie, it isn’t working. We need something else, and we need to do it fast.” That girl Natalie... The way the words come out of her mouth make me see red.
“Oh, is that so? You think you’d do better?”
“I know I’d do better, Connor. I used to work for a fashion magazine; we don’t need any help cleaning up your image. You know how your brother feels about letting outsiders work on family matters.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what my brother feels,” I tell her, my lips a serious straight line. “I don’t like where this conversation is going. I really don’t, Nadia. So choose your words carefully.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Connor. But as Royal Secretary I have to act on your family's best interests. And this is not your call to take,” she starts to say, an explicit threat in every single word of hers. I can’t believe she’s trying to fucking outmaneuver me. What’s her fucking endgame? “It’s very simple, Connor. Just fire Gage Price.”
“It’s not Gage Price you want me to fire, is it? It’s Natalie,” I tell her, grinding my teeth together as I get up from my seat. Her two assistants seem to shrink in their seats, looking at each other and then back to me.
“I’m just taking care of your interests, Connor,” she continues, insisting on that fucking bullshit. What the fuck is her problem?
“The fuck you are,” I hiss. “I don’t know whose interests you’re looking out for, but they sure as fuck aren’t mine.”
“See? You’re losing your temper. Do you think you’ve changed? You haven't. You’re just one step away from bringing down the whole Royal Family. So I’m going to make this very simple for you: you either fire Gage Price or --”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll go back to your brother, tell him that whatever you’re doing isn’t working, and you know that he’ll have no choice but to disown you. He’ll take your title and all the Royal Family ever gave to you. You’ll be out on the street. You’ll have nothing, and you’ll be nothing.”
“Fucking hell… You’re fucking evil, Nadia,”
“Maybe. But all this boils down to one thing: Gage Price is out, one way or another. You either fire them, or your head will roll.” Fuck this shit. Does she think I’m going to take this lying down? No way in fucking hell I’m going to let Nadia walk all over Natalie and I.
I walk around the conference table and, leaning into Nadia, I whisper at her. “You don’t want to pick a fucking battle with me, Nadia. I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you, but if you come against me, my family, or Natalie… I’m going to bury you. I fucking swear it. Leave us the fuck alone.” I pause for a second, looking into her eyes, and then continue. “Also, Gage Prince stays, and so does Natalie. It’s my call, and it’s final.”
I smile at her, and adjust the knot in my dark silk tie, then turn on my heels and storm off of the conference room. Who the fuck does she think she is? I don’t care if she’s the St. Alban’s Royal Secretary or the President of the United States; no one threatens me like that. Fuck, you know what I need right now? I need to see Natalie. I need to hold her in my arms, my lips pressed on hers…
That’s what I fucking need.
15
Natalie
"Is it just me, or does this Andouille sausage look like a you-know-what?" Christine asks, laughing.
"Girl, get your mind out of the gutter," I joke. "I think you just need a good booty call."
"Not all guys are made alike," she says. "We can't all be so lucky and have a hot Prince in our lives."
"You know I didn't choose that."
A waiter approaches our table and refills our water glasses. My lemon wedge jostles with the ice cubes in my glass and I watch as the pulp from the citrus clouds the water. I once heard that you should never put the lemon wedge from a restaurant in your glass because apparently it harbors some of the most germs.
But whatevs. I like lemon water, so I risk it.
"You look happy," Christine says. "A lot happier than before. You have a glow about you or something, girl."
I have to admit that she's right. But she doesn't look bad herself. The whole night I've been secretly admiring the new lipstick she's been wearing—an unapologetic pink that is bold and more magenta than pastel. It's bold and badass and I make a mental note to find a shade just like that.
"It's true; I feel like a whole new person," I reply with a smile. "I've been seeing Connor … a lot lately."
Christine takes a sip of her drink and chuckles.
"I figured that much," she says, smiling. "Does that mean you two are … serious?"
"I mean, I really don't want to jump the gun and jinx things, but … I think so," I say. "We're so different, Connor and I."
"But don't you see? It's the couples who are the most different who make the best pairs. It's what happy ending are made of! Jump into any good book or movie and you'll see what I'm talking about."
"You're probably right. If people are too similar, they either bore each other to death, or they want to kill each other. Connor and I are opposites on so many levels—his wealth, ego, and liquid courage, but I feel so good around him—like I can take on the world, you know?"
"I'm so happy for you Natalie. You deserve to be happy."
"But even though I'm happy, and things are good—Connor is so different from all of the men I've dated in the past."
"No kidding," Christine laughs. "He's a prince … and a real man. No offense, but your past boyfriends were far from men. Like those spineless guys from the Harvard Porc club. I mean, how different can you get from a Prince?"
"It's not just that," I say. "I've just never dated around much, and I'm a bit more conservative with who I sleep with—case in point about those Harvard guys—and I definitely never considered that I'd be dating a playboy. But then Connor came along and he got me out of my shell. I've really opened up to him, and let down my guard."
"I'd say he got you out of more than just your shell … like maybe your clothes?" she laughs. "But in all seriousness, that's great, I just want you to be careful girl."
"What do you mean by that?" I ask.
"Just take it slow, okay? You're one of my best friends and I don't want to see you get hurt. Don't go too far too fast, you know what I mean?"
Christine's always been a worrier and over protective, so I dismiss her.
"Come on, you don't need to worry about me," I say. "I know what I'm doing. Connor is a good guy, I swear. I've really gotten to know him over these last few weeks."
"I'm just looking out for you," Christine says with a serious expression on her face.
"I appreciate that, but Connor and I are great," I reply.
The next morning I have a smile the size of a watermelon wedge on my face. This is possibly the happiest I've ever been in my life. I walk into the offices of Gage Price, but I quickly realize that everyone is looking at me. Instead of the usual office chatter, it's unusually quiet. The people who are talking, are now communicating in hushed tones. Is it just me, or are people trying hard not to stare?
I approach my desk, and settle in. I power up my computer and place my purse on my desk when I see a note.
It's from my manager, George Brown.
"Please come see me as soon as you get in. Thanks, George"
He never leaves me handwritten notes like this. What's going on?
My smile disappears and my pulse picks up as my heart feels like it's trying to kick a hole in my chest. I start growing dizzy with worry, so I take a deep breath to calm myself down, and I walk to George's office.
When I stand in front of his door, it's open, but I give it a quick knock to signal my arrival.
He looks up from his computer. "Natalie, please come in," he says. "We need to talk."
Now, I don't know about you, but for me, those four words raise my anxiety levels by about a thousand. Mark my words; it's never ever a good thing when someone suggests a sit-down conversation with those four words.
I walk in and take a seat.
"I received a letter today," George says. "It came from Nadia Scow, the press officer for Connor D’Avington.”
Now he really has my attention.
Why would Connor have Nadia send George a letter? He's been working with me from the beginning. I'm his point of contact at Gage Price. I'm his PR consultant.
"It's not good," George continues.
Now my pulse is really racing, but I try to keep my cool and just nod my head, urging him to go on. Maybe this is all just a misunderstanding.
"He's instructing the Royal Press Office to terminate his agreement with Gage Price," George says.
"He's what?" I ask, nearly shouting. "Why would he do that? I feel like this is coming out of left field. Did he give a reason?"
"He did," he says, matter of fact.
"And?"
"He says it's because of you."
What? I can hardly believe his words. As soon as he says this, my heart sinks. It seems to travel straight through to the floor.
Looks like Christine was right.
I was such an idiot for being so blind. I let my guard down.