mommy? Or maybe both of us are simply too pathetic to be graced with your presence these days.”
“I can’t believe this is how you want to spend your last day with me.”
He grabbed his camera and walked down my hall to the elevator. I took a deep breath and chased after him. He didn’t turn around even when I was right behind him.
In my most conciliatory tone, I asked, “Hey, let’s just go out, okay? Get you back in time to hang with your dad?”
He paused a moment, then stretched his hand out behind him. I took it and he pulled me around in front of him.
“Can my mom come?” he joked.
I swatted at him, and the elevator arrived. This time, it was empty.
The next morning, he was set to leave. I was getting ready for our official public good-bye when Hamlet surprised me by coming to my apartment. My father was still home when Hamlet walked in. They shook hands, and my father wished him well. I was just about to be relieved that they hadn’t irritated each other when my dad looked at his watch and said, “You two are expected downstairs in five minutes. People count the faults of those who keep them waiting.”
Hamlet rolled his eyes as my father took his coffee into his study and shut the door.
“I wanted a minute alone with you,” Hamlet said, taking a few strands of my hair and pushing them behind my shoulder.
As much as I wanted nothing more than to hang out with him on the couch all day, the choice wasn’t mine to make. “We should go.”
“I know, but I just wanted to say… God, there’s so much. This summer was…”
“What?” I asked.
He opened his mouth, but then closed it again. I waited for him to finish, hoping it was going to be sweet and romantic and as perfect as he’d been for weeks, so I was disappointed when he smirked and asked, “So, do I look ready for my public?”
No one could pull off effortlessly devastating like him. Damp blond hair tucked behind his ears, slightly wrinkled linen shirt, board shorts just below his tan knees. I sighed despite myself even as he did a mock catwalk. He stuck his sunglasses on his head, took my hand, and led me to the elevator.
“Well… I don’t know.” I wrinkled my nose. “Too bad you didn’t get the looks in your family.” He laughed. “You know I love this,” I said as I ran my palm down the length of his linen-covered chest, “but that can’t be the outfit your mom had the stylists pick for you.”
“I decided to take off the suit.”
“You should have come down earlier. I would have taken it off for you.”
He smiled and said, “You’re wicked.”
“Only because you made me that way.”
He put his arms around me. “What am I gonna do without you?”
“Not a whole lot, I hope,” I said, squeezing his cheeks between my hands.
When we got downstairs, my father’s secretary, Reynaldo, was waiting with his arms crossed and his lips pursed. As he hurried to Hamlet’s side, Reynaldo slicked back the few remaining wisps of hair on his shining head and said, “Stormy Somerville is waiting with her cameraman at the top of the steps. She’s going to ask a question or two, then you kiss chastely.”
Hamlet snickered. “Does that mean no tongue?”
I elbowed his ribs.
Reynaldo cleared his throat and wiped his head again. “Then Ophelia waves briefly and comes back inside. Is that clear?” We both nodded.
I smiled wryly and stood on my toes to whisper in Hamlet’s ear. “If you stick your tongue down my throat, I’ll kill you.” I pinched his butt and put on my public smile.
Laughing, he threw one arm around my shoulder and the other hand in the air. The crowd roared as we walked outside. Dozens of flashes went off. Spread across the steps were mostly teen girls with their mothers. Many held handmade signs with slogans like “Don’t go, Prince Charming” and “Elsinore’s a snore without you.” A few held Courtier Magazine’s Sexiest Bachelor of the Year issue with Hamlet’s photo emblazoned on the front. As often as I had posed for these photo ops, there was still a part of me that found them amusing and thrilling.
Stormy Somerville walked over, hot pink microphone in hand. I tried not to gawk at the fact that her skirt was so tight, you could tell she was wearing a thong. “Ophelia,” she said, leaning