I say, voice strained.
“Get your caffeine fix this morning?”
So there it is, a definitive answer.
I should thank him for the gift card, but something tells me that’s the wrong move. It ends the game right here and now.
“As a matter of fact, I did.” My tone is dipped in sugar. “Thank you for asking. I have a little coffee pot in my dorm room. I used an extra dark roast this morning. Drank two cups while I listened to the birds chirping outside my window. Aren’t mornings so peaceful?” Without pausing, I turn to Ryan and smile. “Ryan, you look handsome. Did you get a haircut?”
His eyes widen in shock that I’ve given his appearance any thought at all.
“What?” He touches his hair. “No, uh…but I did get some new hair gel last week.”
“Well whatever you’re doing, it looks great.”
My dimples pop with the compliment.
His cheeks are rosy red and Derek hasn’t uttered a word in minutes and maybe I’m better at this game than I thought I was.
A quick glance back at him proves that theory wrong.
His smirk is in place. He sees right through me.
An hour later, a girl who looks to be around ten asks me why I have “two princes”.
“Oh my. Two princes? Surely not. His Royal Highness is right here.” I place my hand delicately on Ryan’s arm.
She narrows her eyes suspiciously then inflates a bubble out of her pink gum and makes it POP.
“Well then who’s that?” she asks, pointing back at Derek.
Yes. Who is that? No one has given me a script for how to handle this scenario. She’s not the first child to ask me about my two princes, she’s just the boldest.
“That’s a friend of His Royal Highness,” I assure her, bending low. “I love your blouse. Is that a butterfly?”
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks. Yeah. Anyway, he must be a prince too because he’s dressed just like this guy. And if they’re both princes, is this like The Bachelorette? My mom lets me watch it with her sometimes—”
At this point, her horrified mother is dragging her away while she continues, now shouting.
“I just want to know which one you’re going to choose?! I think the other one is cuter! He looks like a real prince! Mom, let me go! You’re hurting me!”
The next day, I’m down in the Underground walking with Julie on the way to my shift. I pass an open door and find Derek alone inside a dressing room with a member of Costuming. A tall, lithe woman has her hands on his throat, fixing his cravat so it lays perfect beneath his sharp jaw.
She’s giggling and chattering on.
He turns and notices me paused there, transfixed.
I realize, a moment too late, that my jealousy is written across my face, plain as day.
I turn quickly and flee after Julie.
Later the next day, I meet Cal for dinner. I have half a mind to cancel, worried sick over the idea that Derek might join us, but when I arrive, the table is only set for two and Cal assures Ava no one else will be joining us. I discreetly wipe the bead of sweat from my brow. It’s only midweek and already I’m starting to doubt my ability to be around Derek without making a misstep. I try hard to completely ignore his presence altogether, but I never fully succeed. I end up finding excuses to turn around and look at him during my meet-and-greet shifts, or I cave during lunch and scan the perimeter of the cafeteria like a hawk, ignoring my food and waiting for him to make an appearance.
Cal usually offers me a glass of expensive wine with dinner, and I always accept. Tonight, though, I’m tempted to ask Ava to leave the bottle. Better yet, waterfall it into my open mouth, will you? Cal takes his wine very seriously. His selections are always thoughtful. This vintage was grown during the rainy season in Tuscany. I don’t tell him it could be gas station wine for all the difference I taste.
Tonight, especially, he’s raving about the bottle he’s selected, and I nod and hum when it seems appropriate, but my mind is not present. It seems to be completely absent this week.
He mumbles something.
I nod again. Yes, grapes. I taste them.
Then he catches my attention with his next comment.
“I’m so happy you’ll be there.”
Wait. What?
“Sorry, I spaced out. Did I just agree to something?”
He smiles, unperturbed by my lack of focus.
“I’m hosting a dinner party on Friday.