running my hands over her curves. I think about the fullness of her breasts, and how they swell with every breath.
My blood turns to fire and my whole body burns.
I want her. I can’t deny it.
But it’s something else, too. There’s something about Margot that I wasn’t expecting. There’s a depth to her that doesn’t come through in her public persona. She’s fragile, and sensitive, and she cares deeply about her sister.
I glance at Margot, who chews her bottom lip as she stares out the window. This is her life—living in the public eye, dealing with interviews and public criticism. Having everyone give their opinion on her appearance, her character, her life, her choices.
I don’t want to get involved with that world. Her life is exactly the one I’ve been avoiding since I was young. All my time staying secluded inside the palace walls and keeping my face out of the media has been to prevent my life from turning into hers.
She is the exact opposite of what I want.
So, why is my body betraying me whenever she’s near?
Then, Margot turns to look at me, and flashes her brilliant smile. It sends an arrow straight through my chest, and I forget what I was worried about a second ago.
We stop outside the studio, and Margot slips her hand out of mine. I miss her skin as soon as she pulls away. When we get out of the car, I can only smell faint whispers of her perfume, and I wish my face was buried in her hair.
I want to be closer.
We’re taken to a dressing room, where a long table of snacks and drinks has been laid out. Margot ignores them all. She sits down in front of the mirror, fussing with her hair and taking deep breaths.
“You okay?” I ask.
She turns away from the mirror, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
A knock sounds on the door, and we both turn our heads. “They’re ready for you,” one of Margot’s team says through the closed door.
All the blood drains from Margot’s face. She gulps, nodding as if the person can see her. “Okay, be out in a minute.” Margot’s voice sounds strangled, and her chest starts to rise and fall. She’s shaking. Her hands grip the edges of her seat as she starts breathing more and more rapidly, letting out short gasps.
I move toward Margot, kneeling in front of her. I put my hands on her thighs. “Margot, are you okay?”
“I can’t…” she wheezes. “I can’t…”
“Look at my eyes.”
Margot looks at me, and sheer terror fills her eyes. “I can’t breathe,” she finally says. Her hands go to her neck, and panic starts to overtake her face. Margot’s eyes dart from one end of the room to the other, and her body starts to rock back and forth.
I know what’s happening, because I’ve been in her shoes. Not for many, many years, but I’ve been there.
She’s having a panic attack.
“Margot, look at me.” I keep my voice soft, but firm. She drags her eyes to mine. “I want you to slow down your breathing with me.”
I inhale, counting to five, and exhale, counting to five. Margot tries her best to follow, her shaking breaths not quite lasting that long. We do that three or four times, and then I ask her to look at me again.
“Think about the feeling of the chair supporting you. Your breath as it passes through your nose. The warmth of my hands on your thighs.”
Her hands move over mine and Margot nods, inhaling again. Her fingers curl around mine and she clings onto me as if I’m her lifeline. Next time we take a breath together, she’s able to smooth her breath out. Her shoulders drop, and the trembling in her body grows more gentle.
We stay like that for a while. I have no idea how long. Seconds? Minutes?
I try to talk slowly, calmly, as if I were talking to a nervous animal. Margot’s hands curl around my fingers, and she leans forward to rest her forehead against mine. We stay like that, eyes closed, breath mixing, until I feel the panic inside her ease.
Finally, she pulls away. Her eyes mist up, and she shakes her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“I’m embarrassed. I don’t…” She bites her lip.
I cup her face in my hand, dragging my thumb over her cheek. Her skin is so soft, her eyes so gentle, I wonder how someone like this could ever face the harshness of the public eye.