Chapter Ten

Daniel

I’m riding in a horse-drawn carriage…and if that’s not bad enough, it’s not even a normal carriage. It’s the fanciest goddamn carriage I’ve ever seen, in either the real world or the cartoon one. With gold-plated rims, intricate ivy carvings along the side, and even lavish bridles for the horses, I bet this thing is worth more than a Lambo. According to my sister, when the Prince of Eldonia wants to tour his kingdom, he can’t simply ride in any old carriage. No, it has to be the ROYAL carriage, where even the damned horses are dressed up.

As usual, this is all Madison’s fault. After the game, I guess I was complaining about Lyle an awful lot, about him having the nerve to say I don’t know my kingdom. I mean…I don’t. But I damned well don’t want Lyle to know I’ve spent every summer at the rink instead of exploring my own country.

So somehow, all that complaining about Lyle ended up with Madison suggesting we actually go out and explore. At least when I’m sipping on a local craft beer tonight at the pub, I’ll have real stories about Eldonia to shove down Lyle’s pompous throat while he’s blackmailing me.

The main town near the castle is only a five-minute drive, but it’s a bumpy twenty minutes in the carriage. Even the plush velvet seats don’t do much to soften the ride.

The only thing that makes this whole thing bearable is Madison’s face. She seems to glow in Eldonia’s soft afternoon sunshine, and the breeze keeps her hair out of her pretty dark eyes. She lights up every time we pass something she deems interesting. Like a farmhouse, cows grazing in a field, the endless rows of tomato plants, or some old crumbling stone structure that must have been important at some point.

“Oh my God!” Madison grabs my arm and pulls me to her side of the carriage. “Is that a windmill? They actually still use those?”

I watch the calm rotation of the red blades. “Being in Eldonia is sort of like going back in time.”

“It’s so peaceful,” she says wistfully. “I feel like I’m in a fairytale.”

A fairytale is exactly what she deserves. I wish I could give it to her—a storybook ending, happily ever after. But instead, she got stuck with me. A second-rate prince with a kingdom that doesn’t trust him.

She catches me staring at her and the bridge of her nose turns bright pink. “What are you thinking?” she asks.

I’m thinking I want to kiss you. The way she’s looking at me, her mouth slightly parted…it almost makes me think she wouldn’t mind if I tried. I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline from kicking Lyle’s ass this morning, or if I’m just so tired of pretending that I don’t want this, but I lean toward her. She doesn’t pull away.

The carriage jerks over a bump in the road, and we’re thrown apart. She leans back in the seat and laughs.

I whistle through my teeth. It’s probably for the best. I would have gotten a slap in the face or worse.

We pass the rest of the ride in silence, which is fine by me, but I can see the tension in Madison. She buzzes in her seat, as if she needs to say something, only I don’t know the right question to ask.

But as soon as we pull into town, Madison’s eyes light up again. I have to admit, it does look like something from a postcard. With the brightly colored rooftops, paper lanterns strung from shop to shop, and window boxes bursting with flowers on every window sill, I’m tempted to ask our driver if he accidentally dropped us off at Disneyland. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to town, and it doesn’t seem as cold as I remember.

Maybe that’s because Madison’s light makes me warm.

There’s a small well in the middle of the town square. It doesn’t work anymore, but I know it’s a tradition to throw a coin in and make a wish. One year, I threw a coin in and wished for the Chicago Blackhawks to win the Stanley Cup.

That year, they actually did.

There are shops all around the square, with awnings of pink and blue and lavender and turquoise. Our carriage driver pulls off to the side and says he’ll be back to pick us up in a few hours. Cabs aren’t really a thing here, let alone Uber.

As soon as we step out of the carriage, Madison grabs my hand. My heart jumps a little, but then I notice everyone in the square has turned to look at us. The Girlfriend Act is on.

Every step I take, every facial expression I have, every word out of my mouth could be used to make or break my reputation. I try to adjust my smile into something natural.

“How do I look?” I ask Madison.

“Like Jack Nicholson in ‘The Shining’.” She leans into me. “Just relax.”

I follow her lead and we start to make our way around the square. It’s a sunny day and most of the merchants have set up stalls in front of the shops to display their goods. Madison stops in front of the bakery, closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.

I mimic her. The smell is amazing. Damn, I could carb-load on these cinnamon rolls and croissants all day long. But Madison pulls me along to a lady who sells silk scarfs, then a cheese vendor, a used bookseller, and three tomato farmers who all claim their tomatoes are the best.

“Try one of mine, Your Highness,” one of the vendors says. She’s an old woman, with deep lines carved into her face. “Fresh picked from the vine this morning.”

Your Highness? My stomach rolls over. I guess I can’t expect to blend in. I definitely stand out in Eldonia, with my black hair and tanned skin. But maybe everyone’s just staring because I’m so devastatingly handsome.

The old woman pushes the big bag of tomatoes closer to me.

Madison grabs the bag. “Thank you, that’s very kind.” As she pulls back, she jabs her elbow into my gut.

“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Thank you.”

“Sire?” Suddenly, a fluffy brown head pops out from behind the old woman’s skirt. It’s a kid, no older than six. “Is it true what they say? Are you’s gonna be our new king?”

“Jace!” The old woman swats at the child. “You can’t talk to royalty like that!”

But all I say is, “Who says that?”

The kid grabs a jumble of paper off the floor behind him. “Everyone!”

I snatch the paper. There it is, right smack dab in the middle of the Eldonian Gazette. My face.

And not even my good side. The headline reads:

Prince Daniel Returns Home. Will This Bastard Be Our New King?

I drop the paper and my body feels numb. Sure, I knew this would happen. I knew there’d be some backlash. But seeing it…in print. Bastard. That’s all I’ll ever be to these people.

Madison’s talking to the old woman, and then her arm is in mine, and she’s leading me away, past the colorful shops, past the waving vendors, and down an alleyway.

“See, they’re excited for you,” she says once we’re alone.

The stone walls on either side of me seem to close in. “Excited?” I stammer. “Did you hear that kid’s voice? Pure. Terror.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

I slide down the wall. “Why am I doing this?”

She bends down in front of me, moving her head until it’s in my sightline. “You’re doing this for your sister. And for all of Eldonia. So what if they call you a ‘bastard’? They don’t know you. And you don’t know them. We have work to do, Hockey Prince.”

Begrudgingly, I admit she’s right and let her pull me to my feet.

At first, I think every market vendor we stop at is thinking the same thing. Bastard. Unworthy. But then Madison starts chatting them up in that perky way she has, and they all smile at her, as if they can’t believe she’s asking them questions about their lives. And then, they ask me about Chicago and how long I’ll be in Eldonia. They offer condolences on my father, and tell me what a wonderful man he was. And with every street we walk down, I seem to get a little bit further away from that gnawing in my gut.

And Madison’s flowery sundress is certainly a nice distraction.

We eat lunch at a small restaurant, sitting on the patio in the sunshine. The chair is warm against my back. I have a pasta dish, made with Eldonia’s famous tomato sauce.

“What do you think?” Madison smiles at me from across the table.

“It’s not as good as Ma’s.”

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“It’s true!”

Madison laughs then reaches across the table, digging her fork into my plate. I jump back a little. “H-hey!”

“Oh, get over it.” She spins her fork, wrapping the noodle tightly around it. “You can share with your girlfriend.” Madison gives me an exaggerated wink.

I grumble but let her chew before asking, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

She contemplates. “Yeah, your mom’s is better.”

“Good answer.” Despite that, it doesn’t stop me from wolfing down the rest of my lunch.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Madison asks.

“Shoot.”

“I think you make even better spaghetti than your mom.”

I cover my mouth to keep from spitting out my noodles as I laugh. “Yeah, okay, Myong. Time to get your head checked.”

“Seriously, I mean it,” she urges. “Best spaghetti in the world.”

We’re interrupted when a couple asks if they can take a photo with me. I awkwardly get up and stand between them. People ask me for photos all the time in Chicago. But that’s because I’m a Falcon, number 77.

Here, I’m just me.

By the time we leave the restaurant, the streetlights blink to life. Their buttery golden light spreads across the purple dusk. The air is still warm, but the edge of night is creeping in. Figuring we’re doing this whole relationship act, I think it’s safe to throw an arm around Madison.

To my surprise, she leans into me.

Actually, she melts into me. Her arms wrap around my waist and her head rests against my chest.

“You’re so warm,” she murmurs, her eyes closed. “How are you so warm for someone who spends 99 percent of his time on the ice?”

I slowly rub my hands up and down her back, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the slick fabric of that damn flower-printed dress.

She gives a long sigh and starts to pull away, except I don’t let go. She looks up at me, her eyes wide, and I wonder what she’s going to say.

Except, she doesn’t say anything. Her lips part.

It’s like I’ve switched into auto-pilot. I glide my hand to the nape of her neck, and gently pull her toward me. I bend to meet her and hesitate just before our mouths touch.

She utters a sharp inhale, and then kisses me. Her hand glides up to scrunch the fabric at my shoulder. My other hand wraps tight around her back and as I straighten, I feel her feet lift slightly off the ground.

This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. Every day for two years, I’ve been trying to gather the courage to kiss her. But she kissed me. She kissed me!

My heart feels like it could explode from my chest with joy.

She collapses against me as I pull away. She looks up at me, and says, “There. That’s the smile we were looking for earlier, Daniel.”

Then I see the flash of a camera.

…

Madison

His smile sure is something. Warm like a summer’s day, familiar as a best friend, but wicked too. It falters a little bit as I say, “There. That’s the smile we were looking for earlier, Daniel.”

CLICK.

I had seen the flash even with my eyes closed when we had kissed.

It figures that Eldonia has paparazzi. They’re everywhere. Another flash goes off, and I look to see a man half-hiding behind one of the tomato carts.

“Oh. Photographers,” Daniel says, and his voice cracks slightly.

I don’t know why I did it. Why I kissed him. It’s just…I saw the photographer and I thought that it might be the only opportunity I’d ever have to kiss Daniel Sacachelli.

Our first kiss. I’ve thought about it every time he picks me up, every time we say goodbye…with every glance that seems just a bit too long.

And I just knew if I didn’t kiss him right then, with the photographer as an excuse, I’d never get a chance. Because although Daniel Sacachelli kisses a new girl every night, he’s never chosen to kiss me.

Tears well in my eyes because our first kiss will probably be the last. No…no, that can’t have been it! I didn’t even get to enjoy the feeling of having his arms wrapped around me, the caress of his lips over mine.

So I throw myself back onto the stage. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get rid of that bad boy image, shall we?” I pull on his neck, guiding his mouth to mine. Just one more kiss. One more chance before it’s all gone.

But Daniel resists. I pull back and look up at him. He looks…angry. “I’m good,” he says.

I drop my hands and feel a hot wave of embarrassment rush through me. Daniel doesn’t even want to kiss me for the cameras, even when it’s just pretend. I know he only thinks of me as a friend but am I really so repulsive? My nose starts to run, and I try to wipe it as subtly as I can.

I can’t let Daniel see me cry, can’t let him know the real reason that I kissed him. Not for the cameras, not for this stupid girlfriend act. But because I’ve wanted to kiss him every day, and a small part of me somehow thought he might want to kiss me too.

I really am an idiot.

But the show must go on. I close my eyes and look up at him with a smile too big. “Ready, Hockey Prince? Let’s keep exploring.” Please don’t let him see the hurt on my face.

“I think I want to go home,” he says.

“Oh. Okay,” I say.

Daniel pulls out his phone and dials the carriage driver. I stand awkwardly, suddenly too keenly aware of where my arms and legs are. Every so often, I feel the flash of a camera on me.

We stand in silence, waiting for the carriage. I can’t even muster the courage to make small talk. My ego feels like it’s been run over by the entire royal cavalry.

As far as bad ideas go, kissing Daniel Sacachelli is up there with trying to convince my parents to send me to acting school and pretending to be a prince’s girlfriend. Each one has just made me feel more pathetic than the last.

I bite my lip and dig my nails into my palms. What does it even matter if Daniel wants me in the end? He’s a stinking prince. And if all goes according to plan, he’ll be a king. I, on the other hand, could be an actress.

I chance a look at him, seeing his downcast dark eyes, the sad scowl on his face. Somehow the thought of achieving my dream doesn’t bring me as much comfort as I thought it would.