The circular grand hall that would be mine. The glamorous throne that my aging father was sitting on would be mine. The window created by the most prestigious of mechanical engineers, shining light that looked like large strands of gold, would be mine.
And instead of feeling the almost sickening, greedy pride that was described by textbooks that all princes seemed to feel, I felt this large, growing lump in my throat that felt like an egg. Fear.
I was sitting in the stands, observing my subjects from the very top row. My future subjects. At a summer festival that one day, I would be hosting.
The egg in my throat itself was even beginning to wobble with fear.
But there are more pressing matters—some kid who wouldn’t shut up.
“Apple bottom jeans and boots with the fur, fur, the whole club was looking at her,” the world’s biggest idiot, otherwise known as my brother Jack and best friend (sometimes) crooned. We were one of the lucky ones whose family wasn’t broken up in the quest to become the next King. I was to be next in line to be King, as I was the older brother by a year.
I planned to make him the next heir. But my wife Ava didn’t need to know that. She’d probably go crashing out of our grand window in the Royal Garden, screaming curses at me all the way to her home in Ireland.
Not that I’d care. I was only married to her to finally unify England and Ireland. But my parents would probably hang my detached head in their bedroom if I got rid of her.
Although, I enjoyed having her around—for all the wrong reasons. She had this stunning accent. She was hot in that queen type of way. You know, the hair that looks like every piece was specially placed by some stylist who probably wished that she paid attention in school so she didn’t have to style some girl’s hair, the heavily made up eyes, the painted lips, the slim waist and the big—anyways, she was like that giant piece of candy that’s absolutely amazing but after you eat it you can literally feel yourself gain fifty pounds.
“She hit the floor—wait, why are you singing this song, and why the hell am I singing along?” I asked.
My brother, who was more of a dog than me when it came to women, was finally coerced into shutting up when I made a move to give him a headlock. He nodded to his right. “Apple bottom jeans. Emphasis on the bottom.”
I looked in the direction he was nodding at, and nearly went into a pathetic kneeling position that could only be seen in two places: 1) Church and 2) when I wanted something for my Mom. (Now that I think about it, there’s a third place, but princes are gentlemen that have no time for dirty thoughts. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.)
I internally scolded myself. I had a wife that I didn’t love—yet—but she was still my wife, for Christ’s sake.
“My wife is a supporter of the feminist movement,” I said. Then, scathingly, “Princes don’t stare at asses. Especially when they’re married.” When Jack didn’t seem interested in even acting like he wasn’t looking, I gave him a harsh pinch in the neck.
“Ow! What was that for?” Jack yelled, finally turning his head in my direction. Then he smirked. “That means you like it.”
I was genuinely confused. “Like what?”
Jack gave me the I’d say you’re stupid, but you got taught by the most prestigious tutors in all of England. “You like the girl’s butt. Idiot.”
It was my turn to flash him the look. “Jack. I’m married.”
“Look, Ava’s hot, but even my car can tell that you guys have nothing in common,” Jack said.
“I will love her,” I said, forcing confidence but sounding more like a deflated balloon. “I just need some time. I will love her.” Then, changing the subject, “Who wears jeans to a royal ball?”
“You’re still thinking about her,” said Jack, smirking.
“Jack, I beg you in the name of God,” I said, feeling like a bug was crawling down my back and wouldn’t get out for some reason. “Stop.”
“Did I touch a nerve?”
“Jack. Die,” I said, like by me saying the word die we would all be fortunate enough for it to actually occur.
“In all seriousness,” Jack said. “If I had a butt like that, I’d wear jeans too. A dress isn’t enough to do it justice.”
“Jack, I’m married,” I said again, as if it would suddenly increase his maturity level.
“I’m glad you’re the heir,” Jack said suddenly. “I’d never want to marry—”
“Hey Alastair,” an Irish accent cooed in my ear, sliding down in the vacant seat next to me that had been saved just for her.
I stared into Ava’s face. I truly enjoyed her eye makeup. It was the only part of the routine she did herself, and she always had a slightly different shade to fit the occasion. This time she had a bright, orange eye shadow that would’ve looked stupid on anyone else but seemed to fit her perfectly.
She was wearing a dress that was orange as well, with a slit thing that exposed her stomach. Her hair was pin straight. Her cheekbones seemed higher than usual, and I couldn’t figure out why.
I also couldn’t figure out why I wasn’t interested in her.
“Hey Ava,” I said. I could hear Jack groan loudly. I blatantly ignored him when he gave me a hard pinch on the leg.
She put a hand on my leg, where perfectly manicured, long elegant fingers captured my attention. They were painted a bright white that reflected the light coming from the chandelier.
“How are you?” she asked, smiling. I couldn’t tell if the smile was genuine or if she was just showing off her teeth that were almost as white as her fingernails.
“I’ve been fine,” I said. “You?”
“Better since I saw you,” she said smugly.
I heard Jack groan again.
“That’s nice. Thank you. I mean, I felt better when I saw you. I mean—” I said, stuttering over my words.
Jack chuckled. At this point, I wanted to strangle him.
I wasn’t sure what it was about her. She made me feel nervous, and it wasn’t the cute butterfly nervous thing that people tended to feel in front of attractive people. It was almost like that impending doom feeling I felt when I thought about my throne.
“You look really nice in your suit,” she whispered, her breath brushing against my neck.
I thought it was hot, but it was sort of how a celebrity was hot. It was something you noticed—accepted—but knew in your mind that it wasn’t something that you would do anything about.
“You look really nice in that dress,” I said. The good thing was, I didn’t have to lie to her about my feelings. She didn’t seem to mind the fact that I hadn’t told her I loved her or anything. We had only been married for two days, after all.
Married. I was married. I kept saying it, but I couldn’t believe it.
“I look even better without it,” she said.
“I have to go to the bathroom. And after that, I need some air. It’s really stuffy in here,” I said, which was a blatant lie, because we were in a hall wider than the Earth’s diameter.
I found one of our random doors to the outside and stepped out, then took a large intake of air.
My iPhone 6S buzzed in my pocket. Jack had texted me, What was that, dude? You could’ve gotten the goods!1010Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoUQ34Fb1KG
I rolled my eyes. Jack’s pervertedness was always enough to make my day.
I replied, My relationship is not trade with China.
Jack instantly responded, Tell that to the Americans.
I rolled my eyes again at his stupid reference to the United States’ trade deficit with China. Jack, she makes me feel really uncomfortable.
You’re not even a virgin.
Oh my God.
Are you okay though, Alastair?1010Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYDAqW8hqPY
That was a great question—one I wasn’t even sure I could answer honestly without making Jack worried. I’m grand.
“Why are you—a prince—standing out here by yourself when your wife is practically a goddess?”
I looked up, and my jaw nearly dropped.
Apple bottom jeans girl.
ns 18.68.41.141da2
