My Fiance, The Playboy Prince

Chapter One: Menu De Merde

• Colette Eatton •

The country's national emblem flashes on the television screen and a woman in a brown dress appears, looking frantic and distressed. I wonder if it's all part of an act or reporters actually do feel genuine emotions for whatever it is they're reporting. I look at the screen while pushing chairs under tables.

"Prince Aspen Castillo has once again, been kidnapped by The Chinese, a supposedly well known mafia gang that is highly dangerous and wanted for years. The King and Queen have yet to react to this. We too, have not been able to obtain any comments. However, citizens are advised to stay home and should they catch sight of Prince Aspen, the government requires your help-"

I sigh. Not again. I look away from the screen to wipe the crumbs off one of the wooden tables. Sweeping it into a small plastic bag, I then spritz the table with an antibacterial spray. This has got to be the third time this month that the prince has been kidnapped and held for ransom. Are the security guards over there lax or just plain stupid?

I look at the television screen again, a picture of Prince Aspen is shown with the captions, "where is his royal highness?"

In the picture, Prince Aspen is on his iPhone, looking deep in thought. If it weren't for the caption, you wouldn't even be able to tell that he was the Prince himself. He's using normal, everyday clothes; a tight blue tee shirt which displays his perfectly toned abs underneath, I bet that's his motive and dark blue jeans with a pair of black sneakers.

The Prince is the very epitome of the word sexy. His emerald green eyes, along with his delicate nose and voluptuous v-shaped lips just screams it. The wind has done a great job of tousling his dark blonde hair as well, which by the way, frames his face perfectly. It's pretty obvious that God has clearly spent more time sculpting him to perfection than the rest of us.

I wish I could look that sexy. If it were me outside on a windy day - my long, dark brown hair would've been all over the place. I mean, for a moment, I'd think that I look great, with the wind tousling my hair flirtatiously only to find out that it actually looks like a bird nest. Far from what I had in mind. As they say, expectations versus reality.

The door pings, bringing me back to earth. A guy makes his way towards the back of the cafe and plonks himself down on a booth. I hurry over with a menu in hand towards his table.

"Here's the menu, sir. Just let me know what you'd like," I say politely, giving him a smile. The cafe I work at has this thing going on where they give bonuses to waitresses with at least 25 positive feedbacks from the customers in a week.

Before leaving, customers usually write down the names of their servers and rate them on a scale of one to five. One being "you'll be fired pretty soon if this goes on" and five being "here's your extra money, girl. But to be honest, you're better off finding a sugar daddy."

The guy looks at the menu. I wait. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four minutes. Five minutes. Eight minutes. I'm just standing here staring at him and at my watch.

The door pings again and my co-worker, Courtney, quickly approaches the new customer and directs her to a table. Oh, man. One less positive feedback for me.

The guy is still looking at the menu. I'm beginning to lose my patience. "Sir?" I probe. He's still looking at the menu.

I roughly grab the menu from his hands and whack him hard on the head.

Just kidding, that's just me imagining things I wish I could do in real life without having to go to jail. I do it all the time. I mean, if imagination was something you could go to jail for, I'd be there ages ago. Sentenced to a life without parole.

"Sir, are you ready to order?" I ask once again, trying really hard to keep my voice from sounding frustrated.

Finally, he pays attention and looks up at me, his messy blonde hair covering his eyes. He utters a single word, "No," and goes back to looking at the menu.

What the - you little! There's only like ten things on the menu! How hard can it be?! We have a pretty shit menu, just how long does this guy need to choose something from it?

My hands are shaking and I'm gripping the pen with all my might, I hope it breaks and hits him right in the eye. Yeap. Absolutely a life without parole. Once again, I sigh internally with great frustration and say, "take your time, sir."

I couldn't help the sarcasm dripping off my words. He picks up on it. He slowly looks up at me, "Is there a problem, peasant? If you can't do your job properly, you might as well quit," his sweet, smooth voice is a huge contrast to what he's actually saying.

I gape at him in shock. What? I'm totally speechless. That definitely took me by surprise. I notice his eyes skimming over my chest and I quickly cover it with the order paper I'm holding. "What the hell are you looking at! You asshole!" I shout.

The other waitresses and all the customers in the cafe stop what they're doing to turn to look at us in shock.

He ignores me and swiftly takes a piece of paper provided at the side of the table and scribbles on it. Curiosity getting the best of me, I peek to see what he's writing.

In beautiful, elegant, cursive hand writing, he writes:

Name of waitress:- Colette
Experience:- Terrible
Rate:- 0
Comments:- Highly recommend her to purchase a push up bra from Lusty Lingerie.

What! I've never gotten a zero! Wait, zero isn't even an option! And what's with the perverted comment! I'm seething. My boobs aren't that bad. I feel so insulted right now. Also, how the hell did he even know my name?! What a creep! Wait. My name tag. How in the end world did that slip my mind?

You're so stupid, Colette. Stupid.

I slap my forehead with the paper in my hand, so that's why he looked at my chest.

My face turns beet red. I am beyond embarrassed. Should I apologise? I mean, I should. My boss's voice begins to haunt my thoughts, remember ladies, customers are always right.

It swirls round and round my head. Customers are always right, customers are always right.

He smirks at me, "you should be thankful that I didn't give you a minus one." And my boss's advice instantly flies out of my head. I was about to give a comeback when he says, "I'm ready to order." I glare at him with fire burning in my eyes, "Oh, really? You sure you don't need more time to decide?" I answer.

He pushes his blonde hair off his face, "positive," he says, revealing a pair of beautiful emerald green eyes, before adding, "and I want you."

♥♥♥

Hi! I miss you all so much! <3 I'm happy to be here again. Also, because I keep getting complaints that Francisco Lachowski's a brunette, there's a picture of a blonde Aspen in the first chapter. Please do check it out. You wouldn't want to miss it. ;)