A Real Princess

Chapter 4

"Ummm, hi," I stammer, in awe of the incredibly cute boy standing in front of me.

"What can I do for you, miss?" the boy asks genuinely with an extremely charming smile and a glint of amusement in his eyes.

I must be some sight, I realize. A puffy-eyed, drenched teenage girl in sweatpants, a hoodie, thick black hipter glasses, and her hair in a messy brown bun.

"I need to... Um. Call my..."

"Boyfriend?" he suggests curiously, as if both trying to be helpful and learn more about me.

"Oh, jeez, no. I don't...um. No. My, uh, my mom," I stutter awkwardly. Why was he wondering if I needed to call my boyfriend? Or if I had one at all? I'm a mess. Did he honestly think I would have a boyfriend?

"Oh, okay, yeah sure. Come on in!" the cute boy exclaims happily. Peeking his head out the door beside me before I walk in, as I shiver in the  cold rain, he says, "Dang. It's really coming down out there. Come in before you freeze your limbs off."

I nod and smile, stepping quickly into the grand house.

"Wow, your house is so nice," I say, admiring all the elegant decorations around his house.

"Oh, thanks," the boy answers awkwardly, patches of red flooding his cheeks.

"No problem," I say, shivering and dripping rainwater in his grand foyier. My teeth chatter an inconsistent rhythm.

"Oh, do you need a towel or something?" he asks quite stupidly.

"No, of course not. I'd much rather just freeze here in the biggest house I've ever seen while staring at an incredibly cute boy..." I say, my head tilted to the right, my voice dripping with sarcasm. I can tell from the look on his face that he is not used to dealing with sarcasm.

I whip off my wet hoodie and tie it back around my waist. My Nirvana t-shirt was only slightly less soaked than my Outer Banks sweatshirt.

The handome young man looks at me and takes three steps closer to my shaking body. We are mere inches apart now. My heart starts palpitating.

He gently rests his hand on my forearm and whispers, "You're freezing! I am getting you a towel and maybe a parka whether you like it or not." He turns away and takes a few steps from me, going to get that promised parka, I assume. He freezes. He turns his head back to me. My heart beats loudly as his glittering green eyes sparkle in such an attractive and inticing way that it should be illegal. "Wait," he says, stepping out and turning his body to face mine once again, except this time with much more space between us. "Did you just call me cute?" he smirks in an adorably arrogant and teasing way, making my own face blush an intense shade of red.

I look at my feet, embarrassed that he caught that. And that I said it in the first place. "Ummm.... no?" I look up and plead unconvincingly with my eyes as he laughs a deep, hardy laugh that makes my knees melt into a puddle beneath me.

"Yeah, okay." He shakes his head at me. "I'm gonna go get you that parka now. Make yourself at home. I'll be right back, sugar plum." The boy turns on his heels and walks up a grand staircase, leaving me to sit on the sitting room's floor, not wanting to get the fancy couches wet with rain water. I whip off my glasses, the lenses too blurry to see through them. I swear, I need a set of windshield wipers for these things. 

Wait. Did he just...? Holy sugar plum fairies. He just called me sugar plum. WHY?? Okay. It's okay, Ginger, stay calm. All is well. You're probably only having a heart attack, no biggie, right? Breath. Just breathe.

OKAY GINGER, YOU'RE NOT BREATHING, YOU KINDA HAVE TO DO THAT!

I mentally scream at my lungs and force air into them dramatically as the boy enters the room, stopping in the doorway to stare at me as I loudly hyperventilate, visibly heaving my breath in and out, in and out...

"Are you... alright there, miss?"

"Yes, I am fine," I squeak with a sudden intake of breath, my face turning a bright shade of fuesha. "The name's Ginger, by the way. You can call me... Ginger..."

The cute boy hands me a towel and a extremely heavy quilt, thick with warming material before he sits crosslegged on the floor next to me.

"Ginger. I like it." He looks at me.

"And you? What can I call you?" I ask, hungry for more information about the adorable gentleman beside me.

"My full title-"

Title?

"-is Prince Maxwell Gregory Rivers of the Southern Isles,"

I gape at him, my mouth inches from the floor.

Prince Maxwell Gregory Rivers of the Southern Isles smiles, rolls his eyes in an amused way, and taps my chin lightly, closing my mouth for me.

"Why does everyone do that?" Prince Maxwell laughs, shaking his head. "You can just call me Maxwell if you want, though."

"Oh. Maxwell. I like it. Though, if it's okay with you, your majesty," -he cringes at those words. Note to self; don't call him your majesty. "-I kinda wanna call you Prince Maxwell."

"Really, why?" He asks curiously.

"Well, it's not everyday I get to address a prince, so..." I giggle nervously and Maxwell joins in. "Do I have to like... Bow down to you or anything?" I mock bow on my knees, and he took my shoulders and righted me on my knees.

"Gosh, no. Please don't do that." Prince Maxwell laughs like a little kid, and I join in.

After our laughter dies down, we look into each other's eyes for what feels like forever, not daring to blink as if the other would vanish as soon as we did.

With an awkward moment-shattering clear of his throat, Maxwell looked away, blushed, and then said, "Oh, you said you needed to call your mom?"

"Yeah," I say, scratching my head, still thinking about the intense gaze we just shared. "My phone fell down a storm drain, so I kinda can't, you know... Use it."

Prince Maxwell laughs. I'm really starting to like this guy.

"Right," he says with an adorable teasing smile. "Follow me."

I stand up, intrigued. I really want to see the rest of his elegant mansion, doubling as a royal castle.

I wrap myself tighter in the thick, fuzzy towel and follow Maxwell down the hallway.

What is that...?

I hear the clinking of glasses and fancy, live classical music being played lightly.

What is going on...?

Next my ears pick up on low, polite, masculine voices, and the high pitched cackle of ladies clearly trying to impress someone.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

It seems I'm not the only one that will soon be fighting for Prince Maxwell's sincere heart.

It also appears that I have walked in on a royal ball...