A Real Princess

Chapter 5

This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

Why me?!?!?! 

ONCE I MEET A GUY I LIKE, HE JUST HAS TO BE A PRINCE WITH A MILLION BEAUTIFUL GIRLS JUST WAITING AROUND FOR HIS HAND!

What did I ever do to make the universe stop at nothing to make my life impossibly hard?

Ugh. 

The minute I walk through the grand doorway all heads turn to me as the pleasant laughter and joyful yet hushed conversations of guests quickly dies down and turns into confused looks, questioning glances, and low murmurs behind the delicate hands of potential suitors for Maxwell. 

I look at Maxwell a few steps in front of me.

"Why are they looking at me like that?"

The look on Maxwell's face was almost unreadable. He looked both confused and amused with a hint of pity and embarrassment. Oh, so that's what it is. He pities me. He's embarrassed. I get it.

He looks me up and down with an expectant gleam in his gaze. At first I think he is checking me out and I get confused, considering the message I had just gotten from his facial expression moments earlier, but then I catch on. 

I look down at my outfit and my eyes go wide.

Now I get it.

I look like a cross between a hipster hobo and a soaked puppy. 

"Shoot."

Prince Maxwell giggles as I try to cover my soaking wet and way-too-casual-for-a-royal-ball ensemble with the fluffy towel he lent me. 

Another clap of thunder.

The people are still staring at me. 

Awkwardly, I call out, "Nothing to see here, guys! Why don't y'all just go back to rich-people-ing!?" Beat. Everyone continues to stare at me in silence. "Thanks for your cooperation!" I add that last bit just as loudly but three times more sarcastically. 

Some people snicker. Others eye me with pity. Am I really that pitiful? 

I snap back to reality with Prince Maxwell's soft touch. He gently grabs hold of my hands and practically pulls me out of the grand ballroom/fancy modern living room and into the kitchen which is nearly just as big as the entire ground floor of my house.

There are a few rich, snobby-looking girls in the kitchen that give Maxwell googly eyes and fluttery waves. 

To their disappointment, Prince Maxwell asks them kindly to leave so I can make a "very important phone call". 

I smile as the three over-dressed girls walk shamefully out of the kitchen. Ha. That'll show them. 

"Thanks," I say.

"No problem, m'lady." Maxwell smirks playfully and mock bows cordially, never breaking eye contact. Gosh, his eyes are beautiful. I return his bow with a respectfully teasing curtsy, almost loosing my grip on the now-soaking-wet towel draped across my shoulders.

We both chuckle.

"Do you ever get used to them?" I ask, legitimately serious.

"Huh?"

"All those plastic girls just trying to win the crown through you?"

"Oh. You meant them." He says, his face instantly falling. "Then yes. I am quite used to being used for my title. All I want is to find a real princess."

My mouth scrunches into a knot on one side of my mouth. "I'm really sorry. I can imagine being a prince is stressful."

"Yeah," Maxwell admits with a huff. "It's no walk in the park."

I nod, understanding.

We both just stand there smiling at each other (each with a hint of sadness) and nodding. Nodding. Nodding. 

Until Max takes a step forward, towards me. I notice that I have been leaning against an expensive marble counter top this entire time. What is he doing? He takes another step towards me. Then another. What the...

His strong arm reaches over to the counter behind me. I am confused until he pulls out a tough screen  land-line phone and hands it to me with a smile. 

"Right," I stutter. I forgot all about having to call my mom. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, Ginger. I'm just going to go talk to some guests while you call your mother. I'll be back soon." 

"Okay."

Prince Maxwell nods at me one more time very formally with his hands clasped behind his back and then turns out of the kitchen, walking with a new bounce in his normally steady walk.

I dial my home phone, but it doesn't even begin to ring before beeping at me and telling me that that number isn't currently in service. Shoot. I guess the thunderstorm knocked out some power line or something.

Okay. So the home phone isn't working. 

I'll just try Mom's cell phone.

Only one problem.

I don't know Mom's cell phone by heart...

I curse aloud, a lot louder than I intended to, right as someone walks into the kitchen.

"Very ladylike," a familiar voice teases. 

I whip my head around and see the last person I ever would have expected to see here.

My breath gets caught in my throat as I spit out their name in utter disgust.

"Eva."