The Prince and the Player

“You’re wrong…” I replay all my interactions with the broody crown prince last night. “I don’t think he’s interested in me at all.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? He’s calling to ask you out. He’s pursuing you.”

I walk around the room thinking. He brought me water and ibuprofen. He brought me a gown that would fit an elephant. He gave me the lamest kiss goodnight, and I didn’t hear from him again. Could he have had a change of heart while he slept?

“We kissed last night…” I say.

“You what?” Reggie is ecstatic, but a sharp banging sound across the room snaps my attention.

Ava has knocked over a vase. Thankfully it didn’t break, and she hastily picks it up along with the fake flowers it held. I notice her frustrated expression and cover the receiver with my hand.

“It’s okay, Ava-bug!” I whisper, giving her a reassuring smile. “No damage done.”

She doesn’t smile back. She only blinks quickly and leaves the room. Not sure what to make of that behavior.

“Build on that!” Reggie is saying in my ear. “Relationships take time. Get to know one another, find a reason to be alone tonight and talk. Once his emotions are involved, you’ll have him.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “I don’t like this, Reggie. I think you’re wrong about Rowan. He’s serious and thoughtful. I don’t think he’s a danger to your country. I think you’re just pissed he doesn’t like you.”

“Are you near your computer?”

Glancing around the room, I see my Mac sitting closed on the desk. “Yes…”

I walk over to it and lift the cover. It springs to life, and I wait for instructions.

“I’m sending you an email right now. I want you to take a look at the photo attached and the article.”

“Give me a second.” I open my browser and go through all the steps to activate the in-room wifi. A few more clicks and I’m in the email account Reggie set up for me for this job. “What am I looking for? Never mind, here it is.”

“Tell me what you see, Zelda.”

Opening my one new message, I scan the text in the body

The sovereign acts as a focus for national identity, unity and pride; gives a sense of stability and continuity; officially recognizes success and excellence; and supports the ideal of voluntary service.

“That’s a mouthful,” I say before double-clicking the first attachment.

My screen fills with a grainy photograph. It’s a dark room, and I have to squint to make out the profile of Rowan, leaning against a wall, his head tilted back. A blonde woman is kneeling in front of him, and it looks suspiciously like he’s getting a blowjob. I close the image at once.

“Was that what I think it was?” I snap.

“I can tell you what it wasn’t.” His tone irritates me.

“Doesn’t change my feelings,” I say. “The paparazzi are everywhere, and they have telephoto lenses. Rowan’s a grown man. As long as that was consensual—”

“Look at the next one.”

“Listen, Reg, I really don’t want to see Rowan’s peen again.”

“That’s part of your problem right there.”

Behind me I hear the fast shush of feet on carpet, and I know Ava’s back.

“What will I see if I open it?” Squinting my eyes, I click on the image. On my screen is a shot of him in a red nylon suit. His brow is lowered, and he’s standing next to one of those weird-looking racecars. He actually looks hot.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“Formula One racing is his other pastime.”