Tara
“Look at how young and full of get up and go he was back then,” I say, handing my sister-in-law a framed photo from the box I’m unpacking.
Laura laughs. “He looks exactly the same,” she says, her blue eyes admiring the college graduation photo of my brother and his roommate, Luis. Both of them are dark-haired with tan skin, and they’re captured in a moment of pure joy after shaking a bottle of champagne and letting it spray around them.
“You would say that,” I joke, pulling out a bunch of boring legal books that are also inside the box. “You’ve still got that love bubble hanging around your head.” My brother, Mitch, and Laura are newlyweds. They just got back from their honeymoon at Kismet Cove and are in the process of moving into their first home together in Cedarwood Valley. While I grew up in this tiny town, I don’t live here anymore. I’m an hour away in Sugar City, but I’m here for the day helping Laura unpack.
“You’ll be the same one day, believe me,” she says, grinning with those goo-goo eyes of hers as she traces her index finger around my brother’s face in the photo.
“Unlikely.” I laugh, setting the books on the built-in shelving. “The guys I’ve met only like tiny little things that giggle whenever they make a lame attempt at a joke. I don’t fit that category.” I indicate my plus-size figure with a flourish of my hand.
“But you’re gorgeous, Tara,” she counters, tucking a stray lock of her blonde hair behind her ear. And it’s no surprise to hear her say that because it’s what everyone does. When you’re a big girl, it’s like everyone around you is in denial about your size. All my life I’ve been big. It’s my normal, and at twenty-four-years-old, I’ve grown to love my body and accept my size. But when I point my size out, someone invariably tells me I’m wrong or negates it by saying, ‘but you’re beautiful/gorgeous/have a great personality’. And I have never said I wasn’t beautiful—I have long dark hair, and brown eyes with flecks of green. So, I quite like the woman who stares back at me from the mirror—I only ever said I was big. There’s a difference.
I want to say these things out loud, tell anyone who’ll listen that small isn’t the standard and big is just a size. Beauty is in your heart and your personality. The rest is a judgment made by an unrealistic beauty industry that preys upon our insecurities to line their pockets. I am proud of my curves. I don't need to pretend they don’t exist.
But I don’t say anything.
I never say anything.
I just let out a slow breath and straighten the books, wishing I was as brave as the voice inside my head.
“Is this the roommate?” Laura asks, snapping me from my quiet cowardice as she sets the graduation photo on Mitch’s desk.
“Oh yeah,” I say, moving over to where she stands. “Those two were thick as thieves during college. Luis didn’t have any family here, so he spent a lot of summers with us.”
“What was that like? He’s pretty easy on the eyes,” she says, tapping me gently with her elbow. She’s a total sweetheart, and I feel bad for getting worked up over the plus-size-but-beautiful comment from before. It’s not her fault she was blessed with skinny genes and doesn’t get how insulting that kind of comment is. At the end of the day, she’sbeautiful because she’s kind and tries really hard to embrace my family as her own—even though none of us can figure out how she managed to fall for my goofy big brother in the first place. She must be a saint is all I’m saying.
“Yeah, he’s a total babe,” I reply, remembering how speechless I was the first time Mitch brought Luis home. I was twelve and just figuring out what liking boys meant, so when this Adonis came to spend the Christmas break at our place, I had no clue what to do or say. I became a red-faced mute. “I was so awkward around him in the beginning.”
“I would have been too. Look at the face. Gosh, I wish I could met him. Mitch said he couldn’t get here in time for the wedding, though—some family business to attend to.”
“Well, he was an interesting one.” I laugh to myself as memories play in my mind. “He was probably stuck in Spain ruling his kingdom.”
“His kingdom?” Laura laughs.
“Mitch never told you? The two of them used to try to convince me that Luis was the prince of some tiny country near Spain.”
“And you didn’t believe them?”
I let out an amused burst of air. “Would you? Out of all the colleges in America, a Spanish prince chooses Sugar City over Ivy League?”
“That does sound a little far-fetched. But it’s a shame they don’t see each other anymore,” she muses. “They look so close here.”
“I agree,” I say, smiling as I look at the photo of the two of them, remembering summers swimming in the lake, squealing and laughing. “I think it’s just that college finished, and their lives began. Luis couldn’t stay in the US forever.”
“That’s sad. I’ve heard a lot of good stories about Luis. I think Mitch misses their friendship.”
“Well,” I say, twisting my mouth to the side as an idea forms. “If you have the address from the wedding invite, Mitch is turning thirty this year. Maybe we could throw a party and Luis will have time to get here for that?”
“Yes!” Her eyes go wide, and I know she’s thinking the same as me. “I would love to reunite them. Wait here.” She runs from the room and comes back with a slightly torn envelop from the RSVP notice with Luis’s neat handwriting on the back of it. Strange that I still recognize it after all these years. “Do you think he’ll come?”
“We can only ask,” I say, sliding the envelope into my back pocket. “And offer to pay his airfare, of course.”
“Oh, do you think that’s why he didn’t come?”
“Probably. He studied ancient history or politics or something. So, he’s probably some stuffy professor earning a pittance. I’ve got some savings. I don’t mind spending it on my big bro getting to rekindle his ultimate bromance.”
“You really don’t believe the prince story, huh?”
“No way.” I wave it off as I go back to unpacking the study. “Besides his good looks, there was nothing princely about Luis Rivera.”
Luis
"Your mail, sire." The valet places a silver tray on the desk with neatly arranged envelopes on top of it. "Shall I open them for you?”
Leafing through, I'm about to hand the tray back so he can do just that, but a postage mark from Sugar City, USA, catches my eye. "Ah, no. I'll see to this myself. Thank you."
He bows then retreats to the edge of the room. In my world this is considered being ‘left alone’. Even when I take a leak, they follow me and guard the door. ‘Cause my dick is gonna turn into a python and choke me, right? The degree to which I’m watched is exhausting. And as we move closer to the date of my coronation, the eyes on my every move seem to multiply daily. I miss those carefree days of my college years spent in America when I could be as rowdy as I liked, go where I liked, and spend time with the people I liked. It seems like a lifetime ago now.
Picking up my letter opener, I slice through the seal with an eagerness I haven’t felt in months. Mitch will be married by now. Unfortunately, I couldn't get a break in my duties to travel back for it myself, and I hate that I didn’t get to stand up there with my best friend and watch him exchange vows with the woman he loves. But duty trumps desire, as my mother always says. And while I understand the privilege that comes with my position in life, I do struggle with the lack of freedom. Especially when it means my heart is still living in the United States, beating inside the chest of a beautiful curvaceous woman who will forever be off-limits to me—the woman who wrote me this letter. Tara.
Not only is she my best friend’s sister, but she also lacks nobility. And once the crown duties are accepted, mixing with the common folk is forbidden in my kingdom. Birthrights can really suck sometimes.
Recognizing her penmanship, my fingers dive into the envelope before my brain even commands them to. I pull out the folded sheet of paper, hungry to hear her voice in my head as I read the words it contains. I inhale its scent, remembering her thick black hair and the way it shines in the light when it’s freshly washed. I remember her laughter and the way she always thought my stories about kings, queens, and castles were lies. Still, she ate them all up, listening in wrapt attention. I would go out of my way to entertain her, just to watch her eyes sparkle with amusement. What I wouldn’t give for just one more summer with her and Mitch.
Unfortunately, I don’t have that kind of time. There are precisely three months until my coronation. I’ll be crowned king and be expected to marry the princess of Fürstheim—a European kingdom not much bigger than Reinqueno—who could likely be some kind of distant cousin, which really bothers me. The nobility in the larger modern countries have been able to marry for love for decades now, but those of us at the other end of the spectrum are still forced into marrying to maintain the bloodline. Something needs to change.
Opening the letter, my eyes scan her neatly written words, a smile spreading over my face with each word read. However, when I reach the sentence, ‘Now, don’t be proud because I know how expensive international travel can be, which is why I’m going to pay for your ticket,’ I have to bite my knuckle to avoid laughing out loud. She still doesn’t believe me. After all these years, she still hasn’t done a simple google search and figured out that I was always telling the truth. But why doesn’t that surprise me? Tara has always been forthright and stubborn. It’s something I’ve always loved about her.
Grinning from ear to ear, I pull a sheet of paper from my stack of royal stationary and pick up my pen to compose a letter of my own in response to Tara’s invitation to Mitch’s surprise birthday party next month.
‘Dear Ms. MacCallum,
His royal highness, Prince Luis of the kingdom of Reinqueno wishes to inform you that he will be honored to attend Mitchell MacCallum’s thirtieth birthday celebrations…’
I press my teeth into my bottom lip to keep my grin from turning into a laugh as I continue writing. My mother is going to lose her mind when she finds out I’m doing this, but I missed the wedding, I don’t want to miss this party too. It could be the last time I get to see the people I considered my family during the four years I studied abroad I’m going to give Reinqueno the rest of my life, the least they can afford me is a few days.
And one final chance to see Tara…
Tara
“Dear Ms. MacCallum,” I start, reading from the letter written on a very fancy-looking royal letterhead—that is really taking this whole ‘I’m a prince in a tiny kingdom’ thing too far, if you ask me—while Laura sits across from me in a coffee shop downtown. “His royal highness, Prince Luis of the kingdom of Reinqueno wishes to inform you that he will be honored to attend Mitchell MacCallum’s thirtieth birthday celebrations next month. He is however, under royal guard at all times and will require the guest list and location (please include a floor plan with clearly labeled entry and exit points) to be emailed forthwith to his security team at SecurityTeamLuis@ReinquenoPalace.com. Only then will the official acceptance of your invitation be handed down. Yours in anticipation of a fabulous time, Prince Luis. P.S thank you for the offer to pay my airfare. However, I think I’ll be more comfortable in my family’s jet.”
“You have to give the guy credit.” Laura grins, picking up a pack of sugar and tearing it open. “He’s sticking to his story.”
“Extravagantly.” I push the letter across the table to show her. “Look at the gold embossing. He’s going too far.” I pick up my coffee and take a mouthful while Laura stirs her sugar with one hand and holds the letter in the other, studying it with a creased brow.
“Have you ever looked this Reinqueno place up?” she asks.
I shake my head as I take the letter back. “He’s probably set up a website and a Wiki page for it by now. I mean, I sent an email to that address and got a response. So, if he’s willing to go to that much trouble…” I laugh as I fold the letter up and set it on the table, remembering how I sent a crude drawing of a house with stick figures standing out the front of it with ‘Dear Prince of Bullshit’ in the subject line. The response came back saying ‘Thank you. The prince shall see you at the party.’ I don’t know when the man is going to give up the charade, but at least his sense of humor is intact. “And you know, I get that he’s just trying to have some fun, but I was a kid when he told me those stories. Now I’m twenty-four and I don’t have the patience for this stuff.”
Laura is smiling into her phone, and I’m starting to think she isn’t listening to me until she says, “I don’t know, Tara. He looks like a bonafide prince to me.” Flipping her phone around, she presents me with an article from the Daily Mail that says ‘Bad Boy Prince in trouble again’ with a picture of Luis holding his hand up to the camera to shield his face from the flashes.
“What?” My heart jolts in my chest at the sight of him. It’s been eight years since I saw him last, and my body still reacts the same. It’s crazy because he’s way older than I am, so he probably only ever saw me as his best friend’s kid sister. Plus, he drove me crazy with his stories, so he was classified pretty high on the ‘People I find annoying’ list. But there’s always been something. Something about the way he smiled, or maybe it was the way his brown eyes glistened when he was telling one of his stories. Or maybe it was just him… Whatever it was, Luis Rivera set my blood on fire—even if he is completely full of shit. “I cannot believe he’s gone this far.” I snatch the phone from Laura’s hand and gape at the article. The Daily Mail is hardly the most reputable paper on the planet, but this is going too far.
“Tara, honey. I don’t think this is a prank,” Laura says, laughter in her voice as she leans over my shoulder and taps at the screen.
“I was reading that.”
“I know. But you’ll want to read all of this too. Look; there are a good twenty million results in Google for him. Image upon image of him in his family regalia, and of course, there’s this.” She taps on the map icon, and it opens up, highlighting the location of Reinqueno on the globe. “I don’t think he hacked google maps to put it there, honey. I think he’s telling the truth.”
“But…but,” I stammer, my head spinning as the reality of this sinks in. Luis is a prince. A real life-pinch-him-in-the-arm-and-he’ll-squeal prince. Holy crap. I know a prince.
And I sent an email to palace security calling him the Prince of Bullshit! Kill me now!
“Do you…do you know what this means?” I gasp.
Laura nods, laughing a hearty laugh. “That a prince is coming to Mitch’s thirtieth birthday party.”
“No. It means I’ve committed treason. I called a prince a liar for years.”
Her laughter deepens. “I don’t think that’s how it works, Tara. I’m sure Luis just thought it was funny.”
“Why did I never google him? I could have saved myself from looking foolish a thousand times over.”
“Maybe because you didn’t really want to know. Wouldn’t it have felt weird to spend your summers with some guy who’s a legit prince? This way, it was just a bit of fun between you all, and he got to feel like a regular person.”
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes as I watch her sipping her coffee, calm as can be. “Did you know?”
“That Luis is a real prince?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course I did. I’m married to Mitch. He told me all about him months ago.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me before I wrote to the guy and insinuated he was poor.” Not to mention insulting him via email.
She giggles. “I gave you the envelope from his RSVP letter. The stamp and the postmark are from Reinqueno. His face was on that stamp.”
My mouth falls open. “I feel like such a fucking idiot.”
