IV
I really adore how beautiful England was. However, the first time I stepped on the land of the British royals as if it did not want my presence in their soil.
The rain was so angry when I walked out from the airport lobby. Pulling my suitcase, I went to the pavement to wait for a car that would bring me in the Palace. That was what Clarissa had told me yesterday. Someone would fetch me and would bring me to the Palace for my interview.
My family had said good-bye to me back at the airport in Chicago. Lola had not made it but she had called that morning before we had gone to the airport. My parents were so happy for me, but I had seen in their eyes that there were hints of sadness of me leaving them. Normal expression for parents. Elena and Hana had hugged me, but Hana was so exaggerated and had cried. Actually, she had been crying since we had left our house. Chance, as always, was out of the world and had no idea I was leaving them.
"I'm going to come back." I had told them.
I had been so excited ever since to see what the Palace looked like. Or how gorgeous Queen Beatrice was. Or how powerful King Gregory looked. Was Princess Emily a snobby like what other tabloids published? Who was more handsome in person, Prince Nicholas or Prince Alexander? Would they allow me to hold the youngest prince of England?
In short, I wanted to know more about one of the most powerful family of the world. Maybe, if I discovered something fishy about them, I could tell it to reporters. They would pay me more. It was a great idea, but terrible. I would not do it even they gave me a million Pounds.
I would consider it though.
I had not done any research about England's weather during October so I was wearing clothes that gave me comfort and, at the same time, would reach Clarissa's requirement. I had a not-so-thin white button-up shirt that had sleeves ended to my elbow, an above-the-knee pencil cut skirt and four inches-high heels.
Cold air blew in my direction so I sneezed audibly. People, who were busy walking and talking, stopped to look at me. Blood went to my face. Holding my nose, I smiled at them and walked away. Away as in far away from those people who started murmuring 'to say excuse me if you sneeze'. Whatever.
I made my way unconsciously–still busy thinking my embarrassment earlier–until I realized I was already soaked by the cold water from the unstoppable rain. I was standing outside the airport with my wet suitcase, and out of nowhere, a car would hit me.
All I could do is to scream, but strong hands pulled me away from the road and the car passed so fast that if ever it hit me, my bones would leave each other.
I thought I was safe but a wall hit my cheek. Actually, it was also known as chest owned by a tall muscular man who wore a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses in the middle of a storm.
His one hand held my arm while the other wrapped around my waist. We were so close that no needle could pass between us. Even though he was wet, I could feel the heat from his body. My hands are on his chest and I could feel his strong torso behind his damp shirt.
We stayed so long in that position until we heard a flirty British accent voice meters away.
"Honey, what are you doing? Do you want to die?" I looked behind the man in front of me to see where those words came from. I saw a woman who wore nearly nothing. She had a tight black dress that covered only her sensitive parts. She glared at us.
My savior removed his hands on me and stepped backward once that gave me a perfect view of his face. He was familiar somehow, but I forgot where I saw that full lips and nose that perfectly match his strong jaws and cheekbones. His wet dark blonde hair pointed in different directions, as if there were hands running through it every now and then.
Possibly, if he would remove his sunglasses, I could recognize him.
"Thank you, for, you know, saving me," I felt embarrassed, it was a miracle I could still talk straight, "I think your girlfriend is worried for you."
He had a very deep and hot version of British accent, then, he snapped, "Don't walk around if you're not in your mind."
"I was in my mind, for your information," I defended myself. "I'm new here. I don't know where to go."
"You have no home?" he asked creepily. He seemed as if interested in me being alone or he was just curious and I was just exaggerating.
"Actually, I am..." before I could continue, there was a car beeped its horn in the street that caught my attention.
A middle-aged woman with an umbrella climbed down in a black luxury car, which only the richest of the rich could buy. She looked at us, even though she was not so close, I could see the accusation that crossed on her face.
She walked toward us and realization flowed into my brain: She was not looking at me. Her eyes were on the man who saved me. However, something changed after a few seconds, when her eyes met mine.
She smiled, and then gave me an apologetic look. "Shirley Woodman, I don't expect – I mean, I'm so sorry that we are so late. I thought the meeting would be finished early, but I was wrong. By the way," she extended her hand and I took it for a shake hand, "Clarissa Williams. Are you all right?"
Clarissa Williams was a very respectful woman as how she dressed, arranged her hair, and wore her makeup. She was a brunette who got a usual English face. When she smiled, lines were quite visible beside her chocolate eyes and a little dimple in the lower part of her left cheek.
"It's okay," seriously?! Was that my voice? It is okay after I embarrassed myself by sneezing in front of everyone in the airport, walking in the road with soaked clothes, a car nearly made me a cold body, and a Briton man who had a prostitute girlfriend snapped at me. Ah yes, I was okay.
"Let's go?" she asked me as if she was in a hurry.
"Wait, I just," I looked back at the man, but he was meters away with his girlfriend having his arm around her waist. The cloth-less woman held a transparent umbrella. "Hey," I called them and he looked at me, I did not pay attention with his company, "What's your name?"
He smirked. "You'll know soon."
With that, I was left stunned. We were going to meet again?!
Clarissa linked her arm with mine and said enthusiastically, "Let's go. The Palace is waiting for you."
----
Clarissa asked me about my flight, what came to my mind why I walked in the rain, the plate number of the car who nearly hit me, and other questions except for the man who saved me. Every time I almost opened the topic, she would shift it to another question until I forgot what I was talking.
We were in a luxury car on the way to the Palace. Leather and mint surrounded the air inside the car, buildings and different architectural arts completed the views outside the window.
"As what I told you before, there is an interview for formality. But, instead of an actual interview, I'm going to tell you all you need to do in your job," she stated while browsed something in her tablet.
"Is it easy to work with the Prince?" I asked while still eyed the top of skyscrapers.
"That bastard," I suddenly shifted my gaze to her. How easy for her to call the prince like that? She continued, "If you don't have a strong will, that psychopath will manipulate you."
"You...are good using words." I said, half-shocked.
"Be used to it," she laughed and explained, "Prince Alexander is like a son for me. When he was a child, I was one of his mother's assistant. When he was assigned to his first job, I became his secretary."
"How do you handle his scandals?" I curiously asked. I wanted to know what the people around him were thinking once he was involved in different issues every week.
"I kick his arse," she saw my shocked expression as a result she giggled, "Don't be so serious! I'm just kidding you know. I'm not intercepting with his personal life. Whatever he wants to do in his life, it's his choice, not mine. Sometimes, I give him advice, and it is his choice if he will follow me or not."
"What are his problems?" I intended to whisper it to myself, but I said it aloud.
"I don't know. Let's say, I'm not in the place to answer your question."
"I understand," I returned my eyes outside the window, "When will the rain stop?"
"October is the rainiest month here in England," she responded hearing her smile in every word, "I live here since birth and still, I don't have a theory of when the October's rain stops."
I closed my eyes. Listened to the humming of the engine and little sound of water drops. I saw the man earlier in my imagination. His well-defined features marked every nerve I had. I felt the heat of his hand where he put it, and wished that he was sitting beside me, held me again like he had done.
If only I had seen his eyes, I would not wonder of what he really looked like. Would we see each other again someday?