Eliot and Roselle came back before lunchtime. Once again, Armani came to greet them.
"Hey," said Armani. After lunch do you want to go visit our old treehouse? The guy who bought my old house was pretty nice and said we could stop by."
Dylan was in the corner of Roselle's eye, shaking his head no. "Sorry," she said. "I'm going to hang out with James."
He nodded, though the disappointment was apparent through his tone. "Oh, well, okay."
Dylan nodded at her, but it physically made her ill to her tummy to ignore him like this. She reminded herself it was necessary. It was for the mission.
But it was also really mean.
Eliot whiffed around the room, and stared in the direction of the kitchen. "Oh no." He bolted. "MRS. REYES, I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT ANY APPLE BEER IN THE PIE!"
* * *
After lunch, Roselle looked for James, who hadn't made an appearance at the meal. She knocked on the door of the room he was staying in. "James?" she asked. "Are you alright?"
No answer.
She opened the door, and there the king was, laying on the bed, positioned as if he were some kind of model, listening to music through his headphones. His arm was over his eyes, and it was unclear if he was snoozing or not.
She shook him. "James? Are you feeling okay?"
"Mmm?" He took his arm off his head and took a minute to refocus his eyes. "Ah, Roselle." He yawned. "I'm having some difficulty adjusting to American time. I've got jet lag."
"Oh, my bad. I'll just go then." She turned to leave, but James grasped her forearm.
"Stay with me for a minute, won't you?"
Well, she had intended on spending time with him anyway, so she nodded. "Alright"
He pulled her back to the bed, and she sat at his side while he laid down. He closed his eyes again and dozed off."
"Am I supposed to just sit here and watch you sleep?"
"Of course not. Do you really need an invitation, peasant? Join me." He swooped in and pulled her on the bed next to him.
"Hey!," she exclaimed, about to riot, but her high-strung nature was quickly calmed when James gave her a smolder--or perhaps 'smoulder' with a 'u' would've been more appropriate because he was British, but never mind spelling technicalities. He was hot, dammit.
"Well?" he asked, grinning at her.
She scoffed, pretending to be unimpressed. "Well, what?"
He snickered. "You've been playing hard to get. Don't think I didn't notice."
"No I'm not! Tssk. You're so full pf yourself."
"I'll admit to my vanity, but I wasn't talking about myself. You're playing hard to get with Armani Parker, little rose."
She froze, taking in his words. "How could you possibly have known that?"
"You're adorable, you know that? You might have all those other imbeciles fooled, but I'm a master of body language and psychoanalyzation. I can sense your true intentions. You've been naughty, haven't you? Are you using me for your own selfish gain?"
"Hey, I--that's--it's not like that," she stammered, trying to explain.
He pulled her in close and whispered in her ear. "Let's get one thing straight, shall we? You can't be the one using me. I'm the one using you, understood?"
"For what?"
"To pour my affections out on."
James leaned in real close, but Roselle took a pillow and separated them with it. "Dude, we're at my parents' house!"
"So are you saying that if we weren't at your parents' house, you'd be interested?"
She facepalmed. "That's not what I said! Quit twisting my words, would ya? You're so . . . UGH!" She screamed her frustration into a pillow.
His stomach grumbled. "Ah, well if it isn't time for luncheon."
"We've got left over chicken pot pie in the fridge."
"I'd prefer a meal that Eliot hasn't taken part in cooking."
"You don't like his cooking?"
"I hadn't any idea what his food is like, but I refuse to eat a single meal involving that peasant."
* * *
Roselle and James went to eat at the old diner. The royal guards were there too, but they were disguised as regular guests that sat in every direction. If it weren't for them, the entire restaurant would be empty, despite it being New Years Eve.
James looked around the diner, darting his head back and forth.
"You don't like it here?" Roselle asked.
"It isn't that. I'm just rather puzzled. I've seen places like this in movies, yet I haven't been in a place like this in person. It's an odd feeling. I feel as though I'm in an American eighties film. I like it."
"Oh . . . yeah. Sometimes I forget that you're a king. You probably haven't done a lot of normal things, have you?"
"Well, in exchange for a 'normal' life," he used air quotations with his fingers, "I've lived a remarkable one. I've experienced a rich, elegant lifestyle that most people in life could never dare to dream of. I'm a celebrated person that's loved and admired unconditionally by many. I'm the king. What more could I ask for?"
Roselle frowned, playing with the ends of her hair. "You've really never wondered what it was like to not be royal?"
"Of course I've wondered, but what use would that be?" He rested his chin on his hand. "I must admit, however, that being me has drawbacks. I'm still appalled that my assistant, Mason, bribed people all these years to ensure I won the duels I've challenged. It's just as you said it was: insulting."
"Did you . . . punish Mason for insulting you?"
"He doesn't even know that I've discovered this bad habit of his. I've just been refraining from making ridiculous duels in arts that I have no experience in."
She giggled. "I would've thought you'd flip and then it would be 'off with his head'."
James glared at her for a moment, suddenly becoming more serious than he had been just a moment ago. "Believe it or not, Roselle, I actually am capable of empathy, even if the world only recognizes my narcissism." He stared out the window. "I suppose that's another drawback to being me. I've finally accepted I won't always garner the whole world's love, but why must I be constantly subjected to such harsh judgement and accusations?"
"Well, I think everyone feels that way."
"But I feel it on a larger scale."
"I'm sure Armani, Eliot, and Dylan have that problem too."
He scoffed. "Do you know what the difference between me and those three are?"
"You're 'real' royalty?" She rolled her eyes.
"The difference is that those three could have grown up to be anything they wanted, and they CHOSE to be politicians. I was predetermined by bloodline to be king before I was even born."
"I--" Roselle was in shock to the point where she couldn't even move. "I never thought of it that way." She looked at the table, analyzing its surface and imagining what it would feel like if she were to smooth it against her fingertips. Anything to distract her from that moment.
"I didn't mean to get upset." James got up and sat at her side of the booth and warmed her in his close proximity. "Roselle, it's been quite a while since I've said this, but when I said it the first time, I meant it. I really like you."
She turned to him. "Why?"
"I feel as if you've challenged me somehow. Since meeting you, your lessons have made me wiser in the art of humility and humbleness. I feel as though I'm above everyone, but it's because they let me be above them. You've always treated me as if we were equal. I didn't realize it before, but I needed that. I guess you could say it made me feel more normal."
A thought crossed Roselle's mind. "James, have you ever loved anyone?"
"No. I haven't."
"Why?"
"To love another would to be willing to sacrifice myself for them. I couldn't possibly do that. My duty lies solely with my country, and to love someone else would compromise me. As the king, I couldn't possibly fall in love. No king ever should. I must remain impartial for the good of my country."
Roselle crossed her arms. "Sounds like bull to me."
"What?"
"That was the dumbest excuse I've ever heard. I think you're just too narcissistic to give yourself to someone else."
"Or perhaps from a young age I've discovered the reality of the scenario: I could never give a woman the 'normal' life they desire. A life with me would be rich and lavish, but after that, there'd be no going back." He sighed. "So to answer your real question, no, Roselle. I don't love you. I can't. You and I are just a flash in the pan."