His Royal Highness(19)
The image of her then stands in sharp contrast with the woman I saw at Cal’s last night.
Whitney All Grown Up.
I nearly smile at the idea then realize I’m disappointed she left so quickly. I barely had a chance to take in the changes, to catch up with my old friend before she disappeared behind the elevator doors.
It’s that thought that has me swinging my Tesla into the executive parking lot right behind a row of shops on Castle Drive after I’m finished at Costuming.
If Cal is going to insist on having me do this, I want to know what I’m getting myself into. It’s been years since I’ve seen the insanity that takes place inside Elena’s Castle during the meet-and-greet sessions.
I pass through the gates, swipe my employee badge, and tug open the door that leads onto Castle Drive. The door itself is tucked behind a bank of restrooms, and no one even notices the fact that I’ve just popped up out of thin air. It’s a magic trick of epic proportions. With sights (Castle Drive), sounds (happy music), and smells (funnel cakes and hot dogs and popcorn), we draw guests’ attention to the parts of the park carefully curated for their entertainment and away from the back alleys and secret entrances.
I join the crowd of people heading north up Castle Drive and spot the windows in Cal’s penthouse. I wonder if he’s standing up there now, watching me accept my fate.
It’s not my curiosity about Whitney that has me agreeing to Cal’s plan. That has nothing to do with it. It’s the fact that deep down, I know Cal’s right. Not about me proving myself to the board—they can go fuck themselves. It has to do with our employees. I can see the value in stepping out of the boardroom and getting reacquainted with day-to-day life at the park. Our company only exists because of our base-level employees. It’s imperative that we take care of their needs and maintain a work environment they’re not only comfortable with, but proud of.
It’s been twenty years since I sold balloons for minimum wage. I’ve amassed degrees and climbed the corporate ladder one rung at a time, and now that I’m on the top, Cal’s right—I’m in the clouds. Maybe I do need to work alongside our employees and familiarize myself with their struggles once again.
Through the back entrance to the great hall, I’m able to bypass the line and take up a spot in the corner of the room, overlooking the crowd. A red rope guides guests around the perimeter of the room, winding them up into a spiral toward their final destination: Whitney.
The sight of her strikes me like a well-aimed arrow. My stomach clenches and my hand covers it reflexively, expecting blood.
I didn’t get a good look at her last night, the elevator doors sliding closed before I connected the dots of who she was. Now, those glimpses come together to form an image I can’t quite reconcile. In the years I’ve been away, Whitney has blossomed. For every year I grew older, she did too.
It’s hard to merge the girl I once knew with the beautiful woman standing before me. She’s centered in the room, framed by the hearth and the crowd huddled around her. Her sweet, round face has given way to a more feminine, alluring heart shape. She has high, apple cheeks and a breathtaking smile made all the more adorable when it’s accented by her dimples.
She’s changed so much since I’ve been gone, another inch or two taller and filling out her dress with tempting curves. I’m glad to see her jade green eyes—the exact shade of her dress—are unchanged. I take comfort in that. I wish I were looking at them up close. I wish we were alone now, getting reacquainted.
She bends low to chat with a girl sitting in a wheelchair, whispering in her ear and making her giggle. I smile reflexively and then laugh under my breath when I catch myself.
She talks to the young girl for longer than necessary. Whitney’s line coordinator tries to catch her attention—no doubt to speed her along—but Whitney ignores her and lets the child feel her dress then her hair. The children are especially in love with her hair. Dark red, nearly auburn, it looks barely tamed.
I stand there through the remainder of her shift, watching her interact with the guests. The tailor’s assistant wasn’t exaggerating. Whitney goes the extra mile with each and every child who steps forward to meet her. Her smile never wavers, her enthusiasm just as strong with the one hundredth family as it was with the first.
By her side, through the entirety of her shift, is the man currently playing His Royal Highness. The guy looks fresh out of college with a cocky smirk and enough gel in his hair to groom the entire cast of Grease. He’s not the main attraction, but even still, some of the children are eager to meet him. A few of them insist that he and Whitney both crowd in for a photo. When she’s busy with children, he watches her, interest heavy in his gaze. When one child pleads with him to kiss her on the cheek, Whitney laughs, but he’s all too happy to oblige. He wraps his hands around her waist and tugs her toward him. The crowd goes wild. His mouth presses against her cheek and cameras flash. After, he murmurs something against the shell of her ear and Whitney’s cheeks redden. My eyes narrow.
When the line finally clears and the last child is whisked out of the room, Whitney releases her smile and sighs in relief, stretching out her cheeks and mouth like she’s trying to regain feeling in her face. The gesture makes me smile. It reminds me of the girl I used to know.
I give her a brief respite before I step away from my vantage point and walk past the red rope.