His Royal Highness(74)

Derek nods.

My mom turns to me. “Avery, you—” She laughs, having caught her mistake. “Whitney, you know Charles a little, don’t you?”

“Some.”

Derek is glancing down at me, brows furrowed. I can’t imagine what he thinks of this exchange.

“Whitney and my grandfather are very close,” he amends.

My parents seem to find this very impressive.

“You never told us,” my mom says.

I grind my molars and look away. “I have. In the past.”

“Oh.”

An usher comes around, informing guests that it’s time to find their seats. Our tickets were gifted from Avery. Derek had to buy his. I wonder where he’s sitting then he pulls out four tickets from his pocket.

“I hope you don’t mind. I got us a box so we can all sit together.”

My parents have no issue with this change. After all, Avery’s tickets were good, but they were nothing compared to the ones from Derek. Now we’re sitting like royalty up in a private box. An attendant asks us if we’d like anything else to drink and I practically beg for another glass of champagne.

I sit at the very end of the front row of chairs, closest to the stage, forcing Derek to insulate me from my parents. It’s for the best. Now I can actually pay attention to the show.

It’s fantastic. My parents’ summary of it earlier didn’t do it justice. The writing is pithy, the pacing perfect, and I find myself barely aware of my surroundings while the production takes place. Avery captivates us all, cast in the glow of those stage lights as if she were born to be on Broadway. I’m so unbelievably proud of her, I could burst. When she bows at the end, I leap up and whistle with my fingers. Classy, I know.

We wait for her after the show, near the exit where the actors have been filtering out for the last fifteen minutes. She sees us and squeals, throwing her arms around me first and then hugging our parents. When she introduces herself to Derek, she hugs him too.

“So you’re the man who’s stolen my little sister’s heart.”





Chapter Twenty-Three





Whitney





It’s almost like I don’t recognize myself at dinner. Or rather, Derek doesn’t recognize me. I can tell because he keeps glancing over, trying to catch my eye. He wants a private word—an explanation for why I’ve barely said anything all evening—but there’s no way to manage that without announcing it to the table.

Instead, I shoot him reassuring Totally fine! smiles and resist the urge to order another drink. Flashbacks of Halloween remind me that tonight, two glasses of champagne is my limit.

My mom wasn’t kidding about the restaurant being fancy. It’s filled with fine white linens, crystal wine glasses, and multiple courses. Only the best for Avery.

There’s a congratulatory vase of pink peonies on the table, delivered before our arrival. It’s so large, I’m blocked from seeing my mom’s face across from me. I decide I don’t mind this setup actually.

“You guys didn’t need to do all this,” Avery says, shaking her head, smiling nonetheless.

She’s wearing a loose red dress that showcases her tan skin and bright blonde hair. It hangs off her svelte frame, and our waiter can barely take his eyes off her matching red lips.

She’s vivacious and captivating, and I find myself jealous of her presence in a room. As if all she has to do is exist and that alone should warrant praise.

That thought festers over our second course of roasted carrot and onion soup.

I remind myself that I’m only jealous of Avery because of our past, because I’ve been conditioned to think she’s more important. I know it’s not true. I can usually convince myself of that. Tonight, however, it’s proving harder.

Even now, she carries the conversation for the table, asking Derek questions about his work.

I sit with a tight ball of tension in my stomach.

A waiter swoops in to start clearing the second course and my father leans toward him, as if he’s going to speak to him one on one, then proceeds to announce his next words to half the restaurant.

“My daughter just starred in a Broadway musical,” he boasts. “We’re here to celebrate. Avery, come on, tell him about the musical.”

Why do parents think random strangers care about the achievements of their children? Hey, yeah, can you get the busboy over here too? I want to let him know my kid got an A on his spelling test.

The waiter’s eyebrows shoot up with interest all the same.

I reach for my water and try to channel Jesus, but when I take a sip, I’m sad to report it hasn’t been transformed into wine.

“Dad,” Avery chides when the waiter finally walks away after getting an autograph. He tried for her number too, but she laughed off his request like he was joking. He was definitely not joking. “Okay, come on, guys. New subject. Whitney, how is everything down in Georgia? Are you still working in the dorm?”

I should say yes, my life is exactly the same as the last time you asked me about it. I still dress up like a princess and take photos with children during the day, and at night, I babysit a bunch of college freshmen.

I can’t get those words out though. Instead, I say, “No, actually. When I return, I’ll be accepting a new position.”