#PastelPrincess

Chapter Ten

Ringing. An obnoxious ringing.

Face scrunched, eyes blinking away the darkness, chest a little acidy, I try and source the noise. My cell phone. By the time my un-coordinated hand finds it under the covers, the ringing stopped. Missed call… missed calls from both Macen and Sophia.

Getting into the group chat, I groan while dimming the f**k out of the screen. Still too bright, I hold the phone as far away as I can and blink a few more times to focus.

Mayday: Lori?

Lori!

So-So: Lori, OMG

M: Freckles, you saw it?

S: How could I not have?

M: Google alert?

S: Google alert.

Lori!!!

WHAT?

JFC, what?

It’s… 3:15

I was asleep

But then I actually retain what they’ve messaged.

Google Alert?

What Google Alert?

OH MY GOD IS IT PAPA?

Bolting straight up, I fumble with the lamp. Looking for my international, private cell on the nightstand, I yank it out from under some books. No new messages, no new calls, not even an email.

Not Papa.

Mama is asleep.

… what’s going on?

They both sent me the same link within the same minute. Hands shaking so hard, I drop the phone to my lap. Heartbeat too fast, pounding too hard, withheld breath I click the text bubble. The shorten URL leads me to a website called Buzzwire.

GYPSY SCUM OR PASTEL PRINCESS

Christopher O’Crosphen’s Emotional Roller-Coaster Over America’s Favorite Princess

Christopher O’Crosphen (17), son of the English Prime Minister, was seen last night with Benovian Princess, Lorianna Romenovf (16). Going to the blockbuster hit of August, romantic comedy Crazy Rich Asians, followed by a corner at the swoon-worthy French bistro Amelia’s, the young lovers were oh-so-cozy when not steps away from their bodyguards.

[Picture]

The night ended when the classic black town car all Excelsior Academy students seem to have arrived at the gate of the Romenovf’s Massachusetts residence. Princess Lorianna with a bouquet of Benovia’s nation flower in hand, locked lips in a picturesque goodnight with Christopher. (The kiss made possible by him a step down from her, equaling their height difference – how thoughtful.)

[Picture]

Let us not all forget, though, three years ago when the two kiddos would have been in 8th grade at Eleanor Roosevelt Prep. One night at an exclusive function with both families present, not-so-charming Christopher called the princess ‘gypsy scum’. This ended their seven-year friendship immediately; all sources say they’ve been civil enemies since.

Did his heart grow three sizes that night? Will our favorite Princess be wearing pink? Or is this another politically induced stunt to show that the two families have buried the hatchet?

Check in with Buzzwire to find out more!

Hundreds of comments on the one post.

Thousands of views since its timestamp of 2:45 AM.

Hundreds of thousands of shares to social media and other blogs picking up the story.

Wall posts, private messages, @(me) in comments, shares with me and Chris tagged on f*******:.

Tumblr question box full.

YouTube blowing up not just with views, subscriptions, but also with comments.

Instagram follower count practically doubled, comments on random posts – even going all the way back to when I first started the account, private messages from so, so many strangers.

Emotionally shut down, I email the publicity team my family uses in both America and Europe. I then email my therapist, requesting an appointment as soon as possible, but not during school hours. This leads to an email to the school’s headmaster, my teachers, and their damage control team. On my phone for contact with Papa, I text him the link and forward all my emails to him.

Realizing there’s the other side to this coin; I lift from my bed to head to my desk. First looking by bending over, then having to turn on my bedroom light, I sit down. Searching for my contact notebook, I find all of the O’Crosphen information after a very frustrating five minutes. Sending all the information I can and copy-and-pasting emails to their teams, I only stop moving through the motions robotically when it’s time to contact Chris.

Whether it’s me chickening out or honestly not knowing what to say, I just text him the link. Not knowing if it would be better or worse to call him and wake him up versus letting him sleep but then being bombarding with this, I just stare down at his picture. I jump when the phone starts ringing again, incoming call: Chris-Cross.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hi.”

“Hi….”

He clears his throat. “So….”

“Yeah, I know.”

“No one on your end?”

“Macen and Sophia and Ivan would never.”

“Your mum?”

“Nah… this isn’t like any of the stunts she’s pulled for her books. This is too personal. And she didn’t know anything about what happened… before, I mean,” I heave a breath and press my palm to my forehead. “I never told her about the ‘gypsy scum’ thing, about us almost dating, about our first kiss. She’s been completely in the dark.

“What about you? Parents? Brother… friends?”

“Anyone I would have told has signed a NDA when it comes to my personal life.”

Slowly I lift from my computer chair, turn off the ceiling light, and ease down on the edge of my bed. “Smart.”

“Mmm. I’ll have our lawyers reach out to your father… it would probably be a useful tactic for you as well. Just in case, I mean.”

Throat raw, I nod. Realizing he can’t see me I utter a little “Thanks.”

“I assume you contacted everyone you need to?” God, he sounds so exhausted.

“Yeah. I sent what I could to your people, too.”

“Thanks.” There’s a long pause. “I’m sure Father’s already seen but I should probably call him.”

“I should probably call Papa, too.”

There’s a deep breath on the other end, a bit of static, and then Chris’s voice comes through clear and comforting, “Everything’s going to be okay, Little Lori, I promise.”

Feeling the sting of unwanted tears, I nod again. “I’ll just have to wear pink, huh?” I try and laugh instead of sob, it coming out a strangled Frankenstein’s monster of both.

There’s a very brief chuckle and I can hear a little smile in his voice. “You and me both. Maybe Macen and Sophia, Toby and Parker and Cynthia, too.”

Tears heavy and salty, I blink and wiggle my nose. There’s a pause and I wish we could stay on the line the whole night… just… just to know he’s there. “See you in the morning?”

“I’ll pick you up?”

“Macen and Sophia will be with me.”

“I’ll bring the limo.”

A real laugh, a roll of my eyes, weight does seem to lift from my chest. “Goodnight, Chris-Cross.”

“Goodnight, Little Lori.”

Setting that phone down after the call break, my arm feels like a ton of bricks as I reach to call Papa. Mama had told him about the date, and I’d received a text of approval but we actually hadn’t spoken in a week, since our routine Sunday post-church phone call. And this is far different from how am I doing, how’s school, how are my friends, how’s Mama… this was Trenton all over again and bile rises in my throat. Even with me reassuring myself that this isn’t actually Trenton all over again, that there’s no way Chris would have done this, that Chris is actually good for me, and shouldn’t everyone remember how close we were before?

Ringing… ringing, then the soft and sturdy and safe “Bună, floarea mea.”

“Bună, tată.”

“It is quite late, little one, would English be easier?” his accent so thick it almost doesn’t make a difference.

Not that I can’t speak Benovian fluently, but in the months I spend in America with school, American English does move to slot A: Most Used, therefore my brain’s go-to. “Thank you, Papa, I do think that might be easier.”

Feeling like a might implode, it is an instant relief when he replies, “I am so very sorry about that article but thank you for being so strong and doing what you can to handle it.”

Freely sobbing now, I try to respond without my voice shaking too much. “This hasn’t happened in so long… I just don’t know what to do – don’t know how you want me, want us to handle it?”

I can hear the creak of the leather of him leaning back in his office chair. “How would you like to handle it, floarea mea?”

Mind racing, I try to run through all the possible choices and all their possible outcomes. Ignore it – could get worse. It’s too widespread to try and snuff out. We could take it very seriously… but! But there’s no proof that Chris ever said that to me. Of course, he did… but I’d never told anyone who would use it now against us. Though… though, I had practically screamed it at school, and based on how the article phrased it, some of our peers had to have been involved.

“Though we’ll need to touch base with the O’Crosphens and see how they would prefer to handle this, I honestly think we should take it jokingly. The more damning parts of the article are hear-say so it would be easy for both parties to deny it and move on with positive comments.”

A long pause and I close my eyes to the sound of my papa’s steady breathing. “I will contact Edward after we hang up and I’ll text you. Does that sound all right?”

“Da, tată.”

“Bun. Stai linis̗tit, floarea mea.”

“Stai linis̗tit, tată.”

Even with the call ended and quiet seeping into my room once again, I don’t think I can possibly sleep soundly. A little afraid that Chris’s father will just say it can’t continue, really anxious about how Chris feels about it all, hating being in the spotlight like this again, it makes me sad when I even think – for just a flicker of a moment – maybe it shouldn’t continue so I… we can have peace. Chris and I are not important in the grand scheme of things, not in relation to what both our parents have to face on a daily basis. And yet… maybe because it’s our age or maybe because it’s such a personal attack, it feels like a world’s worth of weight collapsing my chest.