To Catch a Prince Read online

“You.”

  This went on for a while until the girls finally realized how seventh-grade they sounded, and Alexis shouted, “Rock, paper, scissors!”

  “One, two, three!”

  Alexis threw down rock, and Helene threw down scissors. “Watch my backpack,” Helene called as she went to speak to the Maltese man.

  When she’d finished her question, he looked confused, even though Laszlo had assured them that absolutely everyone on the island spoke English. Finally, words poured out of him. “Well, Miss, thanks to the Smarties Grecian Mediterranean Cup being relocated from Greece to Malta, all the hotels are completely booked.”

  The man’s voice boomed. Helene took a step back. “Yeah, everyone wants to see Great Britain’s supposed future king, although God knows they’d better get rid of the monarchy before it’s his turn. Can you believe it? A country still run by a queen? How totally backward. How infantilizing!” He shook his head in dismay before continuing. “And don’t expect to see the race either. Only a select few yachts are allowed out on the water, and these have been filled for months. Months, I tell you! Only the elite will be out there. You know, the fancy-schmancy, out-of-our-league types. The entire event is ludicrous. I have absolutely no idea what all these tourists expect to do. Maybe catch a whiff of William’s sweat as it travels with the sea breeze, because they’ll never see him. He’s at sea and they’re landlocked. They’re crowded shoulder-to-shoulder on the beaches in the sweltering sun. Oh, well, what do I care? Malta runs on tourist dollars anyway. Thanks to you and your little friend over there, I have a job. And what a fascinating job it is. Just what I thought I’d be doing with my English Ph.D. I’ve never seen so much thrilling luggage. Anyway, have a great vacation, Missy.”

  Helene ran back to Alexis, who, although she stood across the terminal, had been able to hear every word. “What are we going to do?” Helene asked.

  Alexis put on her sunglasses and gave Helene a reassuring nod. “I’m sure something will turn up,” she said, although she wasn’t sure at all.

  Helene sat down on her backpack to wait. After all, what else could they do?

  Another plane landed. Its passengers spilled into the terminal and were soon whisked away by taxis dispatched from hotels that were all filled up. Alexis was most disturbed by the beads of sweat dripping down her face. The terminal was not airconditioned.

  “I’m calling Dad,” she said, forgetting about her nonworking cell phone as well as the fact that they’d lied to Aunt Barbara about their weekend plans. “He’ll think of something.”

  “Wait,” said Helene standing up, “what’s that?”

  Two men were running toward them, carrying small, square signs. The men were dressed identically: black suits despite the heat, black caps, dark sunglasses. One placard read, WORTH. The other, MASTERSON.

  “Sorry for the delay,” said a familiar voice. “Your taxi has arrived.”

  Is there no end to what lovesick British boys will do for two cute American girls? Not only had Laszlo and Simon flown to Malta, but they’d also met the girls at the airport in costume. This was the result of a huge argument that they’d had on the way home from Russell Square. Laszlo wanted to abandon the girls entirely, but Simon reminded him: the grand gesture. The girls were bound to be swept away by the romance of the island, plus the romance of the gesture. Laszlo agreed, but only on the condition that they could dress like chauffeurs. He wanted to make sure the gesture wras truly grand; they’d rented outfits in town that morning.

  This was what caused the delay, Laszlo explained, out of breath. “Simon’s uniform was just a bit too small. That is, the trousers rather suffocated his manly area. And we had to exchange it.”

  “What delay?” Alexis said, smiling like a pixie. Just as the boys took off their scratchy chauffeur’s hats, the girls leaned up to kiss them on the lips. After all, wouldn’t you kiss your rescuer too?

  They proceeded to have the most wonderful day. The “taxi” turned out to be a red convertible, and Simon drove them to Valletta, the capital city, to sit in a waterfront café and drink espresso.

  This was the summer they’d been missing. Helene basked in the colors. White buildings covered the hillside like shelves cluttered with porcelain. Above and below, the town was framed by shades of blue. The sky was a pale cornflower, and the Mediterranean was deep and sultry. It was midday, shadowless; the sunlight was dazzling.

  Alexis devoured the summer styles. After spending July and much of August wearing boots and tights, she exclaimed over every strappy sandal that passed along the avenue in front of the café, every flouncy halter dress, every adorable mini and hot-pants.

  Malta looked back at the girls. Not just the Maltese men, who stared brazenly as they walked by—but the Maltese boats too. Each fishing boat docked in the harbor had been painted with brilliant primary colors: a stripe of green, a blue keel, a red prow, yellow trim. And each one had a watchful eye painted on the front. “The eye of Osiris,” Laszlo explained. “It wards off evil spirits.”

  Helene melted a little after hearing all that Laszlo knew. Well, from that and the sweltering heat.

  In the afternoon Simon and Alexis went off to find a beach, and Laszlo drove Helene to the Hal Saflieni Hypogeum, or as Laszlo described it, “The oldest freestanding building on earth and the coolest thing ever.” He was right. Helene grabbed Laszlo’s hand as they descended into the cavelike stone temple that had more mystery and romance than Stonehenge.

  The couples met back in the Grand Harbor at a fish-and-chips restaurant. “We give them almost two centuries of British rule,” Laszlo complained, “and all they have to show for it is our terrible cuisine.”

  Soon all four were covered in salt and grease. But before they had time to wash their hands, Simon paid and said, “Come on, you guys, we’re almost late. Philip said that the Straw Princess would set sail promptly at nine. Hurry up.”

  The girls hurried all right, but they had no idea where they were going. “Who’s Philip?” Helene asked, helping Alexis with her suitcases and running after the boys.

  “Who’s the straw princess?” asked Alexis, who was having a terrible time trying to run while wearing wedge heels. Simon stopped and turned around. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to carry Alexis’s suitcases! Would he ever learn to be a gentleman worthy of her?

  “Here,” he said, “give me those. Now, didn’t I explain this? I’ve secured two berths on a boat called the Straw Princess. I know, it’s a strange name, but the owners, the Spring sisters, are pretty odd themselves, as you’ll see. They’re my dad’s clients. The Straw Princess is one of the few pleasure yachts that is allowed to watch the race tomorrow. So we’ve got to get going! We have the last two available berths.”

  Simon had high hopes for this evening. He and Alexis would “accidentally” end up in the same berth. And then, after such a grand gesture, anything could happen! So when Simon said “two berths,” he looked at her meaningfully. But she was too busy squealing with Helene. “A yacht! A yacht! We’re going to watch the yacht races. We’re going to see William!”

  By the time the boat actually set sail, Helene and Alexis were exhausted. They hardly had the energy to mumble “good night” to the boys before tumbling—rather seasickly—into their berth.

  Up on deck Simon watched the stars. He was thinking about that morning, when a radiant Alexis had kissed him so lightly, so casually, as if she’d been kissing him for years.

  Next to him, Laszlo was silent for once, even when a shooting star swiped like a scythe across the black sky. He was also thinking about a kiss, though not from this morning. He was remembering when he’d asked Helene to the dance and she’d kissed him and kissed him. And then they had kissed some more. There was none of that awkward fumbling of most first kisses. They’d matched so perfectly. He just couldn’t figure out why it hadn’t happened again. Was it really just because of William?

  “Helene?” Alexis whispered into the dark room. “Are you awake?”


  “Hmmphhshushmph,” Helene responded.

  “Helene, something’s been bugging me all summer, and I just have to ask you it now so that I can enjoy Malta completely.”

  “Okay …” Helene was blinking in the dark, trying to focus, though she had a good idea of what was to come.

  “What happened?”

  “He broke code,” Helene said softly.

  Alexis sighed. The sisters had promised each other they wouldn’t have sex until they were married. The promise was their code, and they vowed never to let anyone break it. So far, no boy had tried. They were very upfront in their relationships. They always told boys that this was their vow to themselves. It seemed Jeremy had tried to pressure Helene to do more than she wanted, and you just don’t tell Helene what to do.

  “He was a jerk from the beginning. I totally should have known.” Helene rolled over to face her sister. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she could see the outline of Alexis’s face. “But what was awful was that he was so mean about it. When he realized that I was serious about staying a virgin, he totally flipped, calling me names, the whole nine. I never want to be spoken to like that again. That’s why I freaked out about Nigel. He’s totally reminiscent of the Jeremy situation. And Nichola is so young!”

  “Oh, Helene, I’m so sorry. I wish you had said something sooner, but I get it.” Alexis reached out to Helene, and Helene took her hand and squeezed it.

  “I just didn’t want to bring down the summer because of a stupid boy, you know?” Helene smiled. Alexis wished she could be as strong as her best friend. The two girls felt more connected than they ever had. It was a nice feeling. And then they fell into a very deep sleep.

  Like Ships Passing in the Day

  WHEN ALEXIS GROGGILY climbed out of bed, she was puzzled to find herself in the cutest room she’d ever seen. A desk folded out from the wall. The closet folded down from the ceiling. And the shower was separated from the toilet by a screen. The single window was a circle at the height of her stomach. This was a room for gnomes.

  Alexis sunk to her knees to look out the window, and all she saw was blue. A brilliant blue sky that met the bluest sea ever. Of course! They were on their way to see Prince William! Once she got her bearings, Alexis settled down to work. She sealed off the shower and proceeded to spray on a tan. (Hey, what else are you supposed to do if you spend the summer in dreary London? Besides, who does UV anymore?) While it was drying, she carefully applied waterproof makeup. Then came the truly difficult decision: which bikini to wear?

  “Breakfast will be served in five minutes,” came a British voice from behind the bed. Helene, who had rolled herself up in the covers like a burrito, bolted upright.

  “It’s only the intercom,” Alexis replied, as if she’d lived on a boat her whole life. “But we have to go.” With a sad sigh for all the swimsuits left unworn, Alexis chose the Armani string bikini that matched her eyes.

  The breakfast room was also built in miniature. Three tiny tables with wobbly legs were dolled up for an extremely formal breakfast. There were fine china and silver, all bouncing around with the motion of the boat. Alexis and Helene hesitated at the door, until Laszlo and Simon stood up and gesticulated wildly.

  Unlike in London, the boys were wearing shorts and T-shirts, and the girls couldn’t help but notice how good they looked. Laszlo had this amazingly sculpted upper body—the shoulders and forearms of a statue—that he usually hid in a baggy sweater and a jacket. Simon was leaner, but somehow already tan, and his muscular legs had fine blond hairs.

  Just as the girls were pouring coffee from a silver urn, three women walked in. They were very short and wore, as if to compensate, very tall hats. Helene, Laszlo, and Alexis had to stuff their fists in their mouths to keep from cackling.

  The first woman, who couldn’t have been more than four-foot-ten, wore a hat that had been designed to resemble the yacht they were sailing. The brim was sculpted out of straw into a boat’s hull, with STRAW PRINCESS embroidered in red. Sails, made of soft white silk, stood up twelve inches. The second woman, who was shorter than the first, wore a seagull in flight, complete with a beady-eyed face in the front and two protruding wings on either side. The whole thing was made of feathers. The third sister had gone for something a little more abstract. Her hat was a three-dimensional replica of Mondrian’s famous squares, those white, red, and blue boxes that mean modern art. Hers was done with pieces of stiff canvas coming out of a white velvet stovepipe hat. This was too much for Helene. She put her head on her lap and shook like jelly.

  Following the capped ladies was a dour, skinny man. He was nearly seven feet tall. His balding head was bare.

  “April owns the boat—she’s the youngest sister,” Simon explained in a whisper. “But June’s husband, Philip, the tall guy, knows everything about yachts, so he is always here. And May can’t stand to be left behind. You know middle siblings.” He rolled his eyes.

  “These are clients of your father’s?” Alexis asked. “What exactly does he do?”

  “Well,” Simon began, “you see—”

  “Wait a minute,” Helene interrupted, a little too loudly. “April? May? And June?”

  “Yes, dear?” All three women turned their Seuss-like heads in the direction of the four of them. “Do we know you?”

  Simon stood to make awkward introductions.

  During breakfast—an overwhelmingly British event with a fry-up of eggs, bacon, sausages, black pudding, tomatoes, and mushrooms—Helene looked up to find that Laszlo, while keeping a straight face, had balanced the butter dish on his head. She started laughing at his mockery of the hats, but he put his finger over his lips. Without a word, Helene folded her napkin into a peak and balanced it between her pigtails.

  Alexis, when she noticed, laughed so hard that orange juice came out her nose, but still Simon was sleepily devouring his fry-up and he didn’t look up. Helene kicked Alexis so that she’d understand. Keeping her expression calm, Alexis casually stuck four forks into her hair so that they formed a peak like a tepee.

  “Could you pass the potatoes?” Simon asked innocently. No one answered, and he finally looked up. “Do you like my hat?” Helene asked. “It’s new.”

  “I love yours, Laszlo,” Alexis said. “Could it be Gaultier? I see his handiwork in that dish.”

  “And yours,” Laszlo replied, “is so next year. I know all the runway models are doing forks in the spring.”

  Simon was clearly not amused. “I think the sisters’ hats show excellent craftsmanship,” he said huffily. “They were clearly made by an expert milliner.”

  “Sorry, man,” Laszlo said, finally removing the butter dish. “I should have known. Hats are your specialty.”

  After breakfast the boat sped through the open seas. Alexis was sunbathing in a beach chair on the upper deck, and Simon was … well, Simon, seated next to her, held Crime and Punishment, but his eyes were elsewhere. Helene had been imprisoned by Philip, who was drily telling her all sorts of information she never wanted to know about yacht racing.

  “You see, there are four types of handicaps,” he intoned. “Each is based on a rating system designed by the Royal Yacht Racing Club. Now, the first one …”

  Helene wanted to scream, What about William? When will I meet William? But she nodded politely.

  When the boat came to a stop, Laszlo disentangled himself from the Spring sisters and set about freeing Helene from the grips of dull Philip. Did he walk over and politely say, “Excuse me, I need to ask Helene a vital question”? Did he rudely call, “Yo, Helene, over here. Now!” No. This was Laszlo after all. When no one was looking, he slipped off his Top-Siders, pulled off his T-shirt, and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Man overboard!”

  Helene panicked. This was a real ship in the vast ocean. What if Laszlo drowned! She rushed to the railing, but the Spring sisters had gotten there first and their hats blocked her view.

  Philip stood behind her. He could see over any hat, and all of a
sudden he began to chuckle. The laugh sounded unused, rusty. He must not have found anything funny for a long time. “It’s the lad,” Philip said. “He’s gone for a swim.”

  “Come on in, Helene,” Laszlo shouted. “The water’s great.”

  “You really should take the opportunity to swim in such pristine conditions,” Philip began in his monotone. “We have docked for the morning in the famous Blue Lagoon off the tiny island of Comino, which was named for the abundance of cumin that grows on its otherwise barren rocks. The island was first invaded in …”

  Helene would never learn about this invasion because before he could say another word, she’d stripped to her bathing suit (a black vintage one-piece with a skirt that somehow looked sexier than the tiniest bikini) and descended the narrow staircase on the side of the boat.

  “Don’t worry,” Laszlo called. “It’s not that far. Just jump.”

  Helene smiled to herself. Laszlo obviously didn’t know about her years of swimming lessons. She crouched on the stairs, swung her head to look up at the blue sky, and did a perfect back dive into the water.

  When Alexis and Simon joined them, the four raced from the anchored boat to a white sand beach. Much to the boys’ shame, Alexis and Helene beat them easily. “Americans,” Simon said when he finally made it ashore. “You have all sorts of advantages we lack.”

  The way back winded even Helene, who was captain of the Scarsdale High swim team, and the four collapsed on deck chairs as soon as they got back on the boat. They fell into such a deep sleep that they didn’t notice when the yacht started careening through much rockier waters. They woke only when May stood over them, her yacht bobbing on her head, and called, “The race! The race! The race is coming.”

  In ten seconds, three of them were standing on the aft deck. But Alexis had slipped down to her berth to reapply her makeup and switch into a white crocheted bikini that was definitely not for swimming.

  The Straw Princess, which had traveled a great distance since the island of Comino, had anchored among a row of other yachts. The onlookers were silent, even the sunburned Spring sisters who refused to remove their weighty hats but were furiously fanning themselves with huge pink fans. The anticipation was palpable.