To Catch a Prince Page 15

  “I have something to tell you,” Laszlo said to Helene.

  “I have something to say to you,” Helene said to Laszlo.

  There was a long awkward silence, broken by Helene’s laughter. “Okay, you go,” she said.

  “No, you go,” said Laszlo. Helene paused. This was the most uncomfortable conversation the two had ever had. “I’m sorry for how I acted on the boat. Getting all worked up about William and totally ignoring you and not—”

  “No,” Laszlo interrupted, “you and Alexis were just having fun. William was your game. I shouldn’t have taken it so seriously.”

  “That’s very generous,” Helene said. “But come on, I was acting like a self-centered jerk.”

  “You’re right,” Laszlo said soberly. “You were acting exactly like that.” Although he agreed, he didn’t want to hurt Helene’s feelings. To him, she was an angel.

  “How come you’re not joking around?” Helene asked. “You usually turn everything into some big joke. This isn’t like you.”

  At this Laszlo laughed. But only briefly. “I can’t laugh. What I have to say is much too important. I’m scared unfunny.”

  When he said this, Helene also got very scared. She stared at the cigarette butts stuck between the bricks. She heard her pulse fill the courtyard. Was he going to tell her that she’d acted unforgivably? Was he going to cut her out of his life completely?

  “I want to tell you,” Laszlo began. “I mean, I want to ask you—”

  He paused. Helene helped him out. “Maybe you should speak in your fake foreign accent. That might help.”

  “A splendid idea. Okay, here goes: I am wishing to be saying to you. You are to be coming along with me to be having the fun.”

  “The fun?” Helene giggled. This didn’t seem bad.

  “Yes, to be having all the fun at the cat party.”

  “The dance?” Helene asked. “You still want to go with me?”

  “Of course I want to go with you,” Laszlo said, slipping back into his British accent. “I would rather eat cement than go with anyone besides you.”

  “But it’s tonight!” Helene said, so relieved that the words came out in a rush. “And I have absolutely nothing to wear. I don’t have a fancy dress or anything. And it’s a formal dance. And I have pink hair! I got some funny stares at the Royal Ball and I’m—”

  “Baby,” Laszlo said, causing Helene’s heart to jump, “you look better than anyone even in a T-shirt and jeans. Just come dressed as yourself.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “How about this? I’ll make sure that you look just right. It’s a surprise. So … I’ll pick you up at nine?”

  “And Simon—is he calling Alexis?”

  “At this very moment.”

  Helene transformed into a bird. A dove perhaps. She flew back into the National Gallery, waving her wings at the sour security guard and landing in the front office. At least that’s how it felt. She couldn’t tell that she had feet or legs.

  The tea was well under way. The other interns were seated on folding chairs, holding their china on their laps, and gracefully sipping cups of sweet, lukewarm water. In the center of the room was a table with a thin apple tart that no one had bothered to serve. Ms. Ming stood with her arms crossed next to an empty chair, presumably Helene’s.

  Helene shook her wings as she landed. Then she rushed over to Ms. Ming and kissed her on both cheeks. “Thanks so much for a wonderful internship! I’m going to miss all of you.” She kissed the interns on their foreheads and laughed at their shocked expressions. “Cake, anyone?” she asked, cutting the crumbly confection into large triangles.

  Trafalgar Square was the girls’ favorite spot in London. If you stood at the statue of Lord Nelson, you could see the whole city rush by. There went punks and businessmen and high-fashion ladies. Here came black cabs and bike messengers and minis. Surrounded on all sides by ornate gray buildings, the gray sky made sense, and London seemed the center of the world. Alexis had received Helene’s text message just as she was leaving work: Meet me at Nelson. We’ve got to talk.

  Alexis supposed that their silent fight was over. She was relieved. But she was also glad that she hadn’t been the one to initiate communication. She liked to stick to her guns. Or rather, to her Jimmy Choos, which had been a good-bye present from Lady Brawn.

  “Oh, Lexy, isn’t it amazing?” Helene crooned as soon as Alexis approached. “We have a few days just to enjoy London without working. And the boys are our friends again. Well, more than friends.”

  “Mmm.” Alexis made a noncommittal noise. This was why Helene wanted to meet? Alexis was preoccupied; she had to choose an outfit for Nigel’s party—or as she considered it, her Last Chance.

  “Aren’t you excited?” Helene asked, twirling around and watching the throngs stream around her.

  “Sure.” Alexis shrugged.

  Helene stopped spinning. “What’s come over you? Aren’t you psyched? There’s only four hours until the dance. I thought we’d discuss what to wear.”

  Alexis couldn’t believe it. Helene was just going to forfeit the bet? She pulled out the flyer for Nigel’s party. “Don’t you remember I told you about this?”

  Helene nodded. After they’d rescued Nichola, Alexis had resumed friendship with Helene long enough to tell her about Nigel’s anti-dance. Helene hadn’t even considered going. It was at Nigel’s house, for goodness’ sake. Anything having to do with him was poisoned. “But, Lexy,” Helene protested, “that’s Nigel’s party.”

  “Well, I left something out when I told you about it.” Alexis paused for dramatic effect. “William’s going to be there. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. But Nigel gave me proof.”

  “William! But, Lexy, he’s going to be at the dance. I totally forgot to tell you. Nigel told me way back at Jont’s party!”

  Alexis gulped hard. “Who’s Nigel lying to?”

  Helene laughed. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because I realize it was Laszlo I liked all along. I’d rather see him than a million princes.”

  Alexis ignored her sister. She was pacing back and forth. “Nigel could have been lying to me, I suppose. But Jont’s party was before Nigel decided to throw the anti-dance. No, I’m going to have to hope he told me the truth. I’ll take the risk.”

  “What are you talking about? Didn’t Simon call you?”

  “Of course. But Helene, I had a goal. My goal this summer was to meet William. Well, to catch him and … you know. And so was yours. And I for one wouldn’t be happy if I returned to Scarsdale having done any less. I’m not the type to settle. So should we go home? I have to blow-dry my hair. And you have to do something with yours if you’re really going to that dance.”

  Helene walked with Alexis to the Tube, feeling like her wings had been clipped. Her feet dragged heavily and her head spun. The summer felt unresolved. She might never know what would have happened if she’d met William—her William. And she would never find out who William would choose. Maybe Alexis was right.

  In Which Alexis Meets Her prince

  VAMPY GLAMOUR. Remember that? Well, in the previous few weeks, Alexis had mastered it. When Saheed dropped her off at Nigel’s party high on her Jimmy Choos, Alexis’s black leather pants fit perfectly, and her wrap top looked shimmery and fresh. Her makeup was simple: bright red lipstick. She’d curled her hair so it cascaded down her back in loose ringlets.

  Nigel’s house, not surprisingly, was outlandishly posh. If Alexis was rich rich and Aunt Barbara rich rich rich, then Nigel was ridiculous. He’d spray-painted THE ANTI-DANCE on three white sheets and hung them over the two-story living room, which was rapidly becoming trashed. The house was packed and the music pulsing, but still, if you listened hard, you could hear a collective gasp when Alexis entered the dining room. It sounded like all the tires on all the cabs in Trafalgar Square deflating at once. Soon the line to talk to Alexis was longer than the line for the bar. And by eleven-thirty Alexis had been chatted up by a y
oung lawyer, an Oxford freshman, a duke, a few bankers’ sons, a boy claiming to be the son of the queen of Tanzania, an heir to the Big Wheel fortune, a Danish exchange student, and at least twenty eager Eton graduates. Everyone had tried to impress. Everyone, that is, except William.

  “That’s so interesting about your dad’s investment company,” Alexis said to one suitor, “but I have to run to the bathroom.”

  Something in the dark hallway had caught her eye. Blond hair. Square shoulders in a perfectly tailored Ralph Lauren shirt. The hint of a smile. Unmistakably William.

  Her heart clenched. With shaking hands, Alexis touched his elbow gently. “Excuse me,” she said, “do you know where the bathroom is?”

  Oh, my god. Alexis was talking to the heir to the throne about bathrooms! Still, even the coolest girls can lose their cool.

  William looked Alexis up and down. Then up again. Then down. Finally, his eyes rested on her chest. “I might show you the way.”

  He had her by the arm. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. What’s your name? I’m assuming you know mine.”

  “Alexis. I’m Alexis Worth.”

  “You can call me Wills.”

  His hand wandered slowly down her arm to her back, stopping on her leather pants, just above her bottom.

  “Hi, Wills,” was all she could muster.

  “Well, Alexis Worth. How would you like to come away from all this hubbub with me? There’s a car waiting outside, and I know the perfect place to take a girl like you.”

  Alexis had the strangest feeling. This was like talking to a politician. His smile was charming, sure. His suaveness felt stiff and forced—so unlike Simon, whose nervousness was warm and endearing. Wills’s eyes were dull, totally unengaged. Even his tousled hair looked sprayed into place. And what did he mean by “a girl like you”? Was there somewhere he took true girlfriends and another place he took the vampy, glamorous girls he met at parties? And did any of it matter? It didn’t matter if he were a prince or not. He still wasn’t Simon.

  “Thanks, Wills,” Alexis heard herself say. She didn’t plan what came next. It just came out. “But I have somewhere else I have to go.”

  In Which Helene Meets Her Prince

  THE SUMMER’S END dance always had a theme. Remember, this wasn’t a high school prom. There was no underwater theme. No rodeo dance. No fifties flashback dance. This was the last event of the summer season for teenage members of high society. Last year the theme was periwinkle. The balloons, cloth napkins, and floral arrangements were that putrid, purply color. Yes, the excitement never stops at the dance. Two years ago the theme was silver. Pretty jazzy, huh? And this year, the theme was black and white.

  That’s right. The circular tables that ringed the dance floor were topped with black runners and bowls of white gardenias.

  The seventeenth-century ballroom, where the party was held, was decked out in streamers the color of newsprint. All the country’s richest and snobbiest girls were wearing floor-length white or black gowns. And their escorts, heirs to industry or relations to royalty, wore white tuxedos.

  This meant that if you somehow climbed to the dizzying top of the chandelier and looked down, the dance would resemble a chessboard. White pawns, black dukes. White squares of tile, black squares of table. You might find it terribly monotonous. Or perhaps you’d consider it the utmost in symmetry and order. But in any case, your breath would catch in your throat when two newcomers took to the dance floor. You’d see this: bright pink hair and bubblegum-colored dress, deep blue hair and baby blue tuxedo.

  It was an act of love unmatched in history. Laszlo had dyed his hair for Helene, to make her feel at home.

  He’d picked her up early, when Alexis had just begun the arduous process of curling her bone-straight hair. Once Helene had stopped screaming about his hair—which looked amazing, by the way, against his pale skin and blue eyes—she had kissed him. Then he drove her to a thrift store in Camden, where she picked out a pink prom dress from the fifties. It had a tight corset, stiff tulle for a skirt, and it fit perfectly—if you don’t mind a few holes here and there. Laszlo found a ruffled tuxedo that must have been worn by a member of a mellow seventies rock quartet. The Crooners. Or the True Blue Lagoons. Or something similarly cheesy.

  Fully outfitted, they picked up Simon, who immediately dubbed them “king and queen of the freak prom.” He was wearing a white tux, and with his blond hair he looked, Helene had to admit, totally hot. That is, if you ignored the expression of utter dejection on his face. Laszlo had convinced Simon to go to the dance and meet someone new, but Simon planned to hate the entire experience.

  “How about her?” Laszlo asked, pointing to a pretty brunette sitting by herself across the room.

  “No,” said Simon glumly. He’d been sitting at this table the entire evening, looking as if he wanted the floor to open up and drag him under the earth. Helene and Laszlo had been dancing since the moment they walked in, and now, two hours later, they were out of breath and exhausted.

  “If you don’t ask that blond girl chatting with her friends to dance, I’m going to go ask her for you, and I’m telling her about your history of scabies.”

  Laszlo got Simon to smile but couldn’t convince him to set his sights on any other girl besides Alexis, who was, as Laszlo pointed out and Helene agreed, a lost cause.

  “Fine, then I’ll pretend I’m a girl, and you ask me to dance. Just for practice. Oh, Simon, please ask me out. I love the way you waltz.”

  Helene started laughing. “You boys do what you need to do. Fm going outside to get some air. This high-fashion gown is made of the finest polyester.”

  On one side of the ballroom French doors led to a stone balcony that overlooked the Thames and across to the lights of South London. Helene ran out, unaware that she was still smiling from all that dancing, unaware how much like a fairy sprite she looked in her poufed dress and with her pink and yellow streaked hair.

  “The Thames,” she called, thinking she was alone, “I love you! I love you!”

  But she wasn’t alone. A man was leaning against the far railing of the balcony, hidden in the shadow. “I saw you dancing,” he said. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

  Helene looked over and felt like she was falling. Falling over the balcony, flying over the Thames, melting into the flickering lights across the river. It was William. Her William.

  “Are you?” she asked, forgetting all decorum, forgetting everything but her months of loving him.

  “Who do you think I am?” he asked, and he might have smiled, but it was hard to tell. He stayed in the shadows, while Helene stood in full moonlight.

  “Are you?” she asked again. She’d been looking for him for so long. She didn’t know if she’d just conjured him up now.

  “Of course I am,” he said, bowing his blond head in modesty. He was opening and closing a pocketknife. Probably a royal pocketknife.

  Helene was so elated, so completely transfixed, that she completely lost her inner censor. She just said whatever came into her head. And that was, “Don’t you ever wish you were a river? Like the Thames? Just traveling and traveling and never stopping?”

  Her William moved a centimeter nearer to her and looked out at the river. “It’s polluted, you know. Diesel waste and sewage. I hated water sports at Eton. You never know what bacteria lurks there. Totally unhygienic.”

  Helene laughed, thinking this was a joke. She started telling him about herself, where she lived in America, about the disappointing National Gallery internship. She didn’t notice that he hadn’t asked her any questions. He just stood, opening and closing his knife, looking intently at her.

  She did notice the glint of moonlight against the French windows when they opened. And turning to the light, she saw Laszlo standing bluely in the doorway. He looked like he wanted to say something, but she just waved and turned back to her William. This was too important for her to take the time to be nice and civil. This was perhaps the most i
mportant moment she had ever lived through.

  “Do you want to dance?” she blurted out.

  “Oh, little girl. I don’t dance.”

  “But why not?” She couldn’t believe this. Not from him. Dancing was maybe her favorite thing in the world. If she couldn’t fly, at least she could dance.

  “It’s boring. It’s undignified. Just a means to an end,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “And I’d rather just get right to the end. If you catch my drift.”

  “Wait, wait!” Alexis called as she ran across the ballroom toward the table where Simon and Laszlo were sitting. She held her Jimmy Choos in one hand, and she looked like a gazelle.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” Laszlo called back. Alexis didn’t notice his distracted expression. All she saw was Simon, now standing to meet her, wearing a white tux and looking like a prince. No, handsomer than any prince.

  He reached out for her waist as she ran up to him. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. You’re here now. And I knew you were going to come.”

  “You did?”

  He nodded. “Laszlo was a disbeliever, but not me. I just feel so strongly about you, and I couldn’t imagine you didn’t feel at least a fraction of that for me.”

  Alexis answered him with a kiss, and now it was Laszlo’s turn to stare at the tile floor and pray that it would open up and let him tumble into the earth.

  “It’s not midnight yet, princess,” Simon said. “There are still a couple more dances. Will you join me?”

  “And then I aimed at four ducks sailing across the lake.” Helene’s William pantomimed the shooting of a rifle. “I had only four bullets. Guess what happened?”

  Helene shrugged. He’d been talking about his vacation in Switzerland for about twenty minutes.