To Catch a Prince Read online

  The four wove between the pastel blankets that dotted the grass, on each one a straw picnic basket full of proper picnic food (“How boring!” Helene whispered to Laszlo) and a scattering of toys. Toddlers chased pigeons, and nannies ran after them; the entire park looked like an unfairly matched game of tag, and sounded like an emergency: “Come back, Frederick! … Wait up, Cecil! … Cordelia, take your hands out of the goose poop! … Oh no, Timmy, you mustn’t put that in your mouth.”

  On the banks of the lake elderly gentlemen rented white wooden chairs to enjoy the pale summer light, and little girls stood throwing their lunches at the ducks. The two British boys led the two American girls to a bridge that crossed the lake. There, leaning over the railing, Simon found that he finally had something to talk about.

  “That’s a Steller’s eider. And over there—see it, diving down? That’s a goldeneye. And in the tall grasses, that’s a gray heron, very fussy.” He paused and Laszlo whispered in his ear, “Casually bring up William.” But Simon, unsure how to do this, kept babbling.

  “That colorful one’s a male nene chasing the drabber lady nene in circles. Things are backward in the animal world.”

  Simon had been one of those overdressed toddlers who are taken daily by their nannies to St. James’s Park. He’d learned to read at the tender age of three by staring at the poster of duck varieties, and he’d spent the years until kindergarten standing on this bridge naming each feathered friend below.

  Alexis watched Simon carefully. She’d really never met anyone like him. He was so tongue-tied around her that he was probably smitten. But he didn’t act all macho and authoritative to try to impress her. Most guys spent hours telling her how much money they would make and what kind of car they would buy and who they would draft in the NBA pick. Simon was talking about ducks! She found it surprisingly sweet and a little sexy. Alexis wondered what would have happened if she’d met him under other circumstances, sometime when she wasn’t competing with her stepsister for the son of the heir to the crown.

  Helene sat on the railing and swung her legs. They’d been across the Atlantic for such a short time, and already they’d met the most charming boys—creative and gallant and slightly mysterious. Well, she corrected herself, the second most charming boys. After William. Her mind drifted from Simon’s duck monologue to her true British boyfriend. What was he doing right then? What was he looking at? Come on, William, she said under her breath. Give me a sign that you’re thinking of me, too.

  So you couldn’t say everything was perfect for the stepsisters, but as the sun pushed its way through the nimbus clouds and light shimmered on the water below, it was the next best thing to perfect.

  Laszlo, who’d caught on to the girls’ good mood, was casually brushing his hand against Helene’s, when the booming military march shook the air. Ducks squawked. All the birds scattered. Helene spun around to find the source of the ruckus, and there it was: Buckingham Palace in all its pinkish glory. They’d teen two hundred yards away from it this whole time, and she’d had no idea!

  She knew William probably wasn’t there—what guy wants to visit his grandmother on a gorgeous Thursday afternoon? But he might have been there yesterday or the day before. This was clearly a sign.

  “The palace!” Alexis gasped. “What’s all the fuss about? Is someone walking out? Someone royal?”

  “Nope, standard procedure,” said Simon, sadly realizing he’d lost Alexis’s attention. “Changing of the Guard.”

  “They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace,’” Helene recited dreamily as she walked to the other edge of the bridge and peered at the palace. “‘Christopher Robin went down with Alice …’”

  Alexis followed Helene to the far side of the bridge. “Do you think he’s there?” Her voice was brimming with excitement. “Should we go try to find him? Maybe the entire bet could be resolved today!”

  Helene couldn’t help but flinch a little, as she did every time Alexis mentioned her William. She told her sister that there was no way William was at the palace, because it was open for tours on Thursdays, and William hated public attention. “I read it in a guidebook,” she lied.

  “Well, Miss Know-it-all,” Alexis said, “can you also predict the future? Can you see yourself standing at that doorway there, visiting me and my husband, William? Perhaps we’ll hire you to paint our portrait.”

  The boys couldn’t hear what the girls were talking about, but they had a strong feeling it wasn’t them. So, like boys will do, they made fools of themselves to get the girls’ attention.

  “Don’t jump, Simon!” Laszlo yelled, although Simon was standing squarely on the bridge. “Please don’t leap off the bridge. It’ll be okay. Your mum will love you again and forget all the questionable magazines she found under your bed. Don’t end it all! You’re still young!”

  The girls turned away from the palace. Helene was laughing, but Alexis had a cool, practical look on her face. “Hey guys,” she asked, “is it possible that you could introduce us to your friend William? We would really love to meet him.”

  “Well, actually—” Simon began. This was perfect! Now that Alexis had mentioned William, they merely had to demonstrate how connected they were.

  “We’re seeing him tomorrow,” Laszlo interrupted.

  “That is we think we’re seeing him.”

  “Oh, come on, Simon, we’re pretty sure of it. I mean, it’s Jont’s house. So Tim will be there. Which means that Chris will come. And his girlfriend Tracy who is best friends with—”

  “We’ll spare you the details, but we’d love it if you joined us.”

  “Of course,” Alexis gushed.

  Helene turned her head just a little so she could steal a glimpse of the golden Victoria Monument, in front of the palace. Then she beamed at the boys. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  If the palace wasn’t enough of a sign, this invitation was. I’ll see you tomorrow, she said to William. In only a few hours.

  Glancing at her watch, Helene stopped grinning. “I have to run, or Ms. Ming will kill me.”

  Alexis’s cool demeanor faltered. “Oh, no! I’m late for Lady Brawn’s afternoon meeting.”

  In a flash the sisters were gone.

  Laszlo watched them run away. “The plan worked perfectly!”

  “I just hope he shows up,” fretted Simon, as they strolled back to their food.

  “Oh, no,” Laszlo said, as he grabbed a fistful of Doritos. “That’s not the point. See, as long as they’re looking for him, we’re in business. By mentioning William, we’ll lead them to parties, raves … maybe we should invite them to the summer’s end dance. But don’t worry … by the time August rolls around, they’ll have forgotten all about him. The tour guides will have prevailed!”

  The Instigators

  EVEN ALEXIS HAD trouble getting dressed the next night, knowing she was going to meet William. She paced from closet to mirror, leaving eight discarded outfits in her wake. Helene was in the bathroom. She’d decided to do up her eyes like butterflies—brilliant streaks of blue and purple. Now she was regretting it a bit. There was such a fine line between looking alternative and looking like you wanted to be alternative. It was all about looking like you weren’t trying. Helene was afraid she’d gone too far.

  But try as they might, neither Helene nor Alexis impressed William with her entrance to the party. William didn’t bat an eye at Helene’s eyes or drool over Alexis’s minidress, which was straight out of 1983. He didn’t bring either girl a drink or light up the night with his royal smile. But William was not intentionally rude; he was absent. In fact, the party had a total population of eleven. And that was counting Helene, Alexis, Simon, and Laszlo.

  One couple curled sleepily on Jont’s mother’s elegant couch. Another couple sat with blank looks on their faces, watching three fat carp swim clockwise in a giant tank. Two girls giggled while they munched salt-and-vinegar crisps, and Jont, the host, who was sprawled on the shag carpet, seemed too tired to get the
newcomers’ coats. He just waved toward the closet.

  “Oh, no,” Simon moaned, “there’s nothing worse than a party where everyone just sits around cooly. Makes me feel so loud and hyper. I’m sorry about this. I expected more from Jont.”

  “Maybe we should leave and come back in an hour. It’s got to pick up by then,” Alexis said, trying to hide her disappointment so that Simon wouldn’t feel any worse. He was so sweet to her.

  “Or maybe we should just find a seat and become equally interested in the texture of crisps,” Laszlo said.

  As they stood in the hallway holding their coats, unsure whether to stay or leave, the front door opened behind them. A brassy, bullying voice said, “You call this a party? This scene sucks.”

  The guy looming in the doorway had floppy hair—not a Mohawk—and the lip piercing had mysteriously disappeared, but Helene would have recognized the voice anywhere. It was Nigel, sneering his trademark sneer, flanked on each side by his short friends. This time they had two girls with them, standing behind the boys and craning to see into the house. Neither girl was Nichola.

  Alexis acted swiftly. She grabbed Helene’s hand and led her to the kitchen, where they cowered behind a stove the size of a Hummer. Simon and Laszlo followed them, confused. “Is anything wrong?” Simon asked.

  “What’s Nigel doing here?” Alexis asked by way of reply.

  “Well,” Laszlo began, scrunching up his face as if the mere thought of Nigel was distasteful, “he shows up at just about every party. He’s a player, you know. Got a girl pregnant last year.” Laszlo blushed at this. “He is bad news. Likes to pretend he’s punk and a total slummer; meanwhile, his father is Lord Something-or-other, and his mum is the Weetabix heiress. But acting punk makes him feel street. He’s always trying to claim he’s more street than anyone else. What a joke. He should try growing up in East London like I did.”

  “Wait a minute,” Simon interrupted, putting a hand on Laszlo’s shoulder to end his lament. “How do you girls know Nigel? You’ve only been here two weeks! Is there something you’re not telling us?”

  “He dates our cousin,” said Helene, rolling her eyes. “Dates,” she repeated, adding quotation marks with fingers capped by nails painted different shades of pink and purple. “We knew he was a fake the minute we saw him in Camden.”

  “Your cousin is Priscilla Ramsey-Boothe?” asked Simon.

  “Your cousin is Genevieve Chaffen-Rawley?” asked Laszlo at exactly the same time.

  It turned out that Nigel had several girlfriends, but was most often seen with Genevieve. Laszlo and Simon knew that Genevieve ran in the same circle as the best friend of the best friend of William of Windsor, but they withheld this information.

  “He’s grosser than I guessed,” Helene said, just as Nigel walked into the kitchen and looked the girls up and down in an obvious and icky way.

  “Well, if it isn’t Posh and Pink. Why am I not surprised to see you little social climbers here? And with two puny Eton boys at that.” He laughed for a long while. “I thought you had more sophisticated taste. I’d heard from your cousin that you were royally inclined.” Another snicker. “I’ll leave you ladies to your lemonade. I’m looking for the hard liquor. Catch you later.”

  As he walked away, Helene turned beet red, and Alexis became preoccupied with a bit of chipped tile. How dare he even allude to their bet! How dare Nichola tell him about it! And why did Nigel always make them feel insignificant?

  Simon stared furiously at the stove, as if it had burnt him. Puny? Laszlo mulled over the phrase “royally inclined” and then put it out of his head. Nigel had always been a liar.

  The silence in the room was deadly until Helene realized they all needed to be rescued. “This is ridiculous,” she said firmly. “I refuse to let my evening be ruined by a snotty, spoiled poser! Laszlo, didn’t you tell us Jont threw the best dance parties?”

  “Well, this clearly isn’t one of them,” Alexis said, petulantly.

  “It just needs a little help,” said Helene. “We haven’t even tried. I mean, what is this dreary music? Gregorian chant? We’re not in some monastery. Hasn’t anyone heard of good old rock and roll?”

  Laszlo smiled. Helene could make anything fun. “Come on,” he said, holding his hand out to her. “Let’s go to Jont’s room and raid his CDs.”

  Fifteen minutes later the room pulsed with rare mash-ups—Lil’ Kim singing over the Ramones, the Beach Boys spliced with Tupac. While the foursome had been sulking in the kitchen, over fifty people had come to the party, and now most of them were dancing, with Laszlo and Helene in the center egging each other on. They Charlestoned. They moshed. They do-si-doed.

  Alexis and Simon stayed in the kitchen for a while, talking intensely about the hassle of A levels versus SATs. When they moved into the living room and saw their friends, Alexis was struck by what an amazing couple Laszlo and Helene made. They were both equal parts spaz and hip. Well, she thought, when I end up with William, perhaps Helene will consider dating Laszlo.

  Alexis dragged Simon to the center of the room to dance with their friends. She always felt sexiest while dancing, and soon all her anxieties over Nigel faded away.

  Laszlo put his arms around Helene’s waist as they danced. He leaned close and whispered, “We saved the party.”

  Helene threw her head back and closed her eyes as the room spun around her. It was true. They were the instigators, and nothing felt better.

  After over an hour of dancing, Helene, sweaty and exhausted, headed for the upstairs bathroom. But just as she walked up the stairs, Nigel came bounding down. He put an arm on either side of the banister, blocking her path.

  “Hullo, Miss Pink. You’re looking all hot and bothered. What have you been doing?”

  “Dancing. Now will you let me get by?”

  “Not so fast, baby doll. I know what girls look like after they’ve been doing something much naughtier than dancing. And I have to say, I think you’ve been up to something.”

  “I was dancing,” Helene said, wishing she were Alexis and could glide out of this situation on her dignity alone.

  “Look, luv, if you really want to win the bet against your sister … Aw, don’t look so shocked, Nichola told me all about it. So if you’re really so desperate to meet William, you should come with me to the summer’s end dance in mid-August. Mr. Royal’s never missed one. I suppose once you’ve given yourself to him, you wouldn’t mind sharing the love with me.”

  She put a hand on his left arm to push it out of the way, but Nigel didn’t let her. Instead, he brought his right arm around so he encircled her. She could smell him: waves of aftershave so expensive it smelled cheap, and under that just pure ick. Helene gagged.

  “Or I suppose we could just do it now so you wouldn’t need to waste these weeks longing for me,” Nigel said softly. “I know a little room we could be alone in. Just you and me like. You’re way prettier than your sister even though she’s more my style. She’s a little too easy, I’d say. You seem like more of a challenge. But don’t worry, I’m up for it.”

  “Oh, Nigel,” Helene whispered seductively, “that means so much, coming from you. Because you are …” Helene paused dramatically. Then she took a deep breath and screamed, “… the grossest guy I have ever seen!”

  She had been prepared to spit in his face, but she didn’t have to. Nigel had dropped his arms and sprinted down the stairs before she could finish her sentence.

  Alexis looked horrified when Helene pulled her into the dining room and told her what had happened. “Are you okay?” she kept asking.

  “I’m fine, really,” Helene said. “I’m totally unscathed. I don’t know about Nigel’s hearing though. He did tell me about …” Helene was about to share her new info about the summer’s end dance, when she stopped herself. Was it wrong for her to have a little information about William that was all her own? She’d tell Alexis later. “… Nothing. But Lexy, we’ve got to do something about Nichola. She cannot stay with this
guy. She could get hurt!”

  “I totally agree. And I know she can be a brat, but she’s just young and scared.”

  Alexis pursed her lips as she pondered a way to help Nichola. Her answer was classic Alexis: “Shopping. Sunday. Just us girls. You have to buy a dress for the Royal Ball anyway. And believe me, you’ll need my help picking it out. Working at Vogue has really honed my fashion sense. We can invite Nichola, but do you think she’ll listen to us?”

  “Of course she will. If we tell her all we learned tonight,” Helene answered, but she was no longer thinking about Nichola. She was thinking about herself in a new gown, dancing with William. The Royal Ball was just one week away, and Alexis had offered to help her find a dress! She might die waiting.

  Two rooms away the boys were holding their own conference in the study. They’d been planning on asking Helene and Alexis to the very formal and fancy summer’s end dance, using William as their bait.

  “But now I think they’ve started to like us just for us,” Laszlo said excitedly. “This evening has been a blast, barring the brief interruption from Nigel. Maybe we shouldn’t tell them about William. Let’s see if they’ll go with us anyway.”

  The boys brought more lemonade to the girls and prepared to make their offer.

  Laszlo, always the clown, bent down on one knee, took Helene’s hand, and said, “Fair Helene, after seeing what an insane woman you were on the dance floor tonight, I was wondering if you’d accompany me to the summer’s end dance.”

  Helene screamed. She pulled Laszlo to his feet. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him smack on the mouth. When she quickly pulled away, startled at her impromptu gesture, Laszlo said with a wink, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  The summer flashed before Helene’s eyes: She’d meet William at the Royal Ball next weekend, they’d chat, dance a little. At the dance they’d move past awkward introductions to … true love.