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Just then, the rehearsal director walks over to us. She nods to me, a small reverent gesture that tells me she knows who I am but isn’t going to make a big show of it.
“Read it and let me know if you have any questions.”
Whitney glances over the script first, her eyes scanning the page quickly before they catch on something.
“Oh,” she says, holding the paper out for me to take. “They really have changed it.”
Jesus. She looks like she’s about to faint. How bad can it be? I’ve seen this parade plenty of times. Sure, the themes change every now and then, but it’s usually pretty simple stuff. I might not have danced in a studio before, but I know how to lead a partner. We’ll be fine.
Then I actually look at the paper and three words leap out at me.
A Royal Wedding.Chapter FourteenWhitneyEssentially, the script reads as follows: Princess Elena and His Royal Highness pose in front of an officiant—played by an animatronic owl perched on top of a stump—while they exchange their vows. They should smile and look lovingly into each other’s eyes. As their parade float turns onto Castle Drive and dips beneath an arch of roses, His Royal Highness and Princess Elena kiss, thus sealing their vows for all the crowd to see.
Over and over again.
We will kiss.
Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from now until the new year, Derek and I will stand on a float, pretend to get married, and kiss.
Laughter bubbles out of me.
I have a strong urge to apologize, though none of this is my fault. I had no part in writing this script. In fact, I don’t know who did. Thomas? Nadine? Cal?
Derek finishes reading it and hands the paper back to me. He can’t meet my eyes.
“C’mon, it’s a little funny. No?”
He doesn’t laugh.
I sober up. “Right, well…you can always defer. Ryan was meant to play this part before you took over. I’m sure he’d be fine with it.”
Derek’s eyes shoot to mine and I have my answer. Over his dead body.
The rehearsal director—Lydia—strolls by us again, asking if we have any questions. Derek and I both shake our heads. “Then get started.”
Ah, right.
“What is there to rehearse exactly?” Derek asks me. “You’ve kissed someone before, I presume?”
I scowl. “Of course. Don’t be ridiculous. But that’s not all we have to do. Have you ever stood at an altar? Professing your love to someone?”
“It can’t be that hard.”
“Try it.”
“We aren’t even engaged yet. Aren’t we skipping a few steps?”
I roll my eyes. He’s clearly trying to stall. “We don’t have to kiss if you don’t want to.”
He turns and reaches for my hands, holding them between us. “That’s not fair. You can’t steal the one good part of all this.”
I bite back a laugh. “C’mon, be serious.”
“You’re right.”
His face transforms, his gaze so sincere my heart skips a beat as he bends down on one knee.
“Whitney Atwood,” he says, voice steady and smooth. “Will you marry me?”
My mouth opens slightly as I quell the overwhelming urge to shout, Yes!
Lydia claps and we both jerk our attention to where she stands a few feet away. “You two have perfect chemistry. This scene should be no trouble at all.”
Derek raises an eyebrow and I resist the urge to punch him. I wish we were back at lunch, sitting in the cafeteria, munching on our sandwiches, stealing each other’s chips. It was easy then, but now my hands are in his, and his grip isn’t so suffocating that it hurts, but it’s strong all the same. I tell myself I couldn’t pull my hands away even if I wanted to, but maybe I just don’t want to.
“I’ll act as the officiant so you can get the timing right,” Lydia offers, stepping closer.
Derek stands, keeping ahold of my hands.
I can feel the room watching us. Curious.
“His Royal Highness, do you take Princess Elena to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Derek grins. “Sure.”
“And Princess Elena, la de dah, do you agree as well?”
My throat squeezes tight, so all I manage is a quick nod.
“Then I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Derek lets go of my hands and steps forward so his body is flush with mine. My lips part as I tip my head back. One of his hands goes around my waist, the other cradling my cheek. He leans down and moves me back ever so slightly in a dip. Our eyes lock—clashing—and he stays there. Motionless. Not kissing me. We’ve been here before and even though we’re in public, being watched, I yearn for him to seal his mouth to mine and just do it. Show me what I’m missing.
His lips slowly unfurl into a grin before he brings me back to standing and steps away, turning to Lydia. “Good?”
“Wonderful.”
“You didn’t kiss me,” I mutter as she walks away. “The script says he kisses her, not just almost kisses her. What is it with you and almost kissing me?”
