Royal S.O.B. (A Bad Boy Romance) (11 page)

"Did
you know Addie," Cate was speaking to her on the phone.

"What?"

"That
Prince Kenrick is the chief guest at our Annual Day?"

"…"

And
today was that day.

Addie
was not particularly nervous. She had done poetry recitals before, and in front
of august gatherings – the likes of her professors and renowned poets. She was
not perturbed by the size of the audience, either. But this news she heard –
this could be the game changer.

"God,"
escaped Addie.

"I
know," echoed Cate.

"I
was also thinking about the subject matter of your poem."

"Yeah,"
was all she could say.

"Are
you nervous?" asked Cate.

"And
is there cause for worry?"

"'No'
to the second question. 'Slightly' to the first."

Cate
said nothing.

"Anyway,"
continued Addie.

"Now
it can't be helped. The poem has already been cast in stone, so to speak."

"Why,
Addie?" Cate had a suggestion.

"You
could change it."

"No.
It's been decided, and it'll stay that way."

"Addie."
Cate knew her friend too well.

"We
wouldn't have changed it had it been any other chief guest, would we?"
Addie carried on.

"Of
course not," Cate replied.

"So
let's go with it. This is a free country."

*****

They
met at half past three. The events would begin only an hour later, so they hung
around in the café until then. Addie had snuck in there early to avoid being
spotted, and Cate joined her later.

There
was already a huge entourage from the media in anticipation of the chief guest.
This was a double whammy for them. While the spotlight was firmly on Prince
Kenrick Royce who was to grace the occasion, reporters were also keen to catch
his new stepsister, Princess Adelaide, and get a sound bite or two from her.
And to check out the chemistry between the two new siblings.

"They
didn't leave
me
alone either!"
Cate was telling her friend.

"Oh,
they didn't?" Addie asked, marveling at the ingenuity of the talking
heads.

"By
now it's well known that I'm your best friend. Just last night I was Googling
myself, and hundreds of pages got returned in seconds."

"Is
that so?" Addie mused.

"I
wonder how many pages would open up in my name."

"Oh,
I bet it would run into the millions, Addie!" exclaimed Cate.

"You
must check it someday."

"Nope,"
replied Addie.

"I
asked for no particular reason. Not really wanting to know anything."

"Look,
here they come!" announced Cate, and a swarm of media personnel attacked
the café like bees let out of a beehive.

They
had not seen them yet, so there was still time. The two of them jumped up and
ran towards the back and made their escape like before, through the kitchen
with the chefs and waiters looking askance. By now, they were surely used to a
little bit of royalty passing through their workplace.

They
slipped out and made a beeline to the library. It was not very crowded that
day, with all the students either in the auditorium already or getting prepped
for the big event. That was a relief to Addie and Cate; they snooped around a
bit to find a nice, cozy nook where they could spend the next half hour or so.

*****

"Is
this how life will be from here on, and for ever more?"

The
question was from Addie and was directed at Cate.

"Well
Addie," replied Catie.

"I
wouldn't complain. At least you'll not die an unknown, irrelevant
individual."

"Cate."
There was a tone of warning in that.

"Of
what use is this fame, with borrowed greatness? If you must carve a name out
for yourself, do it on your own steam. With your talent, your endeavor. Don't
you agree?"

"Yes,
madam, I do," agreed Cate in a hurry, not quite wanting to get into a
debate with her best friend at this time.

Addie
had a stage appearance in less than an hour, and it made sense to just hang
loose and save up the energy.

"So
– are you all set for the reading, Addie?" asked Cate, bringing the focus
right back.

"Yeah,"
Addie answered.

"What's
there to prepare anyway? It's just my university and my fellow students. And
it's just a poem."

"Yes,
just a poem," mused Cate.

"Just
one steely chief guest, nobody else, who goes by the name of Prince Kenrick
Royce."

"Ah
that," admitted Addie.

"That
changes everything, huh?"

Both
of them laughed so loudly, the librarian had to come out and shush them.

*****

"Addie,
it's about time."

Cate
shook Adelaide – the latter was immersed in a book. It was the
Oxford Book of Modern Verse
, what else
would you expect?

It
was barely five minutes before the Annual Day events were to be kicked off, and
they were still in the library. Quickly they collected their things and were on
their way. It felt like they were going in for an important examination.

"You
do have your printouts, don't you?" Cate asked.

"Yes,"
replied Addie.

"And
nothing else to carry with you?"

"Only
my wits."

Cate
smiled. That response told her that Addie was in great form.

She
eyed her best friend as they walked. Addie was the picture of calm. Not a trace
of tension or an ounce of worry on her face. Her forehead – that cute little
forehead – was bereft of a single furrow. She was completely in control, the
true Miss Cool.

Here we come, Prince
Kenrick Royce
,
said Addie to herself.
 

"And
now, may we invite Princess Adelaide Royce for a poetry recital."

The
announcement took Kenrick by surprise. Ever since he'd arrived at the venue,
his eyes had been searching for his stepsister, but she was nowhere to be
found. But he had kind of figured her out by now, at least a little. With such
commotion of the media outside, she was the last person to venture out and risk
exposure.

Thanks
to his extensive Google search – his fingers were aching towards the end – he
knew about her poetry. He even read a few that were online, and grappled with
the angst in them. Though not much of a reader, the lines gripped him with a
kind of tension, and he made a mental note of going back to this poet and
studying more of her work.

Am I getting more
civilized?
he had asked himself, worried.

If
yes, he put it down to the benevolent effect his new stepsister had on him. It
was something he never wanted to become, but if this was destiny, who was he to
question it?

That
evening, as he was sitting on the dais flanked by the dean and senior
university officials, with thousands of students forming the audience, he mused
at the subtle change in his life – brought about by his stepsister. Just months
ago, she was virtually unknown. And he had not heard of her, and would not
have, in a hundred years. Today, she played such a vital role in his life,
unbeknownst to her. Such were the vagaries of life!

He
waited with bated breath for the arrival of the next participant. Not because
he loved poems or anything, but because it happened to be his new stepsister
who was doing the recital.

In
seconds, a svelte human figure emerged from the wings and walked towards the
center of the stage. And at once an ocean of flashlights hit the stage from the
media enclave, sitting to the left of the stage. In that melee, Kenrick could
not see the princess clearly. She was only a silhouette set against the
blinding lights from offstage.

And
yet, in that silhouette was a world of enchantment for him. For this outline,
like a body garment from a far eastern culture, revealed far more than it
concealed. In that silhouette, Kenrick saw an ocean of allurement for him. Her
perfect hourglass figure, her legs that were longer than long, her flat belly
without an ounce of extra fat, and above that, her sensuous, beautiful bosom
that gently heaved with her every step. This was a perfect package, a
complementary combination of beauty and brains if there ever was.

And I will end up being
the owner of this package
, Kenrick declared to himself.

Lost
in his fantasy world as he was, Kenrick almost missed her subtle curtsey to
him. In the nick of time, he had the presence of mind to nod and acknowledge
it.

For
him, it all happened too fast. Blame his hyperactive mind; from a simple poetry
recital session, his superfast brain had raced to a whole different world. A world
of testosterone that he was familiar with; a world where all action centered
around his tingling loins.

"The
Golden Cage." Princess Adelaide announced the title of her poem.

She
had given a mini speech earlier – which Kenrick missed, lost as he was in his
own musings – in which she thanked the university for this opportunity, made
special by the presence of His Royal Highness, Prince Kenrick Royce. This led
to cheers in the audience. He also missed the subtle point that she never
referred to him as her stepbrother.

Kenrick
was watching the audience, and in the front rows, he spotted a face he thought
he knew. Then he realized that it was the selfsame girl who was in his
stepsister's room that day when he had gone to visit her.

The
poem recital began.

Princess
Adelaide was an amazing orator of poems.
This
must be one of her many gifted traits
, thought Kenrick.

The
poem itself was amazing. With each line, the audience went to raptures. Every
stanza was greeted with cheers. The students were roaring, and the media was
flashing away – their cameras were never idle. It was an electrifying
atmosphere.

Kenrick,
amidst the uproar, caught a few lines of the poem – and they were not exactly
complimentary to the royalty. Little did he know that this was a poem of 'us
versus them' – singing paeans to the common folk while trashing the royalty.

And
yet, the artistry in it was amazing. The words, the rhythm and rhyme, the
cadence – all of it was flawless. The play of phrases, and the meaning within
meaning, and the picture it painted, it was something Kenrick had never
experienced before. He never knew poetry could be so mesmerizing.

Was this truly written
by a twenty-something girl?

When
the recital ended, Princess Adelaide got a standing ovation. The crowd was in a
frenzy. There was thunderous applause, endless cheers, and even the media
personnel were seen clapping their hands. The professors in the front row, and
the dean, who was seated next to Kenrick, also stood up – Kenrick was the only
one left sitting.

He
also got to his feet at once, and joined in the deafening applause. It lasted
well over five minutes.

When
the last clap was heard, minutes later, it felt as if a thunderous hailstorm
had ended. And there were a few murmurs of applause still, here and there, like
drops of rain brought down by the wind from dripping branches of trees.

Finally,
it was calm.

And
all the while, Princess Adelaide was standing at the podium, in front of the
mike, nary an expression on her face, patiently waiting for the commotion to
conclude. Then she bowed to the audience and left the stage as quietly as she
had entered. The applause erupted once again, only to be quieted this time by
the master of ceremonies, and members of the audience settled down in their
seats.

So that was a poem
panning the royals
,
the thought came back to Kenrick.

Was it written to spite
him?
He could not escape that obvious conclusion. Everything pointed to it.

When
he had visited her recently, he was all pomposity and nose-in-the-air, and it
was not a pleasant meeting. To add fuel to the fire, he'd invited her to his
chambers.

By
all reckoning, she was bound to know all about him, that he was a
cock-stock-and-barrel kind of guy. When someone like him came visiting, men
were advised to stock their fridges and lock their daughters – not a pleasant
reference by any yardstick. That reputation of his was sure to have preceded
him, and was likely to be the inspiration behind such poesy.

And
yet, he secretly applauded her courage. This girl, who was but a middle class
woman months before, had entered the ranks of royalty. She'd wrote a poem about
the vast divide between the royals and common gentry. And now she had the guts
to read it out in front of the prince himself, no less – in full view of the
public and for the consumption of the whole world, thanks to the media and the
Internet. That took true bravery.

Kenrick,
the wounded party in this contest in more ways than one, sat there wondering
what in the world was happening to him. He was secure in his world, so far,
with not a finger raised against his superiority or his brand of living. Now, a
rank commoner from somewhere was showing him the red flag of challenge.

A bittersweet challenge
, thought Kenrick.