Prince's Reunion in Paradise
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Faye Acheampong
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PROLOGUE
THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD DAMICA FOYE studied the Dani DoRight doll, unsure about whether she wanted to cradle the plastic toy human in her arms or rip its entire head off.
She’s not me. I’m not her, she chanted to herself again and again.
For a handful of imaginary handclaps Damica forgot about the aroma of cleaning chemicals and the silent city of shaggy mopheads, surface cleaner bottles and supply carts surrounding her. The new song she’d accidentally made up was a welcome distraction from the unexpected misery that came with playing one of the most recognisable fictional characters in the world. She’d become so recognisable that she preferred to hide.
The door guarding the conference building’s maintenance closet betrayed her, opening with a trespassing click. Reflexively, Damica’s hand flew up to protect her face from the cameras and she braced herself for a tidal wave of barks.
‘Smile Dani!’
‘Over here, Dani!’
‘Put your hands on your hips, Dani—not both, just the one.’
‘Look over here—at me only, sweetheart, forget the others.’
Instead, she was cowering away from a solitary silhouette in the non-threatening brightness of the hallway.
A...boy? Shorter than her. With dark wavy hair and bronze-coloured skin. He appeared to be around her age, but the confident style and cut of his suit suggested he was cosplaying someone more mature. The shock in the width of his brown eyes outdid Damica’s astonishment.
She was actually relieved.
The event photographers or, worse, her mom, hadn’t found her yet.
Only Prince Dorian of Concarre.
‘This hiding spot is taken!’ Damica squeaked, sticking her head out of the unlit space to peep left and right.
The coast was clear. For now. She wondered if she should be bowing or offering him a handshake—that was how everyone else at the Youth Today, Leaders Tomorrow conference had reacted to his presence.
‘Pick another... Your Highness.’
That sounded polite enough, didn’t it?
The Prince peered past her, inside the dark otherworld of the cleaners’ closet. He took in the nozzles protruding from the spray bottles and the exhausted aprons hanging from their hooks like ghouls.
Authority overrode the confusion of his round face and the unbroken pitch of his voice. ‘There seems to be plenty of room.’
‘No, there isn’t.’ Damica shook her head stubbornly.
He crossed his arms. ‘Yes, there is—’
An army of walkie-talkie beeps and serious codewords echoed in the distance. Bodyguards searching for the young royal who had escaped their watchful eye.
The children were immediately united in their terror. Their disagreement was replaced with the common dance of hopping frantically from foot to foot and a wild choreography of gestures that included repeatedly jabbing a finger over their mouths.
Panic took over as Damica dumped her doll into the nearest bucket, then grabbed Dorian by the lapels of his suit jacket. Pulling him inside the cleaners’ closet, she ignored his triumphant smile.
‘See, I told you there was room...’
‘Shh!’
They were cloaked by darkness once Damica had closed the door as quietly as possible. She put her ear to the surface, listening for the sound of footsteps coming from the other side. Nothing. Crisis averted. Phew!
Suddenly she was bathed in unwelcome light. The closet’s flickering lightbulb managed to come alive at the command of the pull switch now manned by Dorian. With a sigh, Damica tugged the string so that the light was turned off.
The Prince turned it on again.
Off. On. Off.
Finally he got the message and the safety of the shadows remained uninterrupted.
‘Wow...this really looks like you.’
She turned around to see Prince Dorian holding the Dani DoRight doll, squinting at its form.
That was another reason Damica was so comfortable with the closet’s dim interior—she didn’t have to deal with how dumb and toddlerish her clothes looked. Frowning down at her tutu, jeans and ballet flats, she longed for a more stylish outfit. She wanted to try make-up and high heels and mini-skirts like regular thirteen-year-olds did.
Self-consciously, Damica shrugged. ‘Not really. She’s not me. My name’s not even Dani...it’s Damica. With an M and a C.’
The nothingness that followed only made her feel more awkward. He wouldn’t understand anyway. He was a prince. Royal people probably got to do and wear whatever they wanted to.
She looked up, her gaze connecting with Dorian’s. He watched her as if he could see her clearly.
‘I wish I had another name,’ he confessed, looking as lost as he sounded. ‘People think they know me because they’ve heard of me. I don’t get to introduce myself. It’s weird.’
‘Having two names is overrated, so you’re not missing out on anything. No one cares about the real me any more...they’re only interested in the new version,’ she told him, surprising herself with her own honesty.
Slowly Damica sank onto the floor, sitting down cross-legged and leaning back against the chilly brick wall. Dorian joined the descent, settling with his legs straight. She observed him tapping the heels of his smart-looking shoes together, so the leather clapped, creating a tune.
‘Choose one,’ she said.
He paused. ‘Pardon?’
‘A new name.’
Being alone with him wasn’t so bad, she decided. They were more similar than she’d thought.
‘Oh.’ His posture straightened whilst his fingers plucked at the air, as if he was concentrating hard on conjuring up a... ‘Wilbur.’
Damica snorted. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but that did little to stop the giggle fizzing up inside her.
‘What?’ Dorian demanded. ‘What’s wrong with Wilbur?’
She scrunched up her nose. ‘It’s so—I dunno—old!’
‘Pick something that suits me, then.’ He’d deflated into a relaxed state instead of a sad one.
‘Okay. You look like a...’ Damica cleared her throat and pumped her fists to add some pizzazz. ‘Romeo!’
He laughed. ‘No, I do not.’
‘You do!’
And that was that. They were familiar enough to banter with each other...share feelings that were supposed to go unspoken about and ask questions that usually fell upon deaf ears.
Damica didn’t know if she’d spent twenty minutes talking with Dorian or several hours. What mattered most was that this was the most fun she’d had at Youth Today, Leaders Tomorrow and she wanted it to last longer. By the time his security team raided the haven of the cleaners’ closet she’d opened up about how she was scared her mom cared more about the Feir Channel pay-cheques than her.
In return, Dorian had confided in her about how he missed his dad a lot, and was only able to get his attention by pretending to be ‘macho’.
One of Dorian’s guards escorted Damica back to where her mom was pacing around like a headless chicken. Just as Damica had predicted, she was greeted with a scolding lecture about setting a bad example and the whereabouts of the lost doll before the conference’s scheduled presentations continued for the day.
Somewhere between the interpretative dance promoting wildlife conservation and the speech about running for Youth World Government, the kid next to her nudged her shoulder and dropped a folded sheet of lined paper clipped to a ballpoint pen on her lap. The message was addressed to her, however she didn’t recognise the penmanship.
Damica scanned the hall, packed with child activists, musical prodigies, young royals and teen starlets, until she detected Dorian seated at the very opposite end of her row. He sent her a shy wave and pointed at the message he’d sent out into the sea of attendees.
She grinned back, then read the contents of her delivery:
Do you have email?
From...maybe Giorgios???
Damica hadn’t got to say goodbye to him before, when they’d been so harshly separated, and she’d accepted that they would never meet again and trusted that her secrets would be safe with him. Now, shimmering with hope, she realised that she and Dorian would never truly be apart from each other if they became pen pals.
She freed the pen, pressed down the button and started to write her email address...
From: mrdoryfish7@inbox.com
To: damidiamondzzz@inbox.com
Subject: READ ME... IT’S URGENT!!
Hi :D
From: damidiamondzzz@inbox.com
To: mrdoryfish7@inbox.com
Re: READ ME... IT’S URGENT!!
Hello!!
PS Did you get the email chain I sent to you? Who did you forward it to?
PPS Is your email name coz of Finding Nemo? I had to go to the premiere... Premieres suck! I hate it when the men with cameras shout at me...
From: mrdoryfish7@inbox.com
to: damidiamondzzz@inbox.com
Subject: READ ME... IT’S URGENT!!
Um... I’m not going to tell you that! Don’t want seven years bad luck!
Try hiding from them again? They can’t take pictures if they can’t see you.
When I’m travelling I sometimes lie down in the car boot. Works every time!
:D
