A Curvy Girl for the Prince by S.E. Law

7

Matilda

It’s so crazy, and I can’t believe this is happening. After all, I’m boring, normal Matilda Seacrest. Nobody’s ever paid attention to me before, but now, I’ve been invited on a second date with Albert Ray.

I could hardly believe it because during our first date, Prince Haakon stormed in like a bat out of hell and basically dragged me off by the hair. Then, Haakon and I had dirty sex in his private quarters before I showed up to hit some balls with Albert once more. The young man looked miffed, his handsome face scrunched up with annoyance.

“I didn’t know you were acquainted with our prince,” he said in a petulant tone while watching me tee-up. “Where did you meet Haakon?”

I lied through my teeth.

“Oh, at the palace,” I said in an airy manner. “You know I work at the royal palace as a lady in waiting.”

Albert squinted at me, his blue eyes cold.

“Well, that’s interesting,” he says. “So what did Haakon want with you?”

I’m sure Albert knew already because at that moment, a long, line of fluid seeped down my thigh, almost all the way to my knee, and I excused myself quickly to go to the ladies’ room. But not before Albert saw, realization dawning on his handsome features.

So it was with surprise when my mom called me the very next day to say that Albert wanted a second date.

“Are you serious?” I asked in a befuddled voice. “I didn’t think we really connected.”

But Maria was overjoyed.

“Well maybe you didn’t feel sparks, but Albert certainly did. You have to go, Matilda. The Rays just bought a beautiful French chateau on the Cote D’Azur, honey, and I hear that they’re shopping for private planes too. This is a great opportunity for you, Matilda. Soon, Albert might even propose!”

I wrinkled my nose because Albert knows that Haakon ravished me at the driving range that night. It must have been embarrassing to be cuckolded, especially since Haakon strode by later with a knowing wink in my direction. But maybe my date’s fucked-up in the head. Or maybe Albert thinks that I’m worth even more because I’ve slept with the Crown Prince. Some people are messed-up like that.

So it’s with a feeling of dread that I get ready for my rendezvous. I slip into a blue skirt with a matching tank top before coming downstairs, and my mom coos with delight.

“You look beautiful, Matilda,” she purrs in an approving tone. “Albert won’t be able to keep his hands off of you.”

“Mom, is that something a mother should be saying to her daughter?” I ask in a wry tone. “It sounds kind of wrong.”

But my dad merely harrumphs.

“Your mother is just looking out for your best interests,” Gerald rumbles. “Now go and have a good time. Knock that boy’s socks off, Matilda.”

I roll my eyes before picking up my purse and slinging it over one shoulder. Seriously, my parents need to see a therapist because it’s crazy how they keep pushing me towards Albert. I get it: his family’s rich. But still, money isn’t everything and they should know that.

Yet I also realize that Gerald and Maria only want what’s best for me, which is more than I can say for Prince Haakon. What was the Crown Prince thinking, demanding to “inspect” me before and after all my dates? Who does that, and why does he think it’s appropriate to begin with? The entire situation is really confusing and I feel like I’m juggling multiple balls at once. One slip of the wrist, and it all goes down with a big fat splat.

But fine. I’ll meet Albert Ray for a second date at a local bowling alley. Of course, this isn’t just any bowling alley. BowlCon is a huge multiplex that resembles an adult arcade. There actually are arcade games in the back, in addition to a full-service restaurant, multiple flatscreens blasting various sports events, as well as shiny bowling lanes complete with neon lights.

“Hey, you look great,” Albert says when I walk up to our lane. The young man looks handsome with his chestnut hair brushed back and his mobile mouth in a smile. He’s wearing a blue fitted shirt, as well as black jeans. There are probably dozens of ladies who’d die to be in my shoes right now, although not my literal shoes, of course.

“You don’t think these bowling sneakers are terrible?” I ask, pointing down at the rented kicks. He chuckles.

“Not at all. You look cute.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling despite myself. “So, should we start? I’m not very good, but I can hit a couple pins.”

Albert nods, looking around vaguely.

“Yeah, definitely, let me just order some beer first.”

Then, he makes an odd hand signal to someone in the back, and before I know it, a manager materializes at my elbow.

“Ma’am, we just got in some new bowling shoes,” the middle-aged man says in an insipid tone. “Would you like to try?”

“Oh no, I’m fine,” I say, shooting a confused look at Albert. “These are perfectly okay, thanks.”

But Albert eggs me on.

“Just try them,” he urges, his blue eyes glinting in the flashing lights. “You know that sharing footwear can be dangerous. I know BowlCon sprays them with disinfectant after each use, but you could get athlete’s foot, among other diseases.”

I stare at my date. He looks handsome and confident, yet oddly insistent that I need to change shoes. Why, is my outfit bothering him in some way? Maybe Albert’s used to dating ladies who are dressed to the nines, and I’m letting him down somehow.

“Okay,” I say in a dubious tone. “I guess I’ll switch.”

“Perfect,” the manager says while clapping his hands. “If you’ll just follow me, ma’am, I’ll take you to where we keep the high-end shoes. Not everyone gets them,” he adds in a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re kept only for VIPs.”

I wonder if he means VIPs, as in the Rays. They’re certainly a high-powered family, so I suppose it makes sense that the family and their guests get special treatment. Still, this feels weird. My spidey sense is tingling as I follow the manager down a hallway and into a private room.

“Ah, here we are,” the manager says in an expansive tone. “Here you go, boys.”

Suddenly, someone grabs me from the back, making my head rattle on my shoulders.

“Hey, what’s going on?” I gasp, shocked by the sudden violence. But then, a wet handkerchief is pressed across my nose, and I breathe deeply of an odd, sickly-sweet smell. What is that? Before I can form another thought, my eyes close and I go limp in the arms of my assailants.