Highness (2 page)

“Prince Michael, how were they?” one reporter screamed. 

“Did you do this to get back at Lady Thalia?” another reporter screamed.

“Did you know that those girls are sisters?” another reporter asked.

That question made Michael nearly stop. 
Sisters?  Really?
He looked back up at the flat and saw the two women looking out of their open window waving at him.  He waved back in disbelief.  He had never had sisters before – not intentionally and not at the same time.  Now, he really was upset that he hadn’t remembered anything. 

Luckily, his guards shielded him from the reporters long enough for him to jump in the back of the SUV and as soon as Geoff jumped in the front of the car, the driver sped off. 

The photographers kept snapping shots of him, and the reporters kept screaming even after they pulled off into the streets.  He looked back and shook his head. 
Who said being a prince was easy?

Sinking down into the comfort of the leather, he closed his eyes.  Thoughts of the day before and the reason behind his momentary lapse began to come back to him.  Thalia.  The breakup.  The reality of a two-year investment down the drain.  It all made him want to start drinking again. 

“So. How bad is it, Geoff?” Michael asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“I have no idea, sir.  From what I’ve gathered, Her Majesty is not pleased,” Geoff said with a frown.  “We tried to deter you from going home with those women last evening, but you were quite insistent.”

“I’m sure that I was,” Michael said.  Grunting, he sat back up.  “I’m a grown man.  For goodness sake, I’m 31 years old.  I’m a fucking dinosaur in some societies.  I should not be summoned by my mother, because I’ve made the fucking paper.”  He slapped the newspaper on his knee.  “I plan to tell her that as soon as I arrive.”

Geoff was silent.

Michael looked out of his window at the passing building, none of which he recognized. 
Dear God, what was he thinking last night?
  This place looked like a war zone.  “I need to get out of here. It’s driving me crazy.”

“You are only about 30 minutes from the plane, sir,” Geoff reassured.

“No,” Michael said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I need to get out of Europe.”

Chapter 2

Dipping the delicate bristled tip of her wooden brush in a beautiful, vibrant almost translucent purple oil paint, Hope Daniels carefully lifted it and stroked strategically across her wide linen canvass, adding the perfect accent to the face of her newest muse. 

In an artistic trance, she stood for a moment feet planted before her work, critically assessing every detail.  The toned ground, the acrylic definition, the lines, the angles, the depth, it all told a story for her.  And if it told her a story for her, then it could speak to others, much like words on paper or lyrics to a song. 

The melodic sounds of Billy Holiday played in the background among scented pumpkin spice candles and the warm glow of low-lit Tiffany lamps.  Crystal vases full of colorful rose bouquets were strategically placed around her studio to add color and inspiration, along with piles of leather bound books written by Maya Angelo, Gandhi, Plato, Nicky Giovanni, and Langston Hughes. 

It was her perfect place.  Serene and calming, full of beauty and harmony, she had created a peaceful safe haven from the world where she could be alone with her thoughts and her art.  

Doing a complete collection on the many faces of Black Royalty throughout the ages, she was working on the very last of 10 remarkable life-size paintings.  For the last six months, she had toiled endlessly on her work, determined to present to the world with an authentic and diverse look at African kings and queens, who were beautiful, strong, and polarizing. 

It had been a major undertaking, but her agent loved the concept and so did the potential buyers.  This was only her fourth collection, but so far, she had been moderately successful in her career.  Some serious players in the industry were looking at her, national publications had written articles on her, and art brokers were putting in their bids. 

In a word, Hope had promise.

Only, for the moment, she also had a block.

This last painting had caused her the most agony of all 10.  The previous nine, she had ripped through vigorously.  However, much to her surprise, she had toiled over the face of Hannibal for weeks.  The intensity in his pensive eyes was lacking, only because her creativity was starting to wean.

“I need to rest,” she said aloud, setting her brush on the rustic vintage table across from her.

When she looked over at the tall grandfather clock in the far corner of the room, she saw that it was a little past 10 o’clock at night.  It dawned on her right then that she hadn’t talked to her boyfriend, Sean, since earlier in the day.  Unfortunately, it was a common and selfish mistake that she made when she was in the middle of her work. 

Her studio was an interior room of the large old house with no windows to give indication as to the time of day.  The room, opulent and grand in nature, was originally built pre-Civil War as a library for Confederate Colonel James Taffy, a man with a penchant for privacy, Whiskey, and books.  It was later discovered, however, that the lower room was also an entrance to part of the Underground Railroad.  His dual and often misunderstood personality, had been the discussion of Hernando, Mississippi for over a century as well as her family, but that was a whole other story.

Normally, she would have pressed on through the night, burning the mid-night oil until the last of her work was completed or she spent the last of her energy, but tonight, she decided to stop her work and go and see him.

Picking up her pink I-phone, she dialed his cell, but it quickly went to voicemail.

A deep baritone with an extremely southern drawl came across the phone. “Hi, you’ve reached Sean Pritchard, I’m sorry that I missed your call.  Leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.  Thanks.”  The phone beeped, but she decided against a message at the last minute and hung up.

He had probably gone to sleep already considering it was a work night, but she’d never known him to complain in the past about an impromptu night cap. It had been days since they had made love and the last time that they had talked it had been about how rude his mother had been to her over dinner. 

Sean was a momma’s boy and the fifth of six well-groomed, genetically perfect Pritchard sons.  However, his mother seemed to spoil him the most.  When he had brought Hope home, for the first time over six months ago, to announce that they were dating, Mrs. Pritchard had nearly died at the dinner table, clutching her pearls while turning ghostly white.  

Her precious baby boy had brought home a black girl and
an outcast at that
.  

That Sunday had been one of the longest of Hope’s adult life, outside of the day that she had lost Grandma Pearl.  In all the years that she had lived in the sleepy town of Hernando, Mississippi, she had never come into contact with blatant racism, which outsiders would have found hard to believe.  But she found that while it was no longer polite to suggest the back door or another drinking fountain, people still kept to their own here. And as long as one kept to his or her own, they need not worry. 

Momma Pearl referred to it as
polite racism
, if there was such a thing, but Hope called it what it truly was… fragrant bullshit. 

“It was understood in my day,” Sean’s mother had explained at that very unfortunate one and only dinner.  “No matter the times, people have to protect their own family lines.  I mean, would you want your line washed out?  When God said to be fruitful and multiply, he meant along the color lines…why else would He have made the races.  It’s just common sense.” 

This trip down memory lane led quickly into a conversation by Hope, which included informing the old woman of the rulers of Africa – Kings and Queens who could buy and sell her ass with a single coin. Going on and on for over 20 minutes, Hope gave a brief but very detail explanation of how Africans were a proud people and blacks in the United States had nothing to be ashamed about, especially considering their survival of the middle passage, tyranny and slavery, despite their origins as the first humans, the most powerful and richest rulers and the first architects of civilization.  Jaws dropped all around the dinner table, all except Sean, who sat with his mouth covered and his head down.  He knew Hope and knew her mind, but he thought she’d have more discretion when it came to sharing her thoughts on race. When she was certain that she had made her point, she ended the conversation by saying, “So you see, in their day, you would not have been asked to sit at their table or even their presence.  It’s all relative really.” 

Obviously, the conversation had not gone over well, and she was never invited back to dinner, but she and Sean had continued the relationship despite the disapproval of his mother.

Since that evening, however, things had gotten a bit tense. Sean had become distant.  Where he used to invite her out with he and his other colleagues from the law firm, he now found a reason to always cancel and spend the night with her alone.  She hated to say that it was because he was ashamed of her, but sometimes, the doubt crept into the back of her mind. 

Hope knew that he was trying, but the work on her project was due in three months and she wanted it to be perfect, much as he was about his case load.  The overall strain of their situation was souring a once sweet love affair, and she had to do something about it.  And for her, that was to give him a little more attention.  Tonight, she could have some spearmint tea, eat some cookies, and keep her focus on the painting until she broke through her creative block, but instead, she opted to stop her work and go surprise him. She was certain that he’d be happy to see her, and happy for a late night romp before bed. 

Stepping out of her denim overalls covering her pink leggings and long white t-shirt, she grabbed her keys from the counter in the kitchen and headed out into the drizzling rain to see him. 

Hernando was nice this time of year.  Wind blew up her long black hair as soon as she closed the door.  Stepping out onto the wrap around wooden porch, she closed and locked the large door behind her.  Even with the moon hidden from the sky because of the clouds, the night still looked beautiful.  Her house was perched up on a tall hill with two acres of a well-manicured lawn and tall oak trees surrounding her. 

Dashing out to her grandmother’s black 1979 Chevy pickup, she darted through the thick drops of rain with her hands covering her head and jumped into the pristine all black leather interior of the vehicle. 

She loved this old antique truck more than any other vehicle on the planet.  It had been Grandpa Solomon’s prize possession, but when he passed, he had left it to Grandma Pearl, and when she passed, she had left it to her.  It was one of many very important family heirlooms that she treasured, which was why she was berating herself for not parking it in the barn today instead of leaving it out in the driveway.

As soon as she slipped the key in the ignition and turned, B.B. King blasted through the stereo.  According to the music legend, the thrill was gone, but Hope was quite giddy about her late night booty call.

When Hope arrived at Sean’s home, near the center of the newly developed portion of town, all of his lights in his renovated one-story brick bungalow were turned off and his BMW was parked in the driveway.   By all accounts, just as she had expected, he was out for the night.  

Not wanting to wake him up by shining her lights on the house with her monster of a truck, she parked on the street in front of the house and jumped back out in the rain and ran to the open porch. 

She and Sean had not gotten to the point in their relationship where she had a key to his home or he had a key to hers, but he had shown her in case of emergencies, where he placed the extra one.  Running her hands down into the fern hanging on the porch near the door, she felt for the Ole Miss key ring with the house key attached.

As quietly as she could, she slipped the key into the lock and pushed the large wooden door open. 

Closing the front door behind her, she tiptoed through the old cottage-style home, passed his perfect little brown leather sectional in the living room, the flat screen television against the wall, the neatly displayed law degree from Ole Miss, and the many pictures of he and his brothers and father during their famous fishing trips, through the small dining room complete with a petite oval dark oak table and finally down the small hall into the master bedroom on the left.

A zinger of excitement coursed through her veins at the thought of surprising him.  He always said that he would like for her to be more spontaneous, and she knew that he meant so about their sex life.  Sean was into crazy little things like sneaking and having a quickie in the alleyway behind their favorite bar and making out above the stars in the back of his car.  But Hope was more conservative, always afraid that someone might see. Slowly, she was beginning to push herself beyond her insecurities, and was trying hard to keep the fire between them burning. 

Looking at him now, she could see why coming here had been a good idea. 

Sean was a classically handsome man.  At six feet, three inches, he was tall, and gorgeous.  Everyone always complimented him on his physically stunning appearance - long dimples in his cheeks, a strong square jaw, smooth perfectly golden tan skin, freckles splashed across the bridge of his symmetrically perfect nose, rose-colored heart-shaped lips, perfect white teeth, auburn-colored eyes, long black lashes, heavy arched brows, deep voice and a head full of curly black hair. 

He was lying in the bed naked curled up to a pillow with the street light from outside to shine in and illuminate the small, well-maintained bedroom.  The bathroom door was closed and the smell of a fresh shower permeated the room with mist. 

To put it in his mother’s words, he was the perfect catch. 

Hope had to agree. 

She reached down at ran her hand through his hair and was surprised to find it dry.  He always washed it when he took a shower.

“Mmm, come back to bed. Let’s make love again,” he said, reaching for her arm in the darkness.  He grabbed her small forearm and pulled her closer to him. 

The word
again
rather threw Hope for a moment. 

Instinctively, Sean’s eyes flashed open when he smelled Hope’s perfume.  Surprised, he sat up in bed and pushed up against the headboard, startled and visibly confounded by her presence.

Hope smiled gently. “Where you dreaming of me?” she asked, sitting by him on the bed.  Touching his face, she leaned in to give him a kiss. 

Sean stuttered. “I…” he looked toward the bathroom door. “Hope…” He said her name apologetically.

His demeanor was so out of place until she could not help but stop and analyze him. 
What was wrong?
 
Why did he seem so afraid?
  Hope followed his gaze to the bathroom door and stood up beside the bed again.  It was then that she noticed his clothes thrown on the floor, a purse and heels beside it. 

He wasn’t alone.

“Who’s in there?” Hope asked, walking around the bed toward the bathroom door. 

As she asked the question in a strained voice, the door opened quickly.  “Who are you talking to in there?” a female voice asked back.   A petite brunette stepped out with a towel wrapped tightly around her body.  She looked over at Hope and frowned.  “I thought you said that you two were having problems,” the woman said, swallowing down anger at Sean.