The princess could barely contain her excitement and hardly slept the night before her grand adventure, the keys to the glittering kingdom clutched tightly in her hand. Would the prophecy be everything she’d dreamed of? Would she and her mother share a long embrace, a fine meal? Would she finally feel found after feeling lost for all seventeen years of her lonely life? Would she be able to ask her mother all the burning questions she suddenly had about kissing and rolling around on judo mats with handsome princes and possibly desecrating historic landmarks?!
Unfortunately, there was nothing in the prophecy about that.
SIXTEEN
I can tell Henry’s nervous. He doesn’t say he’s nervous, but the big smile plastered across his face when he picks me up is not that sweet, open one I’ve become accustomed to. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which keep darting all over the place as his fingers drum an erratic rhythm on his car’s steering wheel.
This time, though, that big fake smile doesn’t bother me—because I know it’s not a front for me. He’s thinking ahead, to the people he has to impress.
He doesn’t say much as he drives us to the lot. Which is maybe for the best, because I’m lost in my own thoughts. I’m thinking about Grace—allowing that little spark of hope to flourish. I’m thinking about the night before, the revelation that I’m not as alone as I thought I was. I’m thinking about Henry, his body pressed against mine on the judo mats, his lips seeking out that tender spot over and over again . . .
“Are you too hot?” Henry’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I jump a little. “I can turn the air up.” He reaches over and fiddles with the broken buttons on the car’s console.
“F-fine,” I squeak, my face flaming.
God. This is the part they don’t put in fairy tales, the excruciating awkwardness that descends after you’ve crossed the threshold from friends to, you know, people who kiss. I’d really love to see the part of the story where Cinderella and her handsome prince are forced to make small talk while also wondering incessantly what the other person is thinking and if they maybe want to kiss you again.
We pull up by the security booth at the lot’s entrance, and Henry offers his name, ID, and the reason he’s here. The security guard takes his sweet time scrutinizing Henry’s ID, then nods at me.
“Who’s she?”
“Um, my assistant!” Henry blurts out, plastering that big smile on his face. “She goes everywhere with me! Part of my entourage. It’s, um, necessary!”
I stifle the laugh bubbling up in my chest and give the security guard the most winning smile I can muster. I imagine myself as the nure-onna, transforming into a sweet, guileless princess right before his eyes.
The security guard side-eyes me for a few moments more, making an extra big show of looking at Henry’s ID. My heart beats faster—is he some kind of wizard-like gatekeeper, hell-bent on keeping both Henry and me from our happy endings?
But then he just shrugs and hands the ID back to Henry. “Park in the structure to the left,” he says. “And here’s a map—you’re in Building H.” He gives us a lopsided grin. “Loved you on Dance! Off!”
“Thanks, man!” Henry says, giving the guard a little salute.
“Excuse me, your assistant?” I yelp as Henry pilots us into the parking structure. “That’s my cover identity?”
“I had to think fast!” Henry protests. “What else was I gonna say?”
“I dunno, how about your trainer?” I counter. “I taught you all that judo shit, didn’t I?”
He parks the car and turns to me, a more genuine grin spreading over his face as he studies me intently—in that way that makes me feel like he can see through my skin.
“You taught me a lot of things,” he says.
And I blush—because of course I do.
“Apparently I didn’t teach you how to lie,” I huff. “Because you are truly terrible at that.”
I’m trying to sound snarky, but there’s no heat behind it. His grin only widens.
“We’ve already covered this,” he says. “You are also a terrible liar, so I probably learned that from you, too. Now. Time to put all your lessons to work.” He brandishes the map the security guard gave him. It’s nothing more than a flimsy piece of paper with a blurry grid of boxes. Somehow I expected a little more effort from a fancy Hollywood studio. “I’m going here,” Henry says, tapping one of the boxes. “And the sets for We Belong are over . . . here.” He taps another box that’s on the opposite side of the lot. “Soundstage Nine. Or at least they were a few weeks ago.”
“What should I expect?” I say, wheels turning as I study this indecipherable grid. “Will there be, like, guards blocking off the area?”
“Not exactly,” he says, a smile playing over his lips as he taps thoughtfully on the square. “You should see a cluster of trailers next to these two big soundstages—the sets are on the soundstages. Security’s tight around the stages because that’s where filming’s gonna be. But there aren’t really guards by the trailers. If you can find Grace’s trailer, maybe you can catch her on a break. Oh—and the markers on the trailers will have character names, not actor names—look for the one marked ‘Suzanne.’ That’s who Grace plays in the movie.”
“Suzanne!” I exclaim. “Like Auntie Suzy.”
“A sign!” Henry says, his eyes widening. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”
“Maybe I’m starting to,” I say. “Anyway, that plan sounds good and stealthy-like. Though my track record for being stealthy is really not great lately. What if I somehow cause a huge disruption that destroys the entire set and gets both of us banned from this lot for the rest of our lives?”
Henry laughs and holds the map out to me. “If you get to finally meet Grace? Then I think it
