Ryan’s right. I’m not normal. No one else would think of shoes at a time like this.
Among the suitcases, I notice a dog carrier. Now, needless to say, the Coral Reef doesn’t allow dogs, but I guess you don’t tell princesses that. It’s a large carrier, and I peer through the bars, expecting a standard poodle or an Afghan. But, instead, I see a bloodhound’s black-and-brown face and sad eyes staring back at me.
“Hey, boy,” I say.
The dog growls.
“Nice going.” Ryan has also taken up residence behind the palm. “He sees us.”
He means Farnesworth, who’s taken his eyes off the door long enough to march over to our palm. “You! Where are you supposed to be?”
“We’re on break,” Ryan says.
“Be on break elsewhere. I don’t want you bothering the princess.”
“Excusez-moi?” a voice interrupts. “You are ze hotel manager?”
Farnesworth turns and takes a step back, then a second, onto my foot. I try to jump back. It’s her!
Farnesworth, still on my foot, stutters, unable to form words. I wonder if they’ll send a chambermaid to clean up after him when he pees his pants.
“Uh . . . ,” he manages.
I bow, pushing Ryan down with me. I’m really trying not to stare at her shoes, but from this angle, they’re the only thing I can see. Roberto Cavalli. Italian black-and-white V-strap platforms with a woven leather upper and an architectural heel.
“’Allo?” She’s still trying to make contact with Farnesworth, who’s panting like he just jogged down the beach. Sweating too. She leans toward me and gestures that I can stand. That’s when I get my first good look at her.
I’ve seen lots of pictures, but none of them prepare me for the real thing. Her beauty shocks me, which is saying a lot, considering I live in South Beach, where hot is the new average. She has long white-blond hair that curls down to her perfectly proportioned hips. Even though she emphasizes her body with fitted clothes and a short skirt, her huge eyes, which are bluer than the ocean outside, make her look all innocent, like a Disney princess.
“Nice dog,” I manage.
Oh, I am such an idiot.
She nods and opens the cage. The dog scampers out, looking for something to sniff, but at a signal from the princess, he comes right back and sits behind her. She strokes its head, then turns to me.
“Is he”—she nods at Farnesworth—“not right?”
“He’s okay, usually.”
Farnesworth’s mouth tries to move. “You . . . you’re . . .”
“I am Victoriana.”
People are like shoes. Some are like sneakers or flip-flops, while others are like high-heeled pumps. Princess Victoriana is like the shoes she wears—not very practical, but beautiful.
Farnesworth finds his voice. “I didn’t expect you to . . . I mean, I thought I’d be dealing with your lady-in-waiting or . . . something.”
“She is back zere.” She gestures behind her at a woman with short hair, a plain skirt, and what looks like the Alorian version of Aerosoles. “Slow.” She looks at Ryan and me. “And zese . . . zese are some of your employees?”
Mr. Farnesworth recovers with a look of complete contempt. “Oh, them. Don’t worry. I won’t let them bother you.” He flicks his hand at Ryan. “Surely your break is over. And you . . .” He glances at me.
“Non, non. Zere is no need to leave. I will be here, maybe some time, and I would like to know zose who offer zeir services.” She looks at Ryan particularly. It’s news that she’s staying a long time. Actors sometimes stay awhile if they’re filming a movie, but visiting dignitaries are usually here only a day or two. She looks again at Ryan. “What is your name?”
He grins, used to attention but still flattered. “I’m Ryan. I work at the pool. Maybe if you’re there sometime, I can rub lotion on your back.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” The princess maintains eye contact an instant longer than required, and I can tell she’s sizing Ryan up. I fantasize she doesn’t like what she sees. She turns to me. “And you? Who are you, and what do you do?”
Words fail me. Why does she want to know about me?
“Say something!” Farnesworth hisses, thumping me on the back. Like he was so eloquent!
I say, “I’m Johnny. I . . .” And the second before I say it, I’m ashamed of it. “I repair shoes. My family runs the shoe repair here.” I gesture toward the hotel shops.
“Shoes!” She claps her hands like it’s the most wonderful news she’s ever heard. “I love ze shoes! I have a suitcase of zem!”
I laugh. Of course she does. She’s a princess.
“You laugh at me? You think my love of shoes is—’ow you say—shallow?”
“I didn’t—”
“Maybe I am. But I believe zat ze shoes, zey are magical, like in ‘Cendrillon’—‘Cinderella’ to you—or Ze Red Shoes. I believe in magic. Do you?”
I gape at her. “Uh, I guess so.” One of the swans from the fountain walks by, and the bloodhound starts to bark, not a mean bark, but a soft, steady bark, like he’s talking to it. Victoriana places her small hand in front of the dog, and he stops.
“Where I come from in Aloria,” Victoriana says, “zere is magic. Sometimes good, sometimes not so . . .” She stops and shakes her head, obviously realizing she sounds nuts and should change the subject. “You must never be ashamed of shoes, and to work for your family is honorable. I, too, am in ze family business. It is not always easy.”
I nod, thinking it seems pretty easy to me, traveling around and going to parties. But maybe it isn’t. Staring into Victoriana’s eyes, she doesn’t seem to be the girl from the newspapers and the tabloids, the party girl who cares only about clothes and drinking. Instead, her eyes are sort of sad, like she feels trapped in her life, just as I am in mine.
Farnesworth must decide that’s enough from me, because he offers her his arm. “Your check-in has already been taken care of. I can show you to your room.”
The princess looks at me an instant longer before saying, “Very well.” She ignores Farnesworth’s arm and starts toward the elevator. Farnesworth trots behind her.
Ryan and I head in the opposite direction. When we reach the hallway that goes to the pool, I turn to Ryan. “God, I think I’m in love.”
“Yeah, whoudda thought? A princess who’s obsessed with shoes. Shame you’re not better-looking. And shame you don’t work at the pool like me. I’ll probably get to see her every day in a bikini.”
“Yeah.” I’ll never see her again. Princesses don’t get their shoes repaired. They send the servants out for new ones.
He starts to whistle, then stops, maybe seeing how seriously depressed I am. “They’re looking for a new lifeguard. You should apply.”
I shake my head. “Can’t.”
“Can’t swim?”
“Nah. I’m a great swimmer. But my mom needs me to work in the shoe repair. It’s just the two of us.”
“Cut the cord. You’re what, seventeen? Time to make your own decisions.” He shrugs. “Suit yourself.”