The guard says something in French.
“Non. I want him to deliver it. He is handsome.”
Handsome. A princess thinks I’m handsome and is inviting me to her room? Impossible.
I chuckle, a chuckle the guard silences with another glare. “She is in Penthouse B.”
“And here!” The princess is leaning over the counter, so I can once again drink in both her blue eyes and the smell of secondhand mojito. She hands me a wad of bills. “For the rush.”
It’s three hundred dollars. “No, it’s too much . . . let me . . .” I start to give most of the bills back. It’s not unheard of to get big tips around here, but I feel bad taking advantage of the obviously drunk, even though I can already feel the air-conditioning.
“Non. I know it is three hundred dollars. It will be well worth it if you give my shoes on time and personally deliver. Personally deliver. I am certain you understand.” She goes to touch my arm but accidentally brushes my chest. “Oui?”
She looks up, and I realize she expects a response. Like, waiting for me to actually speak even though she just touched me and my mouth is hanging open. I close it, then open it again.
“Um . . . oui? Thank you. I’ll, um, be there at ten thirty.”
“No earlier. I need to get ze beauty sleep.”
I don’t just fix the strap. I test the heels and replace the heel tip. I wish I had the other shoe, to make it even more perfect. I polish and buff and check for loose stitching. This princess isn’t going to trip over her shoe—not on my watch. I remember what she said about an important meeting with the mayor, and I try to decide what it could be about: Some crucial matter of diplomacy, maybe a treaty between our countries? And I’ll have saved the day with my perfect repair of Victoriana’s favorite shoe. Maybe I’ll get a medal. Or a knighthood.
Who am I kidding? Miami’s not at war, and I’ll be happy if I get to look at the princess for an extra five minutes. And maybe, when she sees what a great job I did with the repair, she’ll agree to wear my shoes. When I finish them.
At nine, I go to the pool to find Ryan. He snuck in late. Now, he’s on his lifeguard chair, shirtless and already asleep.
“Too much partying last night?” I ask.
He jumps awake. “No such thing as too much. You should come sometime.”
I shrug. “No money. So, I notice you’ve chosen to go shirtless today.”
He makes his chest muscles move side to side. “Enjoy it?”
“Nah, I was just hoping since you’re not using your shirt, maybe I could borrow it.”
“And cover it with sweat. Don’t think so.”
“Please.” I explain about Victoriana and the shoe. “I can’t show up in a grungy shirt I’ve had on all night.”
He grins. “Got an idea. How ’bout I deliver the shoe. I’m better looking anyway.”
“Not going to happen. She asked me to. Besides, you’re working now. You’ve been working since . . . eight twenty-five. Doesn’t your shift start at eight?”
“You’re blackmailing me?”
“Such an ugly word. I just want you to loan me your shirt, as a friend, just like I’m keeping your secret, as a friend.”
“Fine.” He takes the red Hollister polo out of his gym bag. “I get it back by eleven.”
“Deal.” I take it and start toward the lobby. “Thanks.”
Next, I find my friend Marisol, one of the chambermaids. I talk her into letting me use a shower in one of the rooms where the guest has checked out. I shower and wash my hair with their shampoo. Ryan’s shirt hangs on me in places, and I wish I had cologne or, at least, clean underwear. Still, I look good.
I know it’s crazy, getting all worked up about a princess. But, hey, a guy can fantasize. I mean, here I am in South Beach, fun capital of the world, and all I do is repair shoes and dream dreams I can’t afford. Why shouldn’t I at least try?
Chapter 6
It takes nearly five minutes for the elevator to reach the penthouse floor. I knock and hang around like a stalker until another Mount Everest of a guard asks what I’m doing there.
“I was . . . I work at the hotel. I’m bringing the princess’s shoe.” I hold it up.
“I take zis!” The guard plucks it by the strap and starts to close the door.
“But I . . . she . . .” I slump over. She’s probably still asleep. Can it really end here, my one big chance?
His hand’s on the doorknob. “You have been paid?”
I nod. “But—”
“Zen go on your way.” And the door slams.
That’s that. I head back for the elevator. It was stupid, me thinking I could talk to the princess about anything but her broken strap. I mean, who am I? Some poor slob who works in a hotel. I should be happy I got to meet her at all. Someday, I’ll probably tell my grandchildren about it. And they’ll assume it’s dementia setting in.
But still, I feel like going downstairs and banging something with a hammer until it’s obliterated. Victoriana said she wanted me to deliver the shoe personally. I went to a lot of trouble. It’s not right that the guard is keeping me out. He’s not any special person. He’s only a guard, just like I’m only a shoe repair guy. He’s no better than—
“Pardonnez-moi?” Mr. Everest is back.
“What do you want now?”
“It is ze princess who wants. She says I must ask you to come into her suite.”
“So she did want me to deliver the shoes in person?”
“Oui.”
“So I was right? I wasn’t just lying to get to see the princess?”
“Yes, yes. Is zat not what I just say?”
I’m savoring this. “So I was right, and you were . . . what’s the word I’m trying to think of here . . . ?”
The guard’s face is purplish. “Leesen, you leetle pip-squeak. If you do not wish to see ze princess, I will be happy to tell her you left ze building.”
“Okay.” I follow him into the suite.
I’ve never been in the Royal Suite before, but it’s bigger than our apartment. Flowers decorate every flat surface, so it looks a little like a funeral, without the body. There’s even an aquarium with a small shark swimming between the anemones. The guard leads me through one room, then another, until finally, we reach a sitting room, decorated in blue and white to blend with the cloudless sky outside its glittering French doors. The princess sits in a big wicker chair. She’s dressed all in white, golden hair flowing down her shoulders, wearing the shoes I’ve repaired. I notice, with satisfaction, that the left shoe is a bit shinier than the right.
She doesn’t look hung over. She doesn’t look like she only got four hours sleep. She looks like a marble statue of an ocean goddess. If I ran into her at Walmart, I’d still know she was a princess. I stop, then bow low.
“Please.” She gestures me up. “Please, zis is not needed.”
I stand. She says something in French to the guard. He shakes his head but leaves, muttering something and glaring at me. The door closes, slightly louder than necessary.
I am alone with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Please, God, please, don’t let me say anything stupid.