Happy New Year, Your Highness
OLLIE
Spiralling fireworks light the black sky like rainbows of starlight on the day my life is turned upside down.
I follow my best friend down the hallway to a quieter room, one with large windows, so we don’t have to peer over several people’s shoulders to see the fireworks. I’d almost canceled my appearance at the New Year’s Royal dinner because my other two friends, siblings Amelie and Theodor invited me to their extravagant villa in Nice. It wasn’t a bad idea, Amelie was famous for hosting good parties and being surrounded by my own family and their friends wasn’t as appealing as being around my own age. The only reason I decided to stay in Monaco was that Mathieu Gabin have persuaded me to come.
A pink glow lights up the room before it darkenes once more, and a loud bang sounds surround us. We wander closer to the window until the night sky fills my vision. Bundled up in coats, scarves and hats, some guests didn’t mind the winter weather in the garden, but I was content staying in the warmth with one of my friends.
“They’ve put on a splendid display so far,” Mathieu says before sipping his bourbon.
I nod. “They have. I must admit I was expecting lower quality this year. Father wants to impress his new friends, I suppose.”
“You can’ always trust the Grimaldi’s to do things properly,” Mathieu chuckles. His father was a close friend to mine, and I often frequented their luxurious estate together with my father, which quickly made us friends.
We are standing in silence as more fireworks explode in the sky, and the slight scent of smoke fills the air even though no windows are open.
The silence is something I appreciated about Mathieu. He didn’t push for conversation. After knowing me for over ten years, he understood that I am more of a thinker, not a conversationalist.
“Do you need another drink?” Mathieu asks.
“No, I’m good,” I have barely started the one he had originally given me upon entering the house. We’re both twenty one so it isn’t exactly forbidden for us to drink, but the illusion that I can do whatever I please is just that... illusion. Being Olivier Philippe Grimaldi of Monaco I barely ever had a chance to drink alcohol, however occasions such as New Year’s or a birthday of one of my friends allowed me to indulge in a glass or two. Never more. Never to the point of getting drunk and embarrassing the crown. After coming back home to Monaco for winter holidays I knew that I wouldn’t be able to entirely relax but New Year’s celebration turned out to be a perfect opportunity for me to escape
my usual obligations, at least for an hour or so until someone starts looking for me.
I hear Mathieu moving about behind me, glasses clinking as he refills his tumbler, then he returns to my side. I glance at him and frown when Mathieu throws the drink back all in one go and grimaces.
“Looks like you’re trying for liquid courage. Which girl are you going to try to get into bed tonight?” I joke and stare at him, which is not a hardship as he is gorgeous.
I blink rapidly and return my gaze to the display outside the window. Thoughts like these are going to get me into trouble, and I push it down, reminding myself that I am straight and single and happy to be both.
“None.”
It takes a moment before I figure out Mathieu is answering my question. I open my mouth to answer, but he steps closer, coming to stand in front of me. A muscle clenches in his jaw as he stares at me.
“So many years of wanting this but not knowing if you were the same as me has driven me insane. I have nothing to lose now.”
I frown, not understanding until Mathieu leans forward and kisses me.
Startled, I pull away. “W-what?”
My heart races and I pant, the noise sounding loud in the quietness. What the hell is going on? Mathieu knows I like girls. We talked about them often. Why is he kissing me?
Mathieu steps forward again, but I find myself retreating. We do this awkward dance until
I stop against a wall and Mathieu rests his hands on either side of my head, the two inches height difference appearing like more.
“What are you doing?” I ask but it’s barely a whisper.
“Taking what we need,” Mathieu murmurs, lowering his lips back to mine.
His words circle in my head, and I don’t realise I am kissing him back until I hear myself groaning. My mouth breaks apart, breath stuttering, but Mathieu kisses me again, and again. All reasonable thinking flees except for the feeling of another man’s tongue inside my mouth. I have no idea how to name this feeling, but it’s like everything I had suppressed my whole life exploded out of me like the fireworks in the distance. I grip the back of his jacket, holding him tightly, not wanting this to end. Trembling starts in my whole body, and I press myself against his body, feeling his hardness against mine, hoping that he’ll keep me from falling.
I know it is wrong. I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I can’t stop. The sweet caramel and bourbon is what Mathieu tastes like, and I know I can become addicted to it. His tongue caresses my own as the kiss gentles, but when I finally let myself relax into it, the voices surface in my brain, reminding me of what I am. And what I can’t be.
At the same moment, I hear a sound in the far end of the room. Is that a door clicking open?
Like a bucket of cold water, someone’s opening the door has me pushing Mathieu away and wiping my mouth, closing my eyes in mortification.
“Ollie, it’s okay,” Mathieu says in a voice wrecked from our kiss. I can’t believe he kissed me. He liked me for years? He is not straight?!
“Haven’t you heard that?” I whisper-shout. “Someone has seen us!”
“It was probably the fireworks, nobody is here.”
I hold up my palm, pushing against his chest, not wanting him any closer. I can’t be what he wants. My life is not a fairy tale, no matter what the public’s perception is of royalty. I inhale, steeling myself against what I know I will see when I speak my next words. I stare straight at Mathieu, the beautiful boy that is one of my best friends. Was my best friend.
“Never do that again.”
He clenches his jaw against the pain that swims across his face, but nods sharply once. I push away from the wall, steadying myself before stalking to the door determined to find out if someone had opened it just a second ago. Stepping outside into the empty hallway, I look to the left, then right.
And there, just about to step down the stairs that lead to the main hall of the palace is a young man not much older than me. The sound of my dress shoes on the tiled floor makes him turn around and meet my look. And those eyes. I almost stumble from intensity of them. I realise then and there–those eyes have seen the ugly truth, they’ve seen everything in that room.
I feel like I want to disappear in thin air but my feet start moving towards the unmoving figure. I come close, only a step away and finally dare to face him.
It’s the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen in my whole life and I dig my nails into the palms almost in punishment for having those thoughts after everything that just happened.
“This never happened, you haven’t seen me here. You haven’t seen anything,” I say to the young man in the most intimidating manner possible. I don’t have superpowers that can erase someone’s memory but I possess the ruthless, cold demeanor of the Grimaldi royal family.
And then seconds pass, never ending moments in which this stranger just stares at me. His piercing dark-honey eyes stray to my lips and they stay there for a moment. My lips are swollen, I can feel it, they’re wet and rosy from the kiss I just had.
With a man. My first kiss with a man.
Is that wonder in this stranger’s eyes? Judgment? Hatred? Is he thinking about how much money he can get if he uses the information he has about me to blackmail my family?
I shiver at the thought. But there is a feeling like something deep inside of me is alchemically changing, a feeling like this moment marks some sort of fresh stroke on my canvas that can never be painted over. I know nothing can ever be the same. I am being rewritten, reshaped, or something better–like I’m being reshaped to find out that it had been my true shape all along. Some door inside of me swings open, some key slides easily into on old lock, and the air sings with heavy fate.
Finally the young man moves. I see him better now, the darkness of his eyes that matches his raven hair. The shape of his mouth and the birth mark next to it that adds to his striking appearance. The strength of his neck and Adonis-like shape of his upper body. I still manage to somehow keep my composure but it’s the hardest thing I ever have to do.
I realise that maybe I have overreacted. Maybe he doesn’t know who I am, he’s just a random visitor. Finally he tips his snapback in a way of saluting, drawing attention to the famous logo on it, and he smiles casually. Wickedly.
“Have a Happy New Year... Your Highness,” his voice is deep, with an edgy rasp that somehow makes my heart pound harder. He turns back around with so much confidence in his step and walks down the stairs away from me, but not before adding back.
“You should return to your celebration, don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”
