Acting Royal #Wattys2017

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ZAYN

He needed a fiancé. And he needed one now!

He was going home tomorrow and if he didn't arrive with someone suitable, his parents would be very disappointed. Not to mention that he'd be jeopardizing his rather substantial inheritance and royal title too. He'd been lying to them for the past six months already, expounding about his blossoming relationship with a 'lovely young lady'.

This couldn't be further from the truth...

'The Playboy Prince', 'Heartbreak Zayn' and the most catchy of all, 'One-Night Nasser', was what the media had dubbed him. And although these names were terribly offensive, they were, in fact, accurate. But what offended him most about them was not their decidedly unsubtle insinuations, but rather their complete lack of creativity.

Surely he was worth more than a stupid string of clichéd alliterations? It was a joke.

A joke his father hadn't found very funny, though.

Rumors of his 'extra curricular' activities had been slowly making their way back to his parents. Even though their Persian Gulf Kingdom of Burmain was almost completely cut off from 'decadent' Western influences like MTV, gossip magazines and the Kardashians- the news had traveled. No doubt with a little help from his cousin Amir, a bitter little snake who'd been out to ruin him for years.

But his father had not impressed. And upon hearing the news, Sheikh Abdul-Rashid Nasser, had immediately boarded his private jet and flown to South Africa for an emergency 'meeting' with his wayward son. Very, very awkward. Especially when he found his son in the Jacuzzi with three naked models. Zayn smiled at the thought; over the years he'd become rather adept at pleasuring several women at once. It was like conducting an orchestra; you just needed to know when and where to increase the rhythm and tempo. And he really enjoyed it when they pleasured each other...

For a split second he'd thought about telling his father to jump in. Luckily, the expensive French Champagne he'd been drinking all night hadn't robbed him of all his senses quite yet. A very long, and loud, string of threats then followed, which went something like this...

"Disgraceful! Disguising! Disrespectful! Embarrassment to his country...! (etc, etc, blah, blah) Stop behavior immediately...find respectable wife before his 27th birthday. If not, he would be cut off financially and not ascend to the throne. Instead, his money and his royal title would go to his cousin Amir."

And so that's why, less than 24 hours before returning home and a few days before his 27th birthday, Zayn suddenly realized he better find himself a suitable fiancé.

And he knew just the man for the job.

JENNY

The early morning knock sent Jenny's heart racing. She knew exactly what it meant and it wasn't good.

"Open the door Jenny." The landlords voice boomed.

Crap! Perhaps if she hid he'd go away? Wishful thinking, she'd been dodging the poor guy for 3 weeks already, even resorting to climbing down the fire escape and making a sneaky late night getaway through her bathroom window (No, she was not proud of this.) But desperate times did call for rather creative measures.

She just didn't have the money! End of story. And it wasn't for lack of trying either, but breaking into the industry as an actress was proving a lot harder than she'd anticipated. She'd been living in Cape Town, the film capital of South Africa, for two years now and hadn't booked a single job, well not a proper one anyway.

She had expected it to be easier. She had the talent, she had the drive, but she'd been very naïve. Talent had very little to do with it. It was about who you knew, who you sucked-up to and who you were prepared to suck. In the entire time, she'd booked one job in toothpaste commercial, where the soft focus shape of her head could be seen for precisely one second. The only reason she'd gotten the job- her agent had said- was that the director liked the little gap in her teeth. It was quirky.

And now, the only thing keeping her from sleeping on the street with that homeless man who screamed at passing cars, or worse, standing on a street corner in a pair of slutty shoes - was her job at Giovanni's Pizzeria. Long hours, tiny pay, terrible pizza. But it was all she had. But despite all this, Jenny also refused to give up, because giving up on this dream and having to return home, would be admitting defeat in the worst way possible. Her parents had thought it was a foolish dream and she wasn't about to prove them right, but the most important reason she didn't want to go back home was because of them. The two people that had betrayed and hurt her in the worst way imaginable. They were one of the main reasons she'd run all the way to Cape Town with nothing in her pockets other than a lofty dream and a need to get away.

"I know you're in there. You can't keep avoiding me forever." She heard keys rattling in his hand.

Double crap! Her heart sank. Although she was desperate and holes-in-her-socks broke, it wasn't like her to behave like this. She took a deep breath, straightened her dress and decided to face whatever ugly consequences were waiting behind her front door. That was the adult thing to do, despite the fact she was currently finding this adulating thing very fucking hard.

"Hi Mike." She opened the door and smiled sheepishly.

Jenny wasn't a classic beauty. She had a full face of freckles, a mop of curly (and on occasion very wild) red hair and a voluptuous figure. This was one of the other problems, her agent had also said. Her look was 'not what directors wanted'. She didn't have that jutting collarbone look that the other model slash actors had. Instead, she had a girl-next-door quality, which was appealing in its own way, but was just 'not current enough'.

Whatever the hell that meant!

"Jenny, the rent is three weeks overdue." Mike looked at her and shook his head.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just that I've been going to so many castings. I've hardly had time to work at the restaurant and, well...I'm broke." She averted her eyes in embarrassment. She hated this. She felt like a terrible person, a rent-dodging-fire-escape-sliding cheap skate.

Mike shook his head. "I can't keep making concessions for you. You're my only tenant that pays late."

"I know. I'm sorry." And she really was.

Mike sighed, "One week, that's all I can give you Jenny. One week, you hear me?"

"Thank you! I promise I'll get it."

"Yup, I've heard that one before too." And he had. Because although she had every intention of paying him, the reality was that unless she won the lotto, or inherited money from a relative she didn't even know existed, there was no way she'd have it.

And that's when her phone rang.