The Prince

Chapter Seven: I Watched Him Strip

CHAPTER SEVEN: I Watched Him Strip

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"Private lessons for ballet? My son, your manliness has decreased by tenfold." My dad jokes as I get dressed into my somewhat tight black stockings. I run through my thoughts, trying to come up with the wittiest response I can think of while pulling on my tights. The material slides over my legs like a second skin, and to be frank, it doesn't leave much to the imagination, if you get my drift.

"Says the man who wore a bright purple headband." I counter, examining myself in the mirror. I wink at myself in the large, floor to ceiling window in one of the bathrooms. My father groans at my actions, and I roll my eyes at him. There's nothing wrong with appreciating yourself once in awhile.

"Purple is the color of royalty, and it seems to make me appear ten years younger. Do you disagree?" He questions, a corner of his mouth drawing up in a smile as he straightens his posture on the toilet seat.

No, contrary to what you must be thinking at the moment, my dad is certainly not taking a crap while I go through a round of self-appreciation in the mirror. That's just nasty. I pulled him out of the dining room, despite his protests of "My pasta will burn!" because I could honestly use a bit of a pep-talk.

"I do disagree. Not attaching colors to genders or anything, but a purple that bright is best left for the women. Why not a deep purple?" I ask, sliding a crisp white t-shirt over my head. I frown at the result; it messed my hair up. Maybe girls like the whole I didn't fix my hair look though.

"Because it's too dark! Why are men constricted to wearing dull, boring, dark colors? What if I want to step out of the house wearing a flowered pink t-shirt?"

"Then perhaps you should re-think it. I doubt Mother would leave the palace in a pink flowered t-shirt. No, I doubt Mom would even have that thought." I reply, turning away from the mirror to face my Dad, as I lean on the polished marble counter top. "What do you think?"

"I think that my lasagna is burning.' He frowns, but breaks into a grin at the sight of my annoyed expression. "Kidding, kidding, yeesh. Teenagers nowadays!"

"Dude, I'm going to go do stuff with two rather attractive ladies. What the frick do I do?" I ask, looking away from his teasing eyes.

"Oh Xander, do you yourself even know how... dirty that sounded?" He asks, his eyes twinkling with amusement as I struggle to understand something that I obviously should know. I mean, I'm the teenager in this partnership, right?

Fuck, I'm doubting myself. I shouldn't be doubting myself, right?

There I go again, asking myself for confirmation.

"Uh, Dad, get your mind out of the gutter, please and thank you. And you still haven't answered my question!" I reply, hoping the rising heat in my cheeks isn't visible under the prying eyes of Dad.

"Well son, back in my day, I courted your mother with pigs!" He announces, leaning forward to me, as I tilt my head at him, furrowing my eyebrows.

"What?"

"You know, eight silver candelabras, five pigs, nine chickens, a partridge in a pear tree..." He trails off, as I let out a sigh, exasperated. Sometimes he acts more like a child than I do.

"Could you be serious for once?" I ask, running my hands through my already messy hair. He cocks a head at me, furrowing his brows. Did I just ask for him to be serious?

"I dunno, I was a devilishly handsome prince. Women gravitated towards me, not I them. Unfortunately, neither of these girls know you're a prince, and while you're fairly okay looking, you certainly didn't inherit my features." He says, stroking his stubble while raking his eyes over me. "Yeah, you really didn't."