"Must you have to use the entire living room?" Called Darren from the washroom, the sink as an honorary guest; the water that rushed from the faucet was louder than him. And Darren loved to talk nonsense.

"Yes, I must," I replied, scurrying here and there, my hands crowded up against my earlobe to stick an earring in. I was currently looking for the other one, of which, was lost in the ether of my couch cushions; or floor; or underneath a table; or in the washroom which Darren was currently occupying. "My bedroom is only so large, you know."

"Oh, right, like I should know that." Despite my far distance—I was currently scavenging through the cushions—I could feel him rolling his eyes at me.

But I didn't care. I needed to find these earrings. Another one of my university friends, Millicent, had given them to me as a gift to celebrate my job offer.

It was ironic now, as that was last year, but today was special. Today was a year in the making.

It was the release party of The Buccaneers and Emaad had invited me (and by extension, Darren) to it. And it was going to be held in Cape May, New Jersey in one of the best jazz clubs in the state.

And, of course, it was Dina's first film. I couldn't decline an invitation from my brother to see my best friend. That would've been crazy. I would've been crazy.

I climbed on the couch, stuffing my skinny hand through the deep grooves and crevasses of the couch, trying to feel my way for my earring.

No luck.

The faucet turned off.

"Oh, good, you're out of the bathroom." The couch moved, and before I knew it, I had pushed so hard it fell on its back.

"Oh!"

Darren didn't flinch, let alone move. How rude.

I supposed he didn't want to mess up his perfectly fine, new navy blue suit. And get his hair messed up.

I fell with the couch. Fear not, I was fortunately saved by its earring-eating cushions.

"Don't just stand there," I gawk, staring at him for a little longer than I'd like to.

"Is... that why you've been getting ready around the flat? You're not even dressed, Aya, good Lord."  Darren shook his head, making his eerily calm way (despite flat out insulting me moments ago) towards the now-fallen couch. He didn't give me time or a heads up that he was going to turn it up right. Thankfully, I was able to catch on and grab on for dear life.

My heart raced. "I lost my earring. It's red and dangling," I told him, fixing my position. "Looks like just this one?" I tuck a piece of my half-done hair behind my ear, exposing a simple, ruby-jeweled drop earring with gold casing.

"Oh, I left it on the kitchen counter. I thought you knew?"

I blinked. What? "No-no you did not. When?" I asked, getting up from the couch and sprinting to the kitchen counter. Sure enough, it was there. I quickly put it on and ran the opposite direction to where my bedroom was.

"I told you while I was in the washroom," he said simply, not an ounce of emotion in his voice.

I shut my bedroom door and hastily grabbed the hanger my dress was on. It was a short,  knee-length, little, strapless burgundy number. The neckline was straight with a decorative fold, it's skirt flared and pleated; fabric made out of satin.

I slipped it on, smoothing out any wrinkles and awkward creases and slipped on a pair of short white gloves to match.

Darren knocked on my door. "You left your shoes," he said.

I looked down to the floor and I inwardly cursed.  Rushing was not a good look for me.

I flung the door open, and I saw him put his hands up to face. Dramatic. "Thank you-" I grabbed my shoes from his large hands, couched in front of him, and put them on.

He blinked, astonished, mouth agape. Oh, come on.

"There is something called a chair?" He gawked, pinching the bridge of his nose and turned his face away.

"And there is something called a floor," I replied promptly, adjusting the ankle straps of my shoe and hoisted myself with the assistance of my knee. "See, problem solved."

"Right. Grab your coat, can't have you forgetting that."I side-stepped him, my head barely brushing against his shoulder, and made headway towards the coat rack. I grabbed my black coat. And the lightweight pull of the car keys in my pocket.

"Hand me the keys."

I grimaced. "Can't I drive? It's my car, remember?" I waited for him by the front door. Darren walked out of the narrow hallway. His suit looked nice. For once, his face didn't scream arrogant asshole but something else entirely.

He looked nice. Like, really, really nice.

"It's an hour drive," I said, my voice growing quiet. "I know the place. I can drive us."

"Love?" Darren gave me the stare. I exhaled, walking over to him and handed him the keys.

I hated it when he called me that. But him saying my actual name was somehow worse. I could never win with that bull-headed of a man.

My eyes widened, remembering something. "Wait—"

"The invitation?" how did he know?

"How-"

"It's already in the car," he said. He walked out.

I was silent—until we were on the road, knee-deep into the drive to Cape May. We talked about "protocol" and what to do if someone offered me a drink. By protocol, he was referring to in the event that someone, unprompted, put a hand on me. Thanks to him and our boxing lesson that occurred last week, I was set to defend myself in case he wasn't there.

"Are you allergic to anything?" He asked at a red light.

"No," I replied as I looked out the window. The moon shone overhead, street signs and buildings were lit up beautifully, it created quite the scenery. I wrapped my coat tighter around my body. Damn it, it was chilly in the beginning of April. "But I don't eat red meat. Why, you asked in case you had to perform CPR or the Heimlich maneuver?" I added with a snort and a laugh.

"You read my mind." He looked through the rear view mirror and caught my eye. "You're awfully quiet, why?"

"Am not," I protested, but it came out more like a mumble than anything. I was too preoccupied with what this event meant. It established everything. Changed everything. Once I got there, Darren was no longer someone I could stow away and hide forever in our apartment. 

He was my personal bodyguard, and everyone would know about it. Safe to say if Dina didn't say anything first. Emaad was a total donkey in private, not caring about anyone but himself. In public, he was always someone cool and charismatic. Someone everyone liked or loved. To much of the outside world, Emaad Huseinni was an icon. And we all know icons could not do anything bad—even if they weren't what they seem behind closed doors. The public didn't care about that.

But I was not the public.

So I knew Emaad would keep his gaping mouth shut about it, posing an elaborate story on mine—on our—behalf.

I sighed, groaning as I straightened my posture on the leather seats. Maybe I should get a new car. "Once we get into the club," I started, staring at him through the passenger-door mirror, his side profile to my face, "everyone's gonna turn their heads. They're gonna know."

Darren pushed the peddle, the traffic light turned green. "They don't even know you, let alone me, love. I doubt they'll care that much." By "they" and "them" he meant the guests at the release party and the film's producers. But some did. Some knew me very well. And...

My, God.

"Just because I say something doesn't mean it's true, Darren. They know who I am—"

"--The America's Prince's sister."

"—Right—but they don't know me for me. And with you by my side... it's like I'll be someone new entirely."

Darren didn't answer right away and I assumed he got the memo. We reached Holland Tunnel, a tunnel right under the Hudson River, soon after that. Which meant we were nearly there.

"Stay out of trouble, and we won't have issues." He took a sharp turn.

"Then... why are you tagging along?" I grumbled, my cheek rested on the back of my hand. I'd get to see my brother again after nearly two weeks apart. Somehow, this small blip of time apart was the hard, despite being apart for months because of his busy schedule.

These two weeks changed my life, and it wasn't for the better. I didn't like it, but I had to endure in the off chance that it'd get better.

I knew from the moment I laid my eyes on him that it would only get worse before anything good came out of this strange partnership.

"I'm not 'tagging along'," he slogged.

"But you said—"

"This isn't some English lesson, Aya, stop interrogating me," he bit, his grip of his singular hand on the steering wheel tightening.

"Whatever you say, soldier, whatever you say." I tried to stifle a giggle.

"Are you always going to call me that?"

"Are you always going to call me love?" I turned to face him, elbow propped on the cover of the cup holder, cheek resting on the back of my hand. I batted my eyelashes, a wicked smile on my face.

The faintest glimpse of a smile—or was it a smile forced into a frown?—etched on his lips. He tore his eyes off me.

"I'm doing my job, even if that means nothing," he said abruptly.

Soon, we were in Cape May, with its big sign welcoming us into the luxury seaside resort town. I was back home. I was home, and I couldn't feel any more homesick.

Whatever came after, whatever happened at the party, was out of my grasp. I had to remind myself that this wasn't for me. This wasn't about me. I was a guest.

But what about Darren? What would I say about him? This was our first public outing, our first event, our first...

Everything.

I didn't realize how much that would mean to me until it was too late. Until I was at the pretty gated fence, Darren by my side, opening it for me.

And then one of the glass doors.

He stood behind me. I could feel his gnawing presence; hear his soft breathing. He leaned in, whispering into my ear. That small interaction sent an unwanted shiver through me I didn't want to have. Worse, the lobby was warm. "Give them the ticket," he said. As strange as it was, his hushed voice sounded sweet. It was comforting in a sea of people I didn't know. He slightly nudged his head to the front desk person.

I looked at him sideways. I wanted to question his authority, but being in the public eye was something I wasn't keen on doing.

Not yet, anyways.

I had to stay out of trouble. I had to be good. I had to be normal.

"Okay," I replied faintly. He handed me my invitation.

I walked over and handed it. "Aya Huseinni," I told them my name. I resisted the urge to look over past my shoulder.

"Alright, right this way, Miss."

He directed me to the hall, but I didn't move. I looked over my shoulder. Darren and I locked eyes. "Wait, can... may..." fuck, what was I supposed to say?

He walked over without as much a second thought. "I'm her plus one," he lied, smiling kindly. "I'm sure you could make one exception?"

The man looked at us up and down, then smiled too. "I'm sure Emaad would be more than happy." He nodded and directed us both inside.

Darren's hand slipped to the smallest part of my waist. Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Soon, we were at the entrance of the hall. It was larger than I had imagined. With cherry wood flooring and decorative ceiling fixtures and crowned molding. And I couldn't forget the live music that played.

Everyone's back was turned against us.

They were all looking in one direction.

Darren let go of my waist, his familiar touch gone within a trace.

That's when I heard it clearly.

I heard him.

My brother was on that stage singing.

"I wonder if he noticed I came," I whispered, mainly to myself more than anything.

With a slight point of his finger, Darren whispered, "look."

And sure enough, Emaad was looking right at me. Me.

He saw me amongst a crowd full of people.

And he smiled.

And then he pointed.

I caught my breath, fumbling a smile in return.

"Let's find a seat," Darren said gently, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I sat. "What did... you..."

Darren shrugged, motioned a waiter to come by. "Water for the lady, please."

I gave him a hard stare. "You think you're so smart—"

"It worked, hadn't it? If I had told them who I was, chances are they wouldn't have let me in." How was he so fucking calm about this? How could he smile when I was having breathing issues?

"What if you bust a move—"

My glass of water came and I clamped my mouth shut, pressing my lips together. As the waiter left, I downed my glass as if it was a shot glass.

"If you mean dance, Aya, that's not happening," he said nonchalantly.

"Not that," I corrected myself. "You pretended"—I scanned the area—"that you were my boyfriend!" I hissed the latter part of my sentence. People still looked in our direction anyway. I tried to laugh it off. "That is not protocol."

"You're right, so sorry," he said flatly, holding his arms.

"Thank you."

"I should have told them I was your husband, perhaps? Or is that too obscure for you, love?"

My mouth fell open. I glared at him. "Don't be an ass. Do your job."

"If Emaad was here, he would've laughed. Chin up, princess." His gaze darkened. "It's not that serious."

I raise my hand up for a someone to come by. "I glass of gin, please."

Darren looked at me unamused. "Scotch."

"Scotch, actually. One glass." I smiled.

A minute later the waiter came back with a glass full of scotch. I slid it to Darren who was at my opposite.

"It was nice of him," he said after a sip of his drink.

"Who?"

"Your brother," he corrected. "To invite us. To invite you. You're not as invisible as you proclaim to be, Aya. Your a princess in your own right."

I snorted. A princess? Really? That was almost as cheesy as Emaad's nickname as "Prince."

I didn't know which one was worse.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "Then what are you, my knight in shining armor?"

He smiled, and I nearly threw up. The nerve of him.

"That might be the sweetest thing you've ever said."