Compello is Latin for, "to drive together; compel; collect".
Compello
The next morning she found herself pouring over the various activities within the resort's folder, located on the desk inside her room. Her embarrassment and remorse from the day before has her too ashamed to try sketching again today nor to attempt swimming either. She is determined to find something else that she did have a natural talent for since sketching was not one of them. She was also, only mediocre at swimming as well. The resort offered archery and though it did make a very romantic and daring mental picture, she was too realistic to think that she would have any success in it at all. All too aware of her clumsy nature, she might give herself an impromptu skin graphing by misusing the bowstring somehow. Or she might accidentally shoot all but the target. So, she had quickly scraped that idea and continued browsing along the long list of things to choose from. Knitting seemed more suited to her as it was a singular activity and there was no harm to be done with a dull needle, but she already knew how to do it and it… just did not seem exciting enough. She hardly thought someone like the Prince would find that impressive because it certainly was not impressive to her. There was lawn bowling, but that did not seem athletic enough to be exciting either. The only thing remotely doable given her…limitations was tennis.
So, with a racket in hand and a make shift outfit, practical for the sport of course, donned she goes over to check on Mrs. Harper before leaving on her adventure. The lady was in bed with an ornate silver looking glass that she had heard the entire story about before. How it was an heirloom to the ladyship's family and passed down from daughter to daughter. A very lovely story and it made her wish that she had inherited something so beautiful from her own mother. Mrs. Harper was currently gazing at her own reflection intensely, with tweezers on hand to spy any hairs that needed to be plucked. The hired nurse was bustling about the room, looking more like a personal maid than a medical care professional.
"Where are you off to?" calls out Mrs. Harper when she steps into the room, though she does not bother to actually look up at her.
"I thought I might take some tennis lessons," she answers.
"Tennis!" scoffs the older lady, with a haughty roll of her eyes. "I suppose you've had a look at the pro and he's desperately handsome."
Which is a grossly inaccurate assumption, but she does not bother to deny it. Not that Mrs. Harper gives her an opportunity to even try, before she is speaking again.
"Oh very well. Go and make the most of it," Mrs. Harpers says dismissing her with a wave of her hand and takes up her tweezers again.
"Oh thank you!" she says, feeling a renewed giddiness at being allowed this free time. Much like a child that has been told they are allowed to play. She offers her employer a bright smile in thanks, which the lady waves away again as she would a fly and she is off on her merry way.
Tennis hours were more suited to those guests that had stayed up for most of the night gambling and enjoying the very late night parties. Most often, to the subsequence after parties as well. It is just as those very ones are headed to lunch, that she makes her way over to the courts to sign up. It was a perfect time to pick any of the tennis courts before they became crowded and it meant less eyes to see her struggling to learn the sport. As she gets closer though, she begins to wonder whether she should have made an appointment. She did not have a partner and given her novice status, doubted anyone would want to pair off with her. That is also assuming, that the pro even had a slot available for her today.
Oh dear. Perhaps she had better not.
"Off duty?" asks a masculine voice at her shoulder, startling her from her thoughts.
"Oh! Hello," she says, playing nervously at the strings of her racket when she takes in the sight of him. "Mrs. Harper's cold has turned into the flu so she has a full trained nurse to stay with her."
"I feel sorry for the nurse," the Prince remarks with a quirk at the corner of his lips.
He looks fresh from a shower, but he looks much too alert to have just woken up from a night of revelry. No, it looks as if he has showered following some morning exercise. An early riser, suggesting that their meeting so early at breakfast yesterday had not been a fluke. He really must have lost interest in the nightlife, as he had mentioned to Mrs. Harper that first night. The freshly showered look suits him tremendously too. The musky, rich scent of his newly applied cologne and his hair is still a tad moist, making it evident that mornings in general, suited him. His spikes are more… alive somehow because of it.
"Keen on tennis?" he asks, eying her racket like he did not approve of it in her hand.
"Not particularly," she says truthfully, looking down at it uncertainly.
"Good, then we shall go for a drive instead," he says with a wonderful mix of suggestion and command in his tone. He makes the decision for her before she can utter a protest, by gently taking hold of the racket and hiding it behind the nearest bush. After gifting her with a conspiring smile, he places his hand at the small of her back and guides her towards the valet. It is not in her at all protest after seeing that smile.
The drive he takes her on that afternoon is lovely in its simplicity. They do not speak much but not for lack of things to say. The scenery and the moment did not need an exchange of words. Simply something to be enjoyed in silence. Occasionally, she would catch sight of something that fancies her eye and he would offer what he knew about it. His tone never sounding insolent or arrogant. He merely shared what he had either heard or read of and she appreciated his courtesy in sharing his knowledge. There were many things lacking in her own education whereas his would undoubtedly have been more extensive. Though he could not be much older than herself, there is a look about him that suggests that he has lived and experienced much, even in so short a life span. His voice along with the sensation of being in that powerful vehicle, expertly driven by a man who could drive it well. The openness of the road before them. The wind blowing against her face and through her hair. The small bumps in the cement and the texture of the asphalt. The sun warming her skin and the powerful presence at her side, did not allow for much more than quiet appreciation. She has always preferred this to idle chit chat.
The Prince has a presence about him that spoke more of the himself as a man than his bearing ever could. He was someone one did not ever over look. Not because he made a display of himself. It was the aura that he exhumed so effortlessly. From the confident gaunt of his walk to the stylish clothes that flattered him so well to the cultured notes of his voice. One did not forget or ignore someone like him. It was simply impossible to do so. Yet, he had asked for her company. He had asked for her to sit beside him on this lovely drive through the lone stretch of curved highway and she was honored.
Too soon the drive is over and they are winding through the familiar driveway to the valet of the resort. After the Prince opens the door for her, he offers her his hand to lift her out and walks her towards the bush where he had hidden her racket earlier. Then he walks her gallantly towards the lifts, kisses her hand lightly and watches her enter the cabin. He offers her a small parting smile when the doors close between them. She fairly floats in a dreamy haze as she makes her way back to her and Mrs. Harper's rooms. The scene she is greeted with is exactly the same as when she had left it a couple hours before.
Mrs. Harper is seated comfortably in her frilly nightgown, but her hair is perfectly styled and her rouge is precisely applied. There is a lit cigarette between her chubby fingers, while she reads the gossip section of the paper. The nurse continues to bustle about like a busy bee as if she has never stopped.
"Hello Mrs. Harper. How are you feeling?" she asks, unable to hide the cheerfulness of her mood.
"Got along rather well with him, didn't you?" the lady asks, peering at her over the frames of her reading glasses. There is an uncomfortable knowing glint in the older lady's all seeing eyes, that makes her happiness from the moment before seem sordid. It makes her fidget again with the strings of her racket in reaction. "Well, hurry up and dress," snaps Mrs. Harper, looking back down at the paper and taking a long drag of her cigarette. "I want you to make some calls." As if to make a show of things, she stumps out her ciggy in the open jar of facial crème on her nightstand before muttering, "I wonder if the Prince is still at the hotel."
Thankfully, the lady is not looking at her when she asks and therefore does not see the small smile that inevitably crawls across her lips at the flippantly uttered inquiry.
"I wrote him a note you know," she goes on to say with a smug smile on her lips. "Telling him that I felt so horrible about being sick with this dreadful cold that he must be bored, bored, bored here doing nothing but being by himself. That he must be lonely and should come and visit me or write me back but he hasn't. That naughty man!"
The following morning, the same occurs. Only this time, the Prince meets her in the lobby on the way to another predetermined activity and gently, persuasively takes her on another leisurely ride along the back roads of the city. One could not reject such an invitation to enjoy the scenic beauty off of the freeway. She sees more in these two afternoons than she would have ever seen had he not been so kind as to offer to take her. Through it all, he is a pleasant and quiet companion, occasionally speaking of their surroundings like any knowledgeable host and lending an ear whenever she would remember a story from her childhood. It is liken to feeling free for the first time. Free to be herself and speak to him without formality, telling him her thoughts and knew that he did not think her silly. Even though she knew she was and he even made inquiries when her stories would lapse.
Thus, another enjoyable afternoon passes in his company. The following day, he asks if he could escort her to dinner since she would be dining alone. Given that Mrs. Harper was still in need of her nurse and could not leave her rooms, it seemed a logical excuse. The idea had so delighted her that she takes great pains to look the best that she can for their shared meal. It was one thing to have an impromptu breakfast but an entirely different matter to have dinner together. At least to her, that is.
The evening turns out simply magical to her. How could it not, when she held the attentions of a man like him. Between the main and dessert courses, he asks her to dance a slow waltz with him on the small dance floor. She is so encompassed in his presence that she does not even pay attention to any of the curious stares of those around them. All she knows are the smooth notes of the band playing, the gentle sway of his lead and his arm around her waist. Along with their hands, holding the other's as they move together. For a moment, she feels part of a fairy tale and closes her eyes dreamily to the sounds of the music. Only to look up and find his gaze looking at her intently with a teasing smile on his lips. A blush creeps on her face as he chuckles and she laughs nervously with a shake of her head to come back into reality.
The amused look on his face is understandable. This is no more romantic to him than babysitting would be. With his sharp dinner jacket and expensive cuff links, his tightly pressed slacks and meticulously shined shoes, he was the epitome of a distinguished gentleman. While she, with her tiny barrettes and simple summer gown, that made her look more like a little girl than a young woman. She was absolutely out of her league being with so regal a man. He was too much more intelligent, personable, witty and refined for someone so untalented, poor, plain and awkward as she is. So she accepts that while he is merely being obliging and in need of company, she allows herself this fantasy. Which was not possible. But even knowing the truth, she lets herself have this one night of pretend while dancing in his arms. Which was the limit of their contact. Only the occasional touch here and there. He did not make her feel uncomfortable by being particularly touchy, but he only did so when it was proper to do so.
The next day, after lunch, she picks up her racket to keep up the rouse that she was still taking those tennis lessons, since this time her and the Prince have already made plans to go on another drive, and bids her afternoon farewell to Mrs. Harper.
"For the amount of lessons you've had, you might as well be ready for Wimbleton!" Mrs. Harper exclaims, clucking her tongue in a disapproving manner. "Thing is, with that nurse here, you haven't had anything to do. But I'm getting rid of that nurse today and tomorrow you'll stick to your job."
"Yes, Mrs. Harper," she mumbles, fighting the heart broken look that she knows is on her face at the unpleasant news.
This means, no more afternoons with the Prince. No more opportunities to be in his company without the accompaniment of Mrs. Harper. So soon the dream is shattered and she must face reality already. So she resolves to make the most of this last afternoon with him. Today, she would enjoy it to the fullest. She could always be depressed tomorrow, but today, she would relish their afternoon drive together without worry. So, she greets the Prince, who is already waiting at her side of the car with her door open, cheerfully and then expertly makes herself comfortable inside.
"You know," she contemplates once they are off on the familiar highway. "I wish they would come up with an invention that would bottle up a memory like perfume. So that whenever I wanted, I could uncork the bottle and relive the memory over and over again and it never got old; never got stale or faded."
"And what memory, in your young life, would you want to relive?" he asks in amusement.
"You are not much older than I," she teases. He may act like someone ten years older than she, but he cannot be that much older.
"Sometimes I feel as if I have already lived a lifetime. I have seen and done and lived too much already," he remarks. "So, which memories would you bottle up?"
"All of them," she says excitedly. "All these last few days. I feel as if… I've collected a whole shelf full of bottles." She ends with a wistful sigh.
"You know those same bottles can also contain demons," he says darkly. "That will pop up at you when you so desperately want to forget."
Just like now. His words have such a crushing effect on her that her shoulders sag. She has no doubt that he is picturing the love and happiness of his lost wife when he says this. It only further presses the point that this man could never see her as a woman, but only as a girl.
"Oh! I wish I was a woman dressed in black satin and a string of pearls!" she cries out in despair, because that is exactly the picture she sees of his late wife. A sophisticated beauty with such lovely satiny garments and jewelry who was sure of herself and proud of her bearing.
To her astonishment, he barks out a laugh in his surprise and glances over at her. "You wouldn't be here with me if you were," he comments, thoroughly amused by her plea.
Because of course, she would look ridiculous in such a get up, even if she could afford it. Black satin would not look seductive on her and pearls were way beyond her means so it would not make her look refined either. Inadequacy fills her anew at the disappointing image. How so inelegant she was in comparison.
"Your Majesty," she states in distress. "Please, tell me why you keep asking me to spend time with you. Obviously you want to be kind. But, why do you choose me for your charity?"
He comes to a jerky stop along the side of the road and puts the car into park before turning his heated gaze at her. His look is too heated, she thinks, for her statement. He looks angry and insulted and she has no idea why that could be.
"I ask you out with me because I enjoy your company. You have brought out more beauty than all the superficial lights of this city," he says almost resentfully. He sounds so agitated that she can feel tears prick her eyes at putting him into such a state. "Now if you are thinking that I am only doing this out of charity or kindness you should just get out of this car right now."
The emphasis on "kindness" was said with such disdain, that she knows she has, indeed, insulted him.
There is no use for it after that. She bursts into indelicate tears of sorrow at upsetting him so.
Just as suddenly, his face softens as he watches her genuine remorse and his blackened mood lifts. He offers her his handkerchief and pleads for her not to cry.
"Forgive me," he soothes. "Dry your eyes."
"Thank you," she manages to say through a sob and wipes her eyes with the fine linen of his handkerchief.
"I have gotten used to a lack of pleasantries," he explains. "I seem to have lost my tactfulness through isolated living."
She does not respond for her sniffling. Not that she is cross with him. Not at all. If anything, she knows that she has insulted him by saying that he was merely being kind. How many times already has she claimed that of him? He must surely be sick of hearing it. She can understand the awkwardness when she, herself, was awkward. Having never had much opportunity to practice her social skills growing up.
"Please do not call me, 'Your Majesty'," he requests. "I am no more a prince than any other bloke. I have a rather impressive array of names to choose from. Noctis Lucis Caelum, but you needn't bother with them. My friends call me Noct. I would rather you called me Noctis."
"Noctis," she repeats, getting a feel for his name on her tongue. She sniffs, but now her tears are drying when he leans in closer to peer into her weepy face.
"And promise me never to wear black satin or pearls," he asks of her. "Or to wish to be anything other than what you are."
"Yes, Noctis," she promises faithfully. What else can she do when he looks at her so?
He gives her one of his small smiles. A pleased smile before he kisses the pad of his pointer finger and presses it against her forehead to transfer his kiss. Gently, he brushes a few stray hairs away from her face and gives her another long searching look. He must see something in her eyes that eases him further and then he's pulling away again and their drive continues. This time she must look in a daze of disbelief that he should bestow such an intimate gesture upon her.