The Heir And The Spare

#2

TWO

'Once you start to dislike someone, everything they do begins to annoy you.' - Anon

I can smell the chaos before I can see it, which isn't hard considering the influx of smelly cleaning products that pour underneath my bedroom door. The back of my throat burns from the smell and I'm aware of the distant sound of the vacuum cleaner whirring somewhere in the background. I can't remember the last time my parents went through all this trouble. Guests have come and gone, don't get me wrong, but I suppose when your new guests have their own throne, it means everything is going to stink of chemicals for days.

I throw the duvet covers over my head and nestle into them, breathing in the familiar smell of washing detergent and my perfume. It's oddly comforting, knowing that despite all the crap they are spraying out there, in here, it's all me. There is no reason for them to touch this room. I allow myself a moment's peace, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to lull my brain quiet. I do my best to think about anything else other than our visitors that will arrive later today. I do my best not to think about him.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," the sound of a familiar voice makes me jump and I squeal into my pillow as the duvet is pulled off from around my head.

"Would you kindly bugger off, please," I say into my pillow with a groan.

"Good morning to you too," my sleep disturbance says with a chuckle. My brother has many talents but being a world-renowned knob seems to be the one talent he shares only with me.

"Go away," I growl and toss the duvet back over my face. Michael grabs the end and pulls, making the duvet vanish completely and I'm left freezing as if he has just tipped a cold bucket of water over my head.

My eyes are closed but I can practically feel the smirk on my brother's smug face. "Eva?"

"What?" I aggressively spin to face him.

Michael's got his arms folded, his white shirt is pressed and perfect, tucked into black slacks and tied together with a belt. Michael quirks a brow at me as I run my hand through the tangled mess that I call my hair. I can see the dark brown strands matting together on my fingers. "Are you planning on getting dressed today?"

"I don't plan on it, no."

"Eva, don't be a child."

"I am a child, Michael."

"You're nineteen,"

"Yeah, like a month ago. I haven't grown into my adulthood yet. I've decided to give it a few more months before I allow it to kick in,"

He rolls his eyes, "you're impossible."

"I don't exist to make things easy."

"Don't we all know," he shakes his head and starts to turn but thinks better of it. "Eva, get up. I command you to—"

"Oh, you command me?" I interrupt, raising an eyebrow. "You may be the next king my darling brother but you're still the same shit bag who pissed in all my favourite shoes."

Michael laughs and pulls my leg from the end of the bed playfully. "Just get up, stop being so lazy. Mum is gonna kill you,"

"You're wrong," I reply with a smirk and sit up. "She has people for that."

My brother doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't make a move to the door either. His face falls and I can tell what he wants to say next is serious, but I beat him to it.

"You know I don't care about seeing them, any of them, right? Especially, Satan's number one fan."

Michael's voice is calm and calculated as if he's rehearsed the answer. "The Prescott's alliance with us is vital for the survival of this country, especially with everything else going on right now. This might be the twenty-first century but there is still the risk of—"