Maid For Him

Goodbye Is The Saddest Word Part ll

Syd'nee's POV

I continued to gnaw at my lower lip, mocha orbs trained onto the roadway ahead of us. I could make out the towering silhouette of Ghana's airport in the distance- Kotoka International, but that trip was about an hour, almost two away. Cleo had left by now, I was sure of it. He was probably in the air with some snooty flight attendant, sipping expensive and extravagant champagne whilst laughing pretentiously as they watched the dark African people turn into ant like beings from inside their luxurious private jet. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat for the secondly time that day and instead, focused my attention on the stout lady which sat behind the driver's wheel. We'd been on the road for nearly 45 minutes, and still no word of where we were headed, what her name was, and why she stopped for me. 

"Um... Excuse me... m'am.." I blinked, discouraged at how frail my voice had sounded. I had no idea why this women made me feel so... small, intimidated... ashamed. It was as if she was my mother and I'd been caught in an attempt to sneak out of the house at midnight and elude to a late night bash. My chestnut orbs cast downwards once again but this time, I felt another set of eyes on me. 

"Dorcie." She finally spoke whilst turning the steering to her right, and into what seemed to be a fast-food diner. I frowned, gripping the handle bar above my head for leverage as the car ran over unyielding gravel. "My name is Dorice." She repeated whilst parking the Audi in a handicapped spot. I shot her a puzzled look to which she just shrugged, smiling at me warmly whilst turning off the veichle. "Nobody cares where you park around here, now come obaa (Obaa- meaning girl a young unmarried woman in the Ghanaian language Twi), you look like you could eat the entire country if you wanted. How does strawberry shortcake sound?"  In that exact moment my stomach decided to answer for me, growling vehemently in response as if saying 'Yes, please!' I scowled slightly, but nodded nonetheless having no other option but to. How am I ever going to make it to Cleo, now? And with my head lowered down in silence, I gradually followed Dorcie into the westernized diner. 

Prince Cleo's POV

        I let my head fall back and nestle onto the satin pillow behind my head, generosity of Rochelle, or should I say my mother -- since she did own the plane. We'd been on the runway for an hour now, and I began to count down from 100- to say I was growing impatient was an understatement. 

        I began to look out the window at the beautiful place that I was going to leave behind; the beautiful century old trees hiding the view of the gorgeous palace behind it. This would be the end of my journey here in Accra; when I get back to Hampstead everything would change. My 21st birthday was in two days, meaning the day I'd finally get to own the throne, lose the title of being prince and become king, but most importantly find a suitable queen to sit beside me on my velvety chair of royalty. "It was too late to think of her now." I mumbled bitterly before glancing over to Rochelle as she drew open the curtains with a warm smile.

"We will be taking off shortly, sir." She placed a small palm onto my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze to which I nodded in return. "'Bout time." I countered whilst bringing my fingers to rub at my temples. She made a small like laugh, forced of course.

"We apologize for the delay, your highness...we had a problem with one of the tires, but rest assured everything is peachy, now!" Rochelle's perkiness began to annoy me, partially due to the fact that my mood was nothing close to hers.

 "Don't worry about it, I've got all day." I suddenly sat up, aware of my surroundings as Rochelle's hand tighten end on my broad shoulder.

"Merlot?" She asked whilst nodding her head back to the tray of cooled champagne filled with ice. I nodded, unbuckling my seat belt to assist her gently, our arms grazing against one another's and I caught a glimpse of her shudder.

20 Mins Later

We were drunk. Well, I was. Rochelle was giggling like a madman, and I... well I was decent, I'd put it at that. "It must be so hard being the prince of an entire country... and not having any sort of help, I mean you're only 20 aren't you? You're so..so strong." Rochelle rambled on whilst sitting next to me in the accountable seat, her knees folded underneath her as the seat belt evidently dug into her waist painfully. Her fingers skimmed through my scalp whilst her orbs scanned my face in interest. I shrugged, before hiccuping. 

"It's iight." I moistened my cracked lips while leaning into her touch. It felt nice to be fondled and embraced, being Prince of such a large country, people sometimes forgot that I was human too and wanted, craved and desired love. Love. My eyes trailed from Rochelle's mocha orbs, and down to her flattering chest, raising up and down with each ragged breath she took. 

"Lady and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking on board this royal flight to London, the United Kingdom. Flight duration is around 6 hours and we are expecting a fairly smooth flight today. If you need anything your highness, our Ghanaian flight attendant Rochelle will accommodate to your every needs. Just ring the buzz-"

I zoned out before the captain finished, and I could now feel the jet taxing towards the designated runway, but I no longer cared- my lips were now on Rochelle's as we shared a chaste kiss, my palm cupping her smooth cheek with ease as the pad of my thumb brushed underneath her eye. 

It felt so wrong, but oh, did it feel so right. 

A/N

Hey guys!  Yah... so that escalated quickly. We really hope your liking the story so far, and there will be plenty more to come! We also finally decided to put the casting up for certain characters, but if you have any ideas for who should play who comment down below. Thanks for reading loves. We truly do love you readers and as a thank you we will be dedicating this chapter and MAYBE many more to dedicated readers whose comment have really encouraged us!

s&M