I turn up at the Manor that Saturday with hundreds of other ladies, all dressed up in their finery. I look pathetic compared to them-scruffy, untidy, no make-up. Certainly no good for a Prince.
At the door I’m given a ticket-No.374. I’m guessing that’s when I get my dance with Prince Artemis. Number 8 has just been called out, so I’m in for a long wait.
I have a total of zero dances in the 3 hour wait. Lots of drinks, though, hoping it will stop me being bored to death. Number 373 is called-I’m next.
Yeah, my number’s called, what joy. I so don’t want to be here.
“Ooo, polite. I’m Holly. What’s your name?” Like I didn’t know.
He doesn’t get mad, to my disappointment. “Prince Artemis.”
He extends his hand, ready to dance, but I refuse. “No thanks. I don’t dance.”
Artemis laughs. “I like you, Polly. You’re very independent. You can be my wife.”
What?! “No, thanks.”
But he’s already speaking to the crowd. “This is my wife, Polly. . .” He whispers to me, “What’s your name?”
I consider lying, but decide not to bother. “Holly Short.”
“Polly Short!” he announces.