6. Nina
6
NINA
Maia bristles. “No. That’s impossible.”
But I’ve seen a picture of her before. Eleven-year-old Nina sneaked into Dad’s room and rifled through his nightstand because he avoided all conversations of my real mom. He refused to talk about her and I wanted answers. I found a single picture of her—of them . They were smiling together. It was only her side profile, but I returned to that picture dozens of times in the following years. Maia, too. I know that profile. I know that face.
“Welcome! I hope your flight was smooth.”
I flinch at the new voice. A woman greets Dad with a hug before shaking Ruby’s hand. I don’t hear their introductions to one another; I stare at her striking similarities to the painted woman above the fireplace. Same dark hair, pale skin, and sharp cheekbones. She walks over to Maia and me with an outstretched hand to shake, her heels a subtle clack over the marble floors.
“Nina, Maia. It’s lovely to meet you two at last.” Her professional tone and demeanor belie the growing sadness in her glassy eyes. “My name is Beverly.”
“At last?” Maia repeats.
Beverly gestures to the seating area, and we only move when Dad and Ruby do. The three of them sit across from us.
“What’s going on?” I ask, craning my neck toward the painting above. “Why does that look like?—”
“She is,” Dad says, and my entire body tingles—down to my toes. My heart thunders. This can’t be happening.
“Ophelia Jolie Elias,” Beverly says, enunciating each syllable. “My older sister.”
“Ophelia Jolie Elias,” I whisper. My shoulders tense.
“Wait—that’s our mom?” Maia asks, glancing back and forth between the portrait and our father. I spot her swishing earrings from the corner of my eye. “What the hell is this, Dad?”
“I’m giving you answers,” he replies. As with every mention of Mom, he sounds defeated.
“And we needed to be in a palace to do that? What’s with these theatrics?” Unlike her, I don’t feel angry. I’m confused. Wary.
“They’re not theatrics,” Beverly says calmly. “We are telling you here because this is a complicated?—”
“Who is we ?” Maia interjects. “And if you’re my aunt, where were you our whole lives?”
The older woman flinches. My stomach twinges—not out of pity, but of how noticeable her relation to Ophelia is. Ophelia Jolie Elias . Those three words echo in my head. Ophelia Jolie Elias. Her full name remained a mystery my entire life. Until today.
My sister’s questions are valid, but I want to know more about Ophelia Jolie Elias. Anything. I want to understand why they think this is complicated, why there’s a painting of Ophelia Jolie Elias inside the palace, and why Dad had to fly us to the Mediterranean to say it.
“Let’s hear them out,” I say quietly. Maia huffs but doesn’t argue.
Beverly clears her throat with a glance at Dad before she begins. “My sister became the queen of Maldana twenty-six years ago—after our father died. While on a private holiday in Rome, she met an American man who had been studying abroad there, and they fell in love. Ophie loved this country, but she loved him more. So… she left.”
Dad’s head lowers and Ruby squeezes his hand.
“They moved to the United States and had two daughters—Nina and Maia—before she died.”
Ophelia Jolie Elias gave birth to me. She was Queen of Maldana. The queen. Crown and all.
“My mom was a queen?” Maia exclaims, her anger dissipating. “Holy shit .”
Roman Holiday is the extent of my knowledge of monarchs. Audrey Hepburn’s character, Princess Ann, felt suffocated in her role. She wanted freedom—and found Joe.
Just like Ophelia found Dad.
Ruby cuts a glare at my sister, and Beverly bristles from the foul language. Dad doesn’t care; he squeezes his eyes shut to fight his tears. For a moment, I look at him and see twenty years of complicated silence. How do you tell your children their mother wore an actual crown? He never spoke of her. Our mother remained a mystery because of his pain and her origin. I expect him to say it’s a joke, but it makes sense. He poured everything into this trip. Because he wants us to feel close to the woman who gave us life.
“All this time,” I say to him. “That’s why you didn’t talk about her?”
“I wanted to wait until you were old enough—until you were ready.”
“Ready for what?” Desperation slips through the crack in my voice. When is a child not ready to hear about her own mother?
He reaches toward a folder on the coffee table between us. “The letter. Your mother wrote a letter to Beverly.”
Beverly perks and takes out a sheet of paper. “Oh, yes. This letter should explain it better than we are. The original is in Maldanian, so I translated it for you.”
Hope sparks in my stomach. I almost ask for the original—to read her unfiltered words. My mother is a distant, faded memory. I’ll never speak to her again, but to read her thoughts… It might bring her back to me. Maia and I hold the letter to read.
Beverly,
It’s been too long. You’re my sister and I love you. We shouldn’t stay angry at one another. Like I said, this isn’t forever. Pierce and I want to return once the kids are old enough. All we want is a normal life. We deserve that. The institution is no place to raise a child.
At the time of writing this, I can tell you that baby number two is a girl! We haven’t picked a name out, but I’ll write the moment we do.
Nina is a little blessing. She’s such a bright star with so much personality! She’s far smarter than a two-year-old should be and she and Jace would be inseparable! I want to visit. I want you to visit. I want us to be a family the way Mom and Dad couldn’t.
We both said hurtful things. I regret leaving us like that and I’m so sorry. I love you, Bev. I’m not abandoning Maldana. It’s my home! My girls will grow with Maldana in their blood. I will raise them to love our world and then, when they’re old enough, they’ll decide if they want to be princesses. Nina will only become queen if she wants it. I won’t take that choice from her the way it was me.
Becoming queen was your dream. Now you get to do that. I know how you are about tradition, and my girls deserve the option of their birthright, so we’ll be back. I don’t want to lose you in the meantime.
Love,
Ophelia
I read the letter twice. Judging by my sister’s silence, she does the same.
Nina is a little blessing.
Nina will only become queen if she wants it.
“You brought us here,” I whisper, “to be princesses of a country?”
“I-If you want,” Dad replies.
Beverly reaches for the large book on the coffee table. “I put this together for you.” She opens the cover to reveal a baby picture. Under it reads Ophelia Jolie Elias along with her birth date. “It’s all about Ophie’s childhood and life.”
Ophie . This woman I’ve never met before is calling my mother Ophie . I want to be defensive, but she knows more about Mom than I do.
Questions about Mom plagued me for years. Now that I have answers, I expect relief and joy to fill me to the brim.
I’ve never felt emptier.
Beverly is a stranger. Ophelia too. This book won’t bring us closer; her being white makes it worse. I look nothing like my mother or the woman in front of me.
How can I be queen of a place I feel I don’t belong?
“I know this is a lot,” Dad says.
“Understatement,” Maia mutters. It comforts me that she doesn’t reach for the book, either. She’s as hesitant as I am.
“But that’s why we?—”
“Stop,” I snap, my voice echoing. “Just— stop with this. I’m not old enough to run for president and you’re asking me to be queen.”
“Princess,” Beverly corrects, “until your coronation.”
“I’m not the princess of anything! Or a queen!” I look at Dad. “You let us build our lives only for this to come tearing it down. We—we have dreams and goals and you encouraged us to follow them knowing this enormous decision would come our way.”
“I wanted you two to have a normal life! That’s what your mom and I worked so hard to give you. I wouldn’t defy her wish by doing the opposite.”
“So your outcome was to bury her memory?” Maia whispers, knocking through the tension instantly. Dad’s defenses crumble. As always.
“I… It wasn’t easy. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Anything,” I press. “Instead, you did nothing. She wanted us raised with this culture, and you did nothing .”
Ruby’s eyes pop with surprise and Dad’s head flicks up. His eyes flash with warning as his voice deepens. “Watch it. I did the best I could with what I had.”
Fear slithers into my stomach as it does every time he raises his voice in his authoritative manner, but my anger is stronger than my fear today.
“You made my own mother a stranger to me. Not the grief, you . What did you think would happen? That I’d suddenly forget you emotionally abandoned us our whole lives? That I’d be okay with being asked to take care of a country when I grew up taking care of you and Maia instead of enjoying my childhood?”
I don’t wait to see his reaction. With an anguished huff, I get up and head for the French doors behind me. They’re a clear exit to the garden outside, and the height of the day’s heat assaults my skin instantly. I walk through the pristine paths lined with colorful flowers. The gardeners give me a nod of acknowledgment. Trellises with crawling vines surround me. I want to take it in, but my entire body is thrown off kilter from jet lag and this staggering news. How could Dad keep this from me?
I walk into an empty gazebo and collapse onto the bench, fighting to hold in tears. I want to forgive his emotional absence during my childhood, but seeing more of the life I should’ve had makes it that much harder. Mom says in the letter that it’s my choice, but I know what’s expected of me. Taking care of people is what I do.
Even though Ruby entered my life during high school, she didn’t truly become part of the family and help with Dad until I went to college. Before then, I made sure Maia did her homework, kept curfew, stayed out of trouble, had good grades, did extracurriculars, and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I made sure Dad woke up on time, packed a lunch, got to work, didn’t drink, cleaned him up when he did, and attended AA. He loved bragging about my academics, so I worked harder. I did my best in hopes it would inspire him to be better; it never did. I drove myself into the ground by being an impeccable sister, mother, waitress, athlete, academic, and daughter. When can I be Nina?
I spent my life being something for someone and nothing for me.
And now I’m expected to take care of an entire country.