10. Nina
10
NINA
I don’t realize how tired I am until after Maia and Ruby leave my room. My body sinks so deep into sleep that I forget where I am in the morning.
Memories of yesterday rush back, and I push them aside. This is supposed to be a vacation .
I perch on my elbows and study the room around me. The bathroom is straight ahead from the bed. To my right is a sitting area with elegant furniture—tufted seats and sofas made of silk and trimmed with gold designs. In the right corner, a loveseat with a similar style. In the left corner, a bureau. And in the middle of the bed, a frustrated woman. I fall back with a groan, covering my face.
My phone buzzes from the nightstand.
Maia
You up?
Yup
I’m surprised she doesn’t come bouncing in without warning like before, but I’m not complaining. Seconds later, she leaps onto me.
“Oh jeez,” I huff.
“They have really good coffee at this hotel. You should try it. I’ll order you some.” Before she can settle, she crawls over to the phone to order coffee from room service.
“How long have you been awake?” I croak.
“Couple hours,” she says to me, then exclaims into the phone loud enough for me to flinch. “Ciao, buenimara! It’s me again! I’d like to order more coffee, this time to my sister’s room.” She briefly looks over her shoulder. “What’s your room number? 302? To 302, please! Just one? Ummm?—”
“Yes, just one,” I interject. “No more coffee for you.”
She smacks her lips. “Yes, just one coffee, please. Gracea! Ciao . ” Once she hangs up, she turns and settles beside me. Maia’s morning energy is more than enough caffeine for me. She lets silence join us as she leans her head against my shoulder. “It’s just us today. What do you want to do?”
I sigh. We had an itinerary to cram as much as we could into two weeks. Are we even still leaving on our return flight? Do we even have a return flight?
“Anything. We can wander, go shopping, go to museums…”
Maia smiles. “Let’s do all of it. I, for one, want to learn more about this goddess I’m named after.”
We hit the streets to explore.
While my sister dresses in her usual hippie attire, I opt for high-waist denim shorts with a sun embroidered on the back pocket and pair it with a simple white tank top.
Beck and Mason trail us from the hotel, and I’m not sure the best way to handle having bodyguards. I keep wondering if they need to stop to use the bathroom or get something to eat. Maia routinely sneaks a glance back, and I’m seconds away from insisting they walk in step with us. What if I have a wedgie?
Both men are handsome as hell; I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. Mason rocks the silver fox look with at least twenty or twenty-five years on me.
Beck is a whole other story.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Stubble. My goddamn weakness. It helps that he’s a man of very few words.
These men we just met match our every footstep, and it makes me painfully aware of all my movements. I shake off that worry and focus on walking through the streets both wide and narrow. The summer heat quickly exhausts us, so we seek a gelato stand for relief. The man behind the counter is impressed with my Maldanian as I order vanilla for myself and lemon for Maia.
“Sto bueni,” he says, thick brows raised. Very good. He’s at least two decades older than me, but I’d give him my number. Needless to say, the men in this country are delightful to look at. His smile fades once I ask Beck and Mason if they want anything. Mason looks like he could be our father, but Beck looks like one of our boyfriends.
Hopefully they don’t ruin every chance at finding a Maldanian distraction from this staggering princess news and my cheating ex.
My sister and I stroll to more souvenir shops. While I distance myself from being an everyday tourist, I can’t help drifting to the trinkets and perusing the jewelry, wallets, and other cheaply made items. When I look at Maia to show her a bracelet, she’s already making googly eyes with a Maldanian man standing with a group of friends.
I scoff at who she deemed worthy of her time. He has a stud earring, a partially shaved eyebrow, a tattoo on his neck, and cigarette in hand. I open my mouth to protest, but Mason shifts into view between us ever so subtly. His movement makes it clear that he’s with us, and the Maldanian’s smile falls as he and his friends walk away. I take a scoop of gelato to hide my laugh. Our bodyguards scared off two men already.
Maia groans loudly, stomps over to him, and throws an arm around his shoulders. “All right. Listen, Mason. I know you’re doing good and protecting me and all, but you’re getting a bit in my way. I’m trying to slut it up this summer. Just a little, though.”
I nearly choke on my gelato. “Maia.”
She has a habit of being a bit too raw; she doesn’t hold back, which is both a blessing and a curse. Mason clears his throat awkwardly before saying, “I’ve no interest in getting… in the way of that, but?—”
“Great!” She pats his arm. Her gaze lands on my bewildered one, and she giggles. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“He had a gang tattoo,” Beck says suddenly, and all attention swings to him. “The ink on his neck was from the Cranéos gang. They’re guilty of dozens of crimes including rape, murder, and assault.”
Maia looks at Mason for confirmation, and he nods. My sister inches closer to him. “Well, that’s good to know.”
Sheesh. Maybe it’s good to have a bodyguard after all.
We continue to stroll and shop for bracelets, shot glasses, men, and mugs. Every crowded street includes women who can’t stop staring at Beck. He has a steady presence even if he says very little and has virtually no facial expressions. Every time I scan my gaze over my shoulder in the following hours, I can spot him in the crowd quickly, his height a dead giveaway. He’s a moving shadow that can’t quite be described as stealthy. He’s being discreet, yet his size and handsome face—even with sunglasses on—garners all attention.
Even though I may not want a bodyguard, I don’t like the scrutiny he gets. He’s not here for them to stare at.
An old man with a bulbous nose plays the accordion on a narrow road we pass through. Souvenir and clothing shops flank us. The street is filled with minimal chatter and soothing tunes from the instrument. Maia takes my hands and twirls our way into a dance, and I tap into a faraway dream of being a ballerina and spin with attempted poise. While giggling, I toss a few euros into the performer’s hat.
“Wait, wait, wait,” my sister blurts, taking out her phone. “This is a cute background. Neen, let me take a picture of you.”
“Of me ? Oh, no, no. I’m good.”
It helps that there are few people around, but there’s no way I’m getting my picture taken with Beck and Mason watching. Anxiety stacks inside my stomach. Maia tries to encourage me, but I’m insistent enough I’m almost mean.
“All right, all right, fine,” she mumbles. “Jeez.”
The moment Maia spots a restaurant with a sign showing off that they have vegetarian burgers, she insists we eat there. Our bodyguards sit at the table next to us, and it’s getting harder to ignore them. They sit too close for us to talk about them, but it would feel like I’m being stalked if they sit far away. I don’t know how people function like this.
Most of the day is spent in the many museums of Kosita. Maldanians love to cherish their history; historical plaques decorate every other block, and a museum or exhibit pops up in random pockets of neighborhoods. When we pass a vine-infested archway with a sign reading art museum , I tug on Maia’s arm.
“Look at this!”
Since she loves art, we spend the longest time here. There are exhibits dedicated to each Maldanian deity, and we start with the goddess Maia for obvious reasons. The paintings depict the goddess as blonde with porcelain skin, not at all like my sister, but I wonder why Mom gave this name to her.
My birth mother is the only person I want to ask questions to. Not Beverly, not Dad—only her. Why did she leave her country? Would she truly want us to become princesses? She left. She wanted a different life. Why would I come back to the life she ran from? Neither Maia nor I brought back the scrapbooks that Beverly gave us depicting Ophelia’s life. It’s too much too fast.
Beck stays far behind, near the entrance of each room we enter. The crowd isn’t too big, but it’s still possible to get lost in. When Maia and I wander apart, I toss a glance behind me to check if he’s still there. On one hand, I hope he’s gone. On the other, I’m irritated to see a young woman talking to him. She looks more like the goddess Maia than my sister does, and she finds something hilariously touchable about his arm. But what has jealousy twinging in me isn’t from what she’s doing; it’s from what he does. They stay engaged in conversation and a chuckling smile even breaks across his face.
No, I don’t want a bodyguard.
Yes, I want him gone.
But he’s here. And while he’s here, his attention is supposed to be on me . I use the crowd to slip away to the bathroom. If he’s serious about his job, he’ll leave her to follow me, and I feel deliciously petty because of it.
In the bathroom, I use a damp towel to refresh the sweaty parts of my face before reapplying tinted sunscreen. I’m careful not to ruin the perfect messiness of my bun and wait another few minutes to leave.
Beck leans against a wall ten feet away, his arms crossed. His sunglasses are folded over the neckline of his white dress shirt. “Trying to get rid of me?”
I mimic his pose. “I’m surprised you were able to find me.”
“Surprised?”
“You were rather preoccupied.” I slide sunglasses over my face with a smug grin. “To answer your question, no. That was only a test.”
He’s the type of person who’s good at masking their emotions. Even the smallest bodily movements are calculated. He gives a quirk of his brow and looks away to tell me he’s annoyed. He clears his throat, and my own tightens when his eyes land on mine and he lowers his chin.
How can someone’s eyes be so damn sparkly?
“Did I pass?” he asks.
I square my shoulders, hoping I emanate some form of confidence. I shrug and walk off. “I’m still deciding.”
Maia and I haven’t spoken of the princess thing all day. Even now, the car ride to the hotel is silent. It’s only four p.m., but we need an hour or two of rest before we go out for dinner. The summer heat wiped us out.
“I don’t want Dad to join us tonight,” she blurts.
I inhale. “All right…”
“How could he just keep this from us? And never talk about Mom? We’re just starting our adult lives and making commitments. You have your new job in a couple months and I have my fellowship—the one he helped me apply to.”
I don’t tell her I hate this new job I’m taking. Yes, it’s working with languages, something I love, but it’s an administrative role. I was too scared to be without a job, so I accepted the first offer. But I still have a life plan. Both of us do.
“He did it for himself,” I explain. “He didn’t want to talk about Mom so he waited until the last possible moment and still had someone else tell us.”
Because he’s a coward.
I keep that to myself no matter how badly I want to say it. Maia scoffs, and silent contemplation falls over us. We’ve asked about our birth mother for years. We ached to know more about her, and Dad dropped her entire life on us without warning.
“I wish I remembered her,” I say quietly. I might have remembered her in some form—filled in fractured memories if Dad kept pictures or talked about her. But she was taken from us twice over.
Maia takes my hand. “Forget Dad. This is about us and our mom. Our real mom. Maybe this princess thing can bring us closer to her.”
I snort. “We shouldn’t inherit an entire country just to heal our mommy issues.”
“Then we do what Beverly said.” She breathes in deep. “We enjoy our vacation and see if we fall in love with the country.”
I squeeze her hand with a smile. A summer in Maldana—riding mopeds, eating gelato, and trying not to twist my ankle on cobblestone roads. Regardless of the outcome, this summer is going to change my life. Giddiness blossoms in my chest.