15. Nina
15
NINA
I want my own moped.
Even riding on the back of one is way better than I imagined—as long as I avoid overthinking the cleanliness of this helmet.
The road Beck drives us through has a perfect view of the sea, the sparkly waters blinding. I unwrap a hand from his waist and let it curve with the wind, but the moped suddenly slows and he snaps at me to hold onto him with both arms. I groan but comply and enjoy the rest of the ride to Moritzi’s while pushing aside the thought of how comfortable I am with my chest pressed against my bodyguard’s back.
There’s way too much on my plate to even consider his attractiveness. I may have spent the last few hours doing anything I wanted, but the reality is that I’m here to accept a title. At least, that’s what my aunt and cousins want. During lunch, they gushed about life as a Maldanian royal—about all the good we could do.
Since I arrived in Maldana, different emotions have been hitting me left and right: excitement, confusion, grief, anger, and fear. Today, I feel tricked. I was tricked into this vacation, lured into a falsehood of relaxation when I truly have to determine the future of myself and a whole country.
The job sounds enticing. I would never have to worry about rent or dinner. I could travel without issue. But at what cost—the taxes of the woman running the fruit stand Beck drives us past? What gives me the right, and what would I do for her in return? Oh, right. I would attend charity auctions and gatherings while wearing a ten-thousand-dollar dress.
“Pull over,” I tell Beck.
He hesitates. “We’re two minutes out.”
“Pull over!”
Panic seizes me. If I decline the crown, I won’t just disappoint my family; I’ll disappoint an entire culture that loves tradition. But accepting it means defying my values.
Beck stops on an emergency shoulder. I rip off the helmet and drop it before walking paces ahead toward the sun. He asks me what’s wrong, but I don’t answer.
New emotion unlocked on this trip: powerless .
No matter what I choose, someone will be hurt. I can’t stop that. I place my hands on my knees to catch my breath. The wind pushes a curl in my face, so I begin twirling my hair into a low bun. I can control having a face clear of loose hair. It’s not enough. I glance over my shoulder at Beck. He studies me through his sunglasses.
I reach for the keys. “I’m driving.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, lifting them from my reach.
“I can drive a stupid moped.”
“I know you can, but I’m not giving you the keys until you take a minute to calm down.”
I flex my fingers and take a deep breath. The easy thing to do is threaten to scream if he doesn’t give me the keys, but that’s not the kind of person I want to be. He hands them over after a few calming moments.
Controlling this vehicle is the most I can do. It’s best to get out of my head and root myself in the present, but the present includes sitting between Beck’s legs and it’s really hard to ignore what I feel pressed against my ass. Rather than hold my waist, he reaches under my arms to grasp the inner part of the handles. I turn my head to secure the helmet clasp until I feel a hand on the back of my head.
“Watch where you’re swinging that thing.”
“Ugh,” I huff, taking it off. “You put it on.”
He leans back. “Absolutely not. You’re wearing it.”
“No, I’m not. If you insist on reaching forward to hold the handles, I’m not wearing the helmet because I’ll knock you out by accident. And as appealing as that sounds…”
His expression doesn’t falter. “Put the helmet back on.”
I push it in his chest. “No.”
“You won’t knock me out.”
“Wanna bet?” I challenge, shifting closer. I quirk my brow. “Pick one, Wesley . Will you hold onto the handles—or me?”
His jaw ticks at my use of his first name. I admit, I like the way his name sounds on my tongue. His eyes bore into mine for another few daring moments before he grumbles, “Put the helmet back on.”
I smirk in triumph before sliding it over my head. The moped sputters as I get the hang of it. When he tries to reach forward and help me steer, I smack his hand away.
“I got it, I got it.”
The moment I turn us back onto the road, the tension inside of me begins slipping away. The wind against my body is like a massage wiping off my worries if only for the time being. Most of all, it’s the safety and comfort building up that calms me. And it’s not from the element of control but from the begrudging bodyguard enclosed around me like a cocoon. His hold on my waist is firm but respectful, making it as hot as if he was full-on grabbing my tits. I selfishly pull a U-turn at Moritzi’s and head back down the hill because I don’t want to move. Beck doesn’t say anything as I drive us toward the city.
Our interaction replays in my mind. I may have only wondered what he looks like naked once or twice, but now the possible image burns in my mind at everything I feel pressed against my ass. I can’t detect the precise size, yet I can tell he’s not lacking anything.
I drive us through an eclectic neighborhood, the homes on the skinny road bursting with color. Yellow, pink, and blue flank us. If only he wasn’t a buzzkill, I would have the helmet off and the wind blowing through my curls. The breeze would bring unruly frizz, but it’d be worth it. Cracks and vines crawl up centuries-old buildings, their iron balconies exploding with colorful flowers and greenery.
After checking the rearview mirror, I jerk the moped to the right to stop in front of a gelato stand.
“Karító,” Beck curses— shit in Maldanian—while the moped skids to a halt. My stomach lurches as his grip around my waist tightens, the momentum shoving him into me. I would’ve flown from the seat if not for his hold. Shivers run down my spine at the feel of his chest against my back.
“A new gelato place!” I exclaim, peeking at him through the sun visor.
He glares, then shows me his watch. “Ten minutes and then we have to return the bike.”
Days later, I hear Maia’s muffled voice as she approaches my room. I unravel my nightly braids and eavesdrop on her talking to Beck.
“Good morning, Beck!” she exclaims.
“Madam.”
“I have a question.”
“What is it?”
I roll my eyes at his monotone, almost curt, answers. It sounds… fake—and I realize he speaks that way to everyone but me. When we’re alone, at least.
“Are you like a cop?” Maia blurts.
“No, I’m not.”
“So… if you see us committing a crime, would you arrest us? Turn us in?”
“Depends on the crime I suppose.”
The absurdity of her questions has me opening the door. “Maia, why are you talking about committing crimes before I’ve had coffee?”
My sister grins ear-to-ear and holds up a bag of green clumps— weed . “Because I got the good-good.”
Excitement fills me. After the stressful week I’ve had, that’s exactly what I need. “Oh, hell yeah.”
I pull her inside and notice something different about Beck. I lift my brows. “You shaved.”
He shaved his scruff to stubble, and while I still wouldn’t mind sitting on his face, his scruff was my favorite part.
“I did,” he says simply, and I hum with a pout before slinking back into my room. My grogginess got the best of me, and my manners slipped; what he does to his own face is none of my business.
Ten minutes later, a joint is rolled and Maia and I are on my balcony passing it back and forth. Since we’re the only hotel guests, I’m not worried about the smell disturbing anyone. She told me the marijuana is a complement from our cousins Vanessa and Jace.
I take a puff. “Is it even legal here?”
Maia lazily tilts her head toward me, the morning sun illuminating her brown skin. Her cheeks sparkle with beads of sweat. “Not in this quantity. She told me we have princess privilege here.”
“Is that really a thing?”
She giggles. “No.”
My and my sister’s legs are draped across each other’s laps, our hands entwined.
“I needed this,” I mutter with a sigh. The sun blinds me, so I close my eyes and revel in the heat against my face.
“You did,” she agrees. “I did, too.”
I call for Beck to let the room service in, and the hotel employee rolls the cart right onto the balcony. Once I hand over the tip, I wait until we’re completely alone to talk about our new family. It’s eight in the morning and my parents are at the spa.
“Do you think she’s full of shit? Aunt Bev.”
We haven’t spoken much about the lunch. Ruby took us to get mani-pedis the next day before a little shopping and wandering.
Maia sighs and squeezes my hand. “I don’t know. It feels fake. All this formality makes it feel less authentic. It’s tough to make a connection.”
I chuckle. “Roman’s trying real hard for your attention, though.”
She snorts. “I know. I liked his boldness at first but he quickly turned into a pathetic waste of a trust fund.”
I bark out a laugh as my sister takes a puff and passes it back to me. With the joint between my lips, I sit up straight and flip my curls from one side to the other. “She sent over those scrapbooks and the letter Mom sent her.”
“You asked her to?”
I shrug. “I just really want to know more about Mom.”
Maia presses a button on the wall that pushes an awning over the balcony. The sweltering sun no longer beats down on us. “Me, too. Does that mean you want to accept the crown?”
“Do you want to?”
She hesitates. “I think… we can make history.”
“We shouldn’t accept it just for that.”
“Of course, but… I don’t know—I’m torn about it. It would be so much easier if it wasn’t sprung on us. We’re not the only ones who want change, but we are the only daughters of Queen Ophelia. That has to count.”
“We resent people who believe they’re important because of their parents.”
“Then we show the world that we’re not like that.”
I laugh. “Coming from the girl who never gives a single fuck what others think of her.”
“Just… before we give an answer, I think we should consider what this could do for us . How will this improve our lives—and how can we navigate it without compromising our morals?”
I stare at my sister for a long moment. Her long curls spill down her chest and her once round and soft face has a bit more edge and maturity. Pride swells inside me. She’s no longer an impulsive teen, but a thoughtful twenty-one-year-old. “You’ve grown so much, Maia. I’m proud of you.”
She looks away shyly. “I learned from the best.”
Maia and I chat for the remainder of the morning, and she mentions a club that Vanessa told her about. My sister loves a good party, and I’m ridden with guilt every time I turn down her offer. This is no different. She tells me constantly that I need to live it up in a foreign country, gain experiences, be wild, but I don’t imagine a nightclub as part of it. The more she presses, the more I deny it, and the more I feel shitty for letting her down.
Ruby and Dad stop by after the spa, but it’s nothing more than a surface conversation and telling us that they’re taking a trip to southern Maldana for a few days. I hate hurting him with every curt reply, but I could’ve had years to think this princess thing over. Instead, I have three months.
He’s not the only one with grief; I grieved the part of my dad that didn’t show up every day.
As the time inches closer to noon, we change into bathing suits to head to the beach. The thought of Beck being there makes me regret bringing a one-piece, even if it rides high over my hip bones and has a low V-neck.
I stop in front of the mirror, my gaze dipping down to my ass as I pinch the extra skin. A lot of people expect tall girls to be stick-thin the way my sister is, but having hips and height means I take up more space than I want to. I’ve spent years making myself smaller, stopping only out of exhaustion, not desire. Low-waist bikinis make the bone structure of my hips look wider than I want them to, and high-waist bikinis or one-pieces are the only swimsuits I feel comfortable in.
I huff, sliding on my cover-up. This is as good as it gets.