25. Nina
25
NINA
It takes a lot longer for us to prepare for the trip because of protocols.
Vanessa sends my sister and me a group text explaining the preparations that need to be made to ensure our safety and that we’ll be picked for another two hours . Yay for being princess.
In the meantime, I get dressed and put makeup on. As I apply eyeliner, I spot Maia through the mirror as she plops onto the divan. She opens the same photo album we’ve gone through a dozen times since Aunt Beverly gave it to us.
“All this security stuff is annoying,” she whines. “With Mason, it’s like having a dad around all the time.” I chuckle at the memory of her bodyguard chasing off that boy on our first day. “Don’t do this, that’s dangerous, don’t swim too far,” she mocks, lazily flipping through pages. “At least yours doesn’t talk and is boring as hell.”
I stop my eyeliner mid-brush as a knot of agitation flies up my core. “Wesley isn’t boring!” I shut an eyeshadow palette and toss it into my bag with a clank . My sister’s jab at him shows me the impact he has on my day. “He’s just… calm .” I re-dip my eyeliner brush. With a sigh, I add, “The only calm part of this trip.”
I have no idea what the future would look like if I accepted the crown. But if I don’t, I wouldn’t see Wesley anymore. And the thought of that slices my chest with dread. I shouldn’t become queen just to see him more, although it’s certainly a perk.
When I finish my eye makeup, I spot precisely what Maia’s wearing through the mirror. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”
She glances at her chest. “I’m not.”
“You are. I got it at the mall with Raven.”
“But it’s not your shirt.”
“Yes it is!” I insist, walking out of the bathroom and putting my makeup bag into my duffle. I remember picking the red shirt instead of the lavender and how I would only wear it when I was feeling particularly saucy because it was the one revealing shirt I have. And Maia’s B-cups don’t fill it the way my D-cups do.
“I’ve literally had this for months so it’s not like you were missing it.”
“So you admit that it’s mine.”
“What does it matter? You don’t wear it!”
“It matters ‘cause it’s mine.”
“Oh, my god. It’s not a big deal!” she wails, getting to her feet. The shirt looks good on her, can’t deny, but I’d rather die than tell her that.
“How about you don’t take my shit?”
“How about you get over it?”
“How about you grow the fuck up?”
“I don’t have to—you act old enough for the both of us.”
“Because nothing would ever get done!” I screech, wanting to throttle her for the childish way she said I don’t have to .
“No one told you to act like my mom!”
“You’re so—” I clench my fists with an annoyed groan. The number of times her crying ass came to me with her homework or over another boy she liked! I push out a sigh. There’s one focus here, so I hold out my hand. “Give me my shirt back.”
“No,” she quips. “It looks cuter on me.”
Fuck this. I’m not her mom. Which means I can hit her.
I lunge to wrap my arm around her neck, slapping aside her raised hands. As I haul her to the ground, I shout, “You don’t even have the boobs to fill it out!”
“What the—” Maia stammers, struggling to get off her back. She might be an inch taller than me, but she’s also a twig. “You’re psychotic!”
“I want my shirt back!”
She tries to shove her knees between us and I push them away and reach for the shirt zipper on her back. She squirms away. “Too bad!”
When she slices me with her unreasonably sharp nails, drawing blood, I slap her in the face. “Don’t scratch me, you little bitch!”
“Get the fuck off—” She groans in frustration. “Nina!”
“All right, enough!” Wesley snaps, hooking an arm around my waist and lifting me off my little sister.
Mason intercepts Maia from hopping up and lunging at me. As her bodyguard pulls her away, I notice she’s slipped off her sandal and raised her arm to either throw or hit.
“Drop it,” Mason demands, loosely holding her wrist. At her silence, he adds, “Maia.”
The sandal drops to the floor with a thud.
“Good girl,” I taunt. “Now speak .”
Mason stops her from lunging again. As he ushers her into the hallway, Maia points at me and says, “Don’t act like I won’t bite you.”
I crinkle my nose at her.
She held back. We’ve been in enough brawls for me to know her dirtiest moves; she could’ve landed a punch or another skin-splitting scratch. She may have been comfortable enough arguing with me, but she went easy physically.
Wesley sighs. “Why are you fighting her? She’s your sister.”
“Oh, please.” I level a judgmental stare at him. He has no idea what sisters are like. I hold up my bloody forearm. “This is nothing.”
He sighs and examines the wound. “Easy fix. Come on.”
Without waiting, he walks into my bathroom and takes out a first aid kit. Instead of asking why he knew where that was, I say, “I can do it myself.”
“I know.”
I rinse my arm in the sink and dry the wound. Wesley tries to use the antiseptic wipe on me, but I smack his hand away and do it myself.
“I don’t need a babysitter to clean a scratch.”
He grits his teeth and fishes out a Band-Aid, holding it up between his two fingers. I take it without looking at him.
“Your Highness,” Mason says as he urges my sister ahead. “Princess Maia has something to say to you.”
“No I don’t.”
Mason glares. It’s the most expressive I’ve seen him.
“I’m sorry I stole your shirt,” Maia drawls, “and that I said it looks cuter on me. Even if it does.”
I chuckle. My anger dissipated the moment Wesley pulled me off her. I mostly want to thank my sister for not walking on eggshells around me.
“I’m sorry I said you don’t have the boobs to fill it out. Even if you don’t.”
She pulls me into a hug. We break out into laughter when Mason says, “I’m so grateful I was an only child.”