29. Nina
29
NINA
Yesterday morning, I woke up wanting Wesley near me.
Today, I avoid him.
I’m surprised at how frustrated and almost agitated I am with him. I have no right to be upset that he flirted with a baker yesterday, but the lingering sense of betrayal still scratches me raw. Perhaps it was the stinging realization that he’s just my bodyguard, not my friend and definitely not my boyfriend. He keeps me safe and fends off overstepping men. Why would he socialize with me or my family? It makes more sense that he would chat up a cute baker.
Maia and I want to spend the day at the house, and Vanessa happily agrees. It’s relaxing whenever Roman isn’t trying to blast music or doing cannonballs into the pool. Around noon, someone walks through the back gate with a package for Vanessa. She passes it right to me.
“What’s this?”
She blushes and gestures to her midriff. “I, um, it gets hot in that swimsuit, no?”
I glance down at my black one-piece. “Yeah, but it’s the only one I brought.”
“I asked Greta to pick out a few. She used your measurements, so they should fit. They are for you to keep.”
Maia pouts in awe. “That’s so stinkin’ cute and thoughtful.”
I lean across the lounge chair to hug Vanessa, holding back tears at the idea of being considered and cared for. Anyone going out of their way for me never fails to make me emotional.
“Gracea mucho,” I whisper. “This means a lot.”
I slip upstairs to change. In the elegantly wrapped box are three triangle bikinis, one pink with flowers, one solid blue, and one crocheted red. I select the pink one and tie on the top piece, instantly feeling more confident from the way it accentuates my boobs. But when I slide on the bottoms, I have to resist putting my one-piece back on. It’s low on my hips, making my bone structure look wider. If only they were high-waisted. Tall girls are supposed to be dainty; I could knock someone out with my hips.
I blink back tears again. Stop. This was a gift, and I’ll look like an asshole if I don’t wear it. But as soon as I return to the backyard, Maia whistles.
“Goddamn, Neen!” she screeches. “Titties and ass, hello!”
I clamp my arms over my chest. “Ugh, please stop.”
Vanessa laughs. “It looks good!”
“Ugh, I’m so jealous of your ass,” Maia says.
I scoff as I lower onto my lounge chair. “No, you’re not.”
“ I am,” Vanessa pipes. “I have no curves.”
“And I’m scrawny,” my sister adds. “No one takes scrawny women seriously.”
As much as I hate to hear them talk so poorly about themselves, I’m comforted in knowing I’m not the only one with insecurities. When I recline and check my phone, I open a text from Dad.
Dad
How are you feeling?
Fine. Just tired.
His reply is instant.
Dad
What are you girls doing today?
Relaxing by the pool. Yesterday wiped us out.
Dad
That sounds nice.
I lock my phone, unable to take any more of this dry conversation. The chef brings us fresh hummus, pita, and spanakopita, and I thank him profusely. I can live off these three foods for the rest of my life with no issue. With my sheer cover-up tied around my hips, I head into the kitchen for more water.
My stomach clenches at the sight of Wesley at the kitchen island, hunched over a laptop. I focus on getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator, reminding me that I would want to help make the faucet water cleaner if I become princess.
“That’s a new bathing suit,” Wesley says.
Butterflies tickle my stomach; I force them down and dryly respond, “Vanessa got it for me.”
Awkward silence passes between us for the first time. When I start to leave the kitchen, he asks, “What’s with the attitude?”
I stop in the doorway, rolling my eyes before facing him. “I don’t have an attitude.”
“You’re pissed about something.”
“Nope.”
“Just—cut the bullshit and tell me.”
“I’m not pissed!” I snap. He really knows how to charm a lady.
“Then what are you?”
I slump my shoulders and toss my head back. Pick one.
Sexually frustrated.
Angry.
Afraid.
Confused.
Completely falling for you.
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m—nothing, Wes.”
Part of me feels stupid for considering anything more with him. Maia would roll her eyes. Dad would probably ignore me. Raven would more than likely be intimidated by Wesley.
It’s unprofessional. The Higher Court expects grace from me, similar to my mother.
And I’m lusting after my bodyguard.
That night, I toss and turn. The mattress puffs around me like a cloud, but not even the world’s most comfortable bed puts me to sleep. I was exhausted enough yesterday that I didn’t have a chance to overthink myself awake.
I cycle through the stressors of Dad, the crown, the attack, and Wesley. The ache in my throat has almost healed and the redness in my eyes has faded. The crowds in town stressed me out yesterday; having Wesley around helped, even if I’m a little agitated with him for no good reason.
Every time I start to fall asleep, I startle at the vulnerability of letting my guard down. I keep seeing the hatred in his eyes and hearing the venom in his words.
“We don’t want you here. Death to the monarch. Vi ponte lo revínastí.”
The words hit me like bullets.
Vi ponte lo revínastí.
I sit up in bed, my heart racing. The moonlight streams through the white curtains shielding the French doors. Why am I just remembering this? How?
Vi is live. Ponte is long. Revínastí is revolution.
Long live the revolution.
“ We don’t want you here. Death to the monarch. Long live the revolution.”
I snatch my phone from the nightstand and search the terms in Google, adding Maldana monarchy to the end. Then I come across the group name Lo Revínastí , The Revolution. How original. Some of their methods are near anarchy, but their intent is clear.
There’s a housing crisis in Maldana and inflation is harming the economy and citizens. Tourism is booming and helps the country, but not actual Maldanians. The group notes that Maldana’s royalty is a decrepit system that doesn’t contribute to society. I fail to see the correlation between the monarch and the crises until I look at the balcony in my room, the statue on my nightstand, and consider the boat we took to come here. The monarch may not have started these issues, but it could be doing more. The group doesn’t believe the monarch needs to exist at all.
Would it be selfish if I became a princess despite this?
Some news articles compare Lo Revínastí to the French Revolution, which didn’t end well for Marie Antionette and many other royals. Dread plunges straight into my stomach. I drop my phone, hands shaking, and jump out of bed. After what I read, there’s no way I can get any sleep. I slide on blue jeans and a long-sleeved dress shirt.
The past two days have been lovely. Vanessa put a lot of effort into making me feel better and more comfortable, but I still notice the eggshells scattered around me. No one knows who I am in Antina. They don’t know what happened and won’t treat me differently. It’s not quite my goal to meet other people tonight; I want to witness what they’re like in the dead of night, when the darkness shelters possibilities both good and bad.
My phone is at thirty percent, but I don’t plan to be out for long or scrolling through apps. I take note of wherever I pass, even placing a large rock in the middle of the path as a marker. I revel in the tranquility of the night and occasional purring of a cat.
The houses have a lot of charm but also cracks and sagging roofs. As the princess, I can redirect funds into rectifying this. How hard would that be? Does the Higher Court plan on turning me into a puppet for show-and-tell? Other than the conversations about the monarch’s functions during the hors d’oeuvres at the introductory dinner, the night was about their plans for me, not with me.
I check the map on my phone to head toward the downtown area, only to notice my battery at ten percent.
“What the fuck?” I harshly whisper. Stupid foreign data eating at my phone battery. If I remembered that pesky fact, I wouldn’t have ventured so far from the house. When I plug in the address on the GPS, the screen goes black, and the torturous loading wheel spins before shutting down completely.
Oh, shit.
Fear begins to stack inside me, but I knock it down and scan the area. Don’t panic. No one here knows I’m a princess. I retrace my steps, halting at the sight of a demolished house. I definitely did not pass that before.
Phone, dead.
Sense of direction, gone.
I look up at the stars and moon, suddenly resenting myself for quitting girl scouts. My next option is to find help. It’s a good thing Wesley made me memorize his number—all I need is a phone. The neighborhood is asleep for the most part, but I follow the sounds of laughter and light music, going down a path I know is farther from the house.
Slight relief ignites in my chest at the lively street. A bar is still open, and there’s a café half-open. The small family who appears to own the place is sitting in their outdoor dining area. I’m surprised to see two elderly people awake at this hour, but the man softly plays the accordion and the woman funnels treats to the bulldog at her feet. A middle-aged man is hunched over a notebook and a stack of receipts.
“Ciao,” I say, pulling out my best smile and tucking a curl behind my ear. “Siporí caporer a tu parné?”
The woman grins and gestures to the dog. “Sì, tofalimente, tofalimente!”
“Gracea mucho.” I lower to pet the eager bulldog. “Ciao, panímorísi.”
I glance up to find the man’s eyes on me. Please don’t be creepy. Please don’t be creepy. He nods politely and asks, “Cómi stara?”
“Stari sto bueni. Ke tu?”
“Bueni. You are American?”
I chuckle. “Is it obvious?”
“We do not get many tourists in this part of town.”
“I came to the right place, then. My name is Nina.”
He holds a hand to his chest. “I am Sebastian, this is my niassa Eleni, and our neighbor Philip. He does not speak any English.”
I reply in Maldanian. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Please, sit,” Eleni, Sebastian’s grandmother, says, pointing to one of the chairs, which I graciously accept. The bulldog curls up by my ankles and I reach down to scratch behind his ear.
“Is it your first time Maldana?” Sebastian asks in English, his accent heavy. I quickly rake my eyes over his lanky frame and his thin, long face.
“Uh, yes, it is,” I stammer, and the four of us carry small talk for a bit. I keep my replies in as much Maldanian as I know for Philip. He smiles every time I speak. We chat about tourists and the way some of them behave. Sebastian talks about Antina’s corrupt governor being why the streets are not being fixed.
“The government no help us.” Eleni waves him off. “We help each other.”
“Do you like living in Maldana?” I ask her.
She repeats my question with a laugh. She ponders for a moment. “It’s all I know. Do I have a choice?” She notes my confused look and continues, using many hand gestures as she speaks. “I live here all my life. I work, I sleep, I raise family—uh, in Antina only.” She pauses to find the English words. “I ask my husband—before he die—if he want to move to new city or country. He say we cannot afford it. I think he want to stay.”
“He didn’t want to leave?”
“No,” she says fiercely. “He love Antina, but it get, uh. It get… Sebastian—” She then speaks quick Maldanian to her grandson, asking for the right word.
“Crowded,” he offers.
“Yes, crowded.”
“Antina is getting crowded?” I clarify.
She nods, but Sebastian answers. “All of Maldana is. We have a small population, but we are growing and don’t have enough places to live. The prices go up and people who live here for many years, like my grandmother, cannot afford her own home anymore.”
“That must be difficult. I’m sorry.”
Eleni laughs again. “They can’t take me from my home. I will have to die.”
“Niassa,” he drawls, and I hold back a smile at her ardor.
“I have another question,” I say. “The royal family, do you like them?”
She considers my words, then shrugs as she flicks her wrist as if to show her lack of care. “I don’t care for them, they don’t care for me.”
Sebastian looks at me, capping his pen. “Why do you ask?”
The likelihood of him guessing my reasoning is almost nonexistent. I look nothing like my fully European family members. “I’m curious.”
“They don’t do much. Nothing to like or dislike.”
“What about other Maldanians?”
“The same, I suppose. My little cousins used to love them. They are more liked by the children. Adults are too busy working to care.”
Eleni nods in agreement.
“Now it is our turn to ask a question,” Sebastian says, pressing an elbow onto the table. “You say you love it here; what is your favorite part?”
If not for his grandmother and neighbor as witnesses, I might be apprehensive about him, but he hasn’t asked personal questions or called me any nicknames like baby or beautiful.
At first, I almost say the food is the best part, as it always tastes fresh and flavorful. Next, I want to say the views. The medieval architecture and ocean sights are otherworldly. But I could also say the people; everyone in Maldana is welcoming, and it’s strong enough to overpower what my attacker said to me. The weight of comfort I find here hits me all at once.
I never want to leave.
“Everything,” I admit. “Picking one thing is impossible.”
Eleni rears back with a hearty laugh, clapping her hands together. The bulldog hops up at the commotion. “Lo tósché Maldasso.”
I echo the words in question. Sebastian bows his head, hands pressed together as if in prayer. “It means The Maldanian Touch, and that we have done right by you.”
I grin. “I haven’t heard of that, but I believe it.”
“Are you here with family?” Eleni asks in Maldanian, surveying the area as if someone might be searching for me. “It’s not safe to be alone.”
“I’m—I’m actually lost. My phone is dead.” My face heats and I glance down, slightly embarrassed to admit it.
“You need to call someone?” Sebastian asks.
“Unless you have an iPhone charger?”
“Oh, no.” He holds up his phone. “We have the Android. But if you need to call someone…”
I release a breath. “Thank you so much.”
As I dial the number, it dawns on me that Wesley is not going to be happy.