35. Nina
35
NINA
Wesley has been on the phone for the last ten minutes.
I climb out of the car, unable to take the still heat any longer. The steep hill right over the edge of the railing has patches of green in the dirt. At least it’s not a cliff.
“I don’t fucking care if it’s an old car! Did it even pass inspection?” Wesley snaps, then pauses as the other person talks. “The princess won’t do that…” He sighs and drops his arm by his side, phone in hand. “Do you want a helicopter to come get us?” My wide eyes are enough of an answer; a helicopter is worse. He lifts the phone back to his ear. “The princess says no... We’re still four hours away.”
He looks at me for a long moment before turning his back and speaking quieter. Waiting a couple of hours for another car wouldn’t be the hard part; the sun is nearly at its highest point.
After another ten minutes, Wesley walks toward the car with his phone back in his pocket. “Someone will pick us up and let us stay overnight. Jack will send someone with a new car for us sometime between now and morning.”
I cross my arms. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He ducks back into the car, and I follow suit.
“Who’s picking us up?”
“You’ll see.”
That’s a cryptic answer I’m not okay with. “You expect me to be okay with not knowing where I’ll be sleeping tonight?”
He checks his watch. “You’ll know in about forty-five minutes.”
“What—”
“Nina,” he warns, and I pause at the vulnerability in his eyes. “Trust me… please.”
Forty-five minutes later, a pick-up truck approaches from the opposite direction and pulls a U-turn. By the time the driver gets out of the car, Wesley has our bags ready.
A man at least sixty years old dressed in linen pants and a shirt grins at my bodyguard. He’s at least six inches shorter, forcing Wesley to bend as he hugs him.
Not quite the person I was expecting.
Nonetheless, Wesley speaks to him briefly before putting our bags in the bed of the truck.
When the man looks at me, I attempt a smile. “Ciao.”
“Ciao, madam.” He holds a hand to his heart. “Stari Dimitri.”
“Stari Nina. Cómi stara?”
“Bueni,” he says, giving a raspy little laugh as he opens the passenger door for me. Assuming I’d be sitting in the backseat, I glance at Wesley, who nods in confirmation.
Not long into the ride, Dimitri tosses a look to the backseat before saying, “Tusé fimare? Te niassa comagri.”
Are you hungry? Your grandmother is cooking.
Grandmother. Wesley’s grandmother? I resist turning around and punching him in the arm for not telling me this right away. Why would he hide it?
The short drive leads us down a dirt path where a small house sits. Wind chimes dance and sing in the breeze; potted trees shield the seating area of the porch. Wesley told me he spent childhood summers and Christmases in Kosita and Palfu. Is this where he grew up? I check my location in the app on my phone. Palfu.
Branches spurting green leaves twist around the house, up toward the roof. The tanned face of an old woman pops up in the window framed by brown shutters and a pot of morning glory flowers. She gasps. “Ay! íma cópente! íma cópente! Mi Wesito stara eni!”
I may not be fluent, but I have of the basics down to understand that the woman rushing outside yelled, “Oh! It’s true! It’s true! My Wesito is here! ” Wesito being Wesley. No— Little Wesley.
She’s no taller than five-two, but it doesn’t stop her from yanking Wesley down to her height and peppering his stubbled cheeks with kisses. Despite the pristine bun at the back of her head, I can tell her grey and dark brown hair is both long and thick. She claps her hands together when turning to me, tossing a knowing glance at Wesley.
“Ke sou stara estaf mianna panímorísi?”
And who is this beautiful woman?
My face flushes. “Ciao.”
“Nina, this is my grandmother, Callie. Niassa, estaf ya Nina. Le veni di Amerikí ke le mila no Maldasso.”
I elbow Wesley for telling her I don’t speak Maldanian. “Ay, e pígo.”
“Sto bueni,” Callie says, then adds in a heavy accent, “Nice to meet you.”
I grin as she takes my hand to guide me inside. His grandparents speak little-to-no English and Wesley speaks to them solely in Maldanian. My skills are tested and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Callie gives me a quick tour of the one-level home with maroon tiles throughout.
When she speaks to Wesley and points to the stack of pillows and blankets, I can translate that he’ll sleep on the couch later. The open living room has a step leading to the kitchen and dining area before turning into the hallway toward the two bedrooms, one of which I’ll be sleeping in tonight. Sun-catchers and relics decorate the entirety as if it’s a museum and not a home.
Callie gestures for me to sit at the round kitchen table, and I decipher what she asks Wesley.
“Did you feed the poor girl?”
He sighs, lowering onto a chair beside me. “Niassa… we just work together.”
She shakes her head as she hands me a glass of water and a bowl of strawberries I hadn’t requested, but accept graciously, nonetheless. “No excuse, Wesito. A gentleman does not ignore a struggling woman and you bring me her ! She looks tired and starved!”
I press my fingers to my cheek. Tired and starved? “Oh—stari bueni.”
He gestures to me as if I affirmed his argument. “Verá. Stara bueni. Parafóré, niassa. Niávo gi kest mianna kesmáris en e mondélo.”
See. She’s good. Please, Grandmother. I work with the most stubborn woman in the world.
There’s something riveting about listening to a man speak in another language. Maybe it’s a linguist thing, but I’ve never been more attracted to him.
My phone dings with a text from Maia.
Maia
Are you okay? They told me your car broke down.
I notice my battery on ten percent once I send a response. I excuse myself to charge my phone in the bedroom, jumping when Wesley appears in the doorway.
“You scared me.”
“Is this all right?” he asks, gesturing to the room. “I can tell them that you?—”
I set my phone down. “No, it’s fine,” I insist, lowering my eyes. “I just wish you trusted me enough to tell me from the start.”
“Hey,” he says, stopping me mid-stride with a hand on my waist. “My trust in you is the only reason we’re here. I haven’t seen or spoken to my grandparents in years.”
I blink in surprise. The people out there clearly love him. “How come?” At his hesitation, I add, “Is it… the socializing thing?”
He clears his throat. “Believe it or not, it’s harder with family.”
Wesley is naturally withdrawn, yet I can’t recall him being anxious or awkward whenever we’re together. “Were you… was it ever difficult to talk to me ?”
He gives a bashful smile. “No. Never.”
“Wesley!” Dimitri calls. “Va eni, verá, verá!”
Come here, look, look!
We find him holding up his iPhone, a broad smile hidden by his distinct mustache. On the screen is a pretty brunette with clear blue eyes and a pleasant expression.
Wesley blanches. “Cora?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” she replies sarcastically in English. “The sister you never called back after hanging up on her in the middle of the night because you got a work call.”
He sighs, failing to come up with an excuse as I figure out what work call she means. From his look, I realize it was the night in Antina.
I gasp, covering my mouth. “I think that was my fault.” Dimitri hands me the phone. “I needed his help that night.”
She lifts a brow. “At one o’clock in the morning?”
My face heats. The last thing I need is for Wesley’s sister to think of me as “the booty-call my brother hung up on me for.”
“I was lost,” I hurriedly add. “I was out and—and my phone died so I had to borrow someone else’s to call for help.”
She smiles at my rambling attempt. “You work with Wesley?”
I nod. It’s not how I’d describe our relationship, but the alternative is revealing that I’m the princess. Cora shrugs. “I know by now not to ask questions about the job. I’m Cora, by the way.”
“I’m Nina. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Found ‘em, found ‘em!” a woman in the background cheers, running up the camera while sliding on a pair of glasses.
“This is our mom, Olive. Say hi, Mom.”
Olive lifts her chin as she studies the screen, adjusting to her lenses. “Oh, she’s beautiful.”
Cora snorts. “She can hear you.”
“Sì, panímorísi.” Callie nods and smiles in understanding. “Beautiful.”
“Oh!” Olive quips. “Hi! Sì, Callie. Sto.”
Wesley takes the phone when Cora asks how we ended up here. Callie gestures for me to sit beside her as she peels some apples. Although strict with Wesley and Dimitri, she’s kind and gentle with me. She’s patient as I gather the confidence and stumble out my Maldanian words and tells me that my accent is good. We spend the first half of the evening peeling and chopping and she shows me how to make falafel balls.
My assumption about Wesley growing up here is true; he and Cora reminisce about childhood memories, including Cora streaking through the neighbor’s orchard in the backyard on the night of her twentieth birthday. The conversations switch between the two languages as the phone gets passed from one to the other. There’s laughter and sibling banter and I’ve never seen Wesley smile ear-to-ear before today.
Callie continues talking to Olive over FaceTime and gestures for me to follow. “You come, uh,” she says in a thick accent, pointing to a basket by the back door. “We take the vegetables.”
I slip my shoes on and step into the heat, which is only amplified by the patio’s unshaded tile. The swirling tile designs make a path to the garden on the side of the house. All the while, she chats with Olive in Maldanian.
“Osé?” I ask, motioning to the array of growing vegetables that she might want. Callie has me pick the ones that she can’t easily reach, and hands me the phone so she can do some of it herself.
I expected to see Olive, but Cora smiles back at me. The expression in her bright blue eyes turns heartfelt. “Thank you, Nina.”
“What for?”
“Bringing Wesley back to us.”
Butterflies brush my stomach. “Oh, I don’t think I can take credit for that. It’s only luck that our car broke down.”
“Physically, sure. But I got a real glimpse at the brother I hadn’t seen in a really long time. I have a feeling that you’re part of the reason.”
“I, uh… we just—we just work together.”
She waves off my response. “Whatever the situation, I’m thankful for it.”
“Thankful for what?” Wesley says, coming up behind me and reaching for the phone.
“Seeing your ugly face.”
He places a hand on his heart. “Ouch, and to think you cared.”
So badly I want to shake Wesley and say this is what I wanted . The love he has for his family is genuine—and I got to see that even though I wish his broad smile was because of me.