33. Nina
33
NINA
The five of us wander through the farmer’s market, the branches of the trees to my right twisting above me to provide much-desired shade.
My fingers brush the overhang of leaves. The sea lies on the other side of the buildings and all the way from here, I can hear the waves lapping against the rocks.
I glance behind me to see Wesley fifty feet away. He nods once. I chuckle at his seriousness. We’ve barely spoken since the night I sneaked out. My face heats in embarrassment when I remember my pettiness toward him. I’m not entirely sure how to act around him anymore since I all but admitted how jealous I was. I hate that I get so territorial when it comes to him.
Over the past week, I became increasingly frustrated with myself for craving him in the first place and irritated when he doesn’t make a move. I keep replaying what he told me, and butterflies tickle my stomach at the nickname “angel.” That has to mean something . He first said it at the introductory dinner, and memories of that night flash in my mind—of his fury toward my attacker, of his softness toward me. He was off-kilter and as vulnerable as I was.
I approach a fruit stand, my touch drifting over the lemons in the wicker basket. Anxiety flutters in my stomach when the old woman who owns the stand smiles at me. I wipe my sweaty hands on my shorts. This is it—another chance to feel like a local. That is, if she doesn’t spot me as a tourist from the get like Sebastian did.
“Ciao, buenimara,” I try and say as naturally as possible.
“Buenimara,” she says, her gaze lingering on me before she adds, “Sto panímorísi.”
Very beautiful. My eyes widen. “Oh! Gracea mucho.”
She outstretches her palm, and I gladly place my hand in hers. Maia holds up a pineapple to hide her chuckle and I spot Wesley in the corner of my eye.
“Tu milla, tu pielli. Tu stara sto panímorísi. Sto, sto, sto,” the woman says. I’m no stranger to old people marveling over my skin and hair when they’re feeling bold. It’s almost objectifying, but affirmations from the elderly always boost my confidence. I thank her profusely before slipping off with my sister to avoid more prodding.
With our arms linked, I lean my head on her shoulder and inhale her flowery scent. Maia is the one part of the summer that hasn’t wavered.
She senses my increased affection and tightens her arm around mine. “Love you.”
With a full heart, I say, “I know. Love you, too.”
It’s been weeks since we last discussed taking the crown. Wesley is the only person who knows about what my attacker said to me in Maldanian, although I’m sure he’s told Jack about it by now.
Once we return to the house, I fall behind so everyone goes inside first. Wesley and Mason enter the courtyard next, and my bodyguard notices my lingering.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I knot my hands behind my back, not trusting myself to refrain from touching him.
“Listen,” he says, lifting his deep-set eyes to mine, and I lock my knees before they buckle. “I… I shouldn’t have yelled at you the other night. I’m sorry.”
I blink in surprise. “Oh—I was… I’m here to apologize to you .”
“For what?”
“Everything. I—I know you were just trying to protect me.”
He offers a small smile as if amused. “Good.”
Wesley was violent the night of my attack and doesn’t regret putting my attacker in the hospital with brain damage. I don’t blame or hate him for anything that happened; he had been my only safe place, but violence doesn’t suit him, and he said he’s thought of at least a hundred ways to kill a man.
“I-I don’t want you to think of any more ways to kill him,” I insist, and it’s Wesley’s turn to blink in surprise. “Don’t let him take your peace away.”
The corner of his lips quirks. His shoulders ease. “Only if you don’t let him take yours.”
“That’s impossible.” I attempt a small, bashful smile. I untie my hands to poke his shoulder. “Mine is a six-two man of steel who pretends he doesn’t have a heart made of gold.”
“I’m six-three.”
I roll my eyes. “Point still stands. You might know how to fight, but violence isn’t your nature. That’s not the man I—” I cut myself off, heart pounding. “That’s not the man I know.”
I head into my room to find Maia and Vanessa sitting on my bed.
“Is there a reason for…” I gesture to them. At least they’re not under the comforter in their outside clothes.
“We were waiting for you while you flirted with Beck.”
My eyes widen. “I wasn’t flirting.”
My sister and cousin exchange looks, and Maia puts her hands behind her back and starts batting her eyelashes. Then she pokes Vanessa’s shoulder.
“I hate you,” I groan, my face heating as I flop between the two of them. I fall back on the bed, and they follow suit. “Why are you guys in here?”
“Your room had the better view for spying,” my sister says.
I hum in response. The three of us stay quiet, and I revel in being able to do that with them. Since the attack, comfortable silence has been nonexistent. I could always feel someone scrounging up the courage to ask me something— anything . But I’m tired of thinking about the incident, tired of dealing with it, and tired of being tired. What happens next?
“I’m scared to become princess,” I admit.
Vanessa puffs out a laugh. “You already are one. Both of you.”
“What do you mean?” Maia asks.
“Even if you don’t work for the institution, you’ll still be princesses. It’s a birthright.”
My sister lifts her head. “Do I still get royal treatment?”
Vanessa laughs. “No, the treatment comes with the job.”
“What’s it like?” I ask. “The job.”
We’re a week away from August. The Sunday of summer. And I’m still conflicted about accepting the crown despite the amount of normalcy it already feels. I’m already making plans, but I’m terrified.
“It’s different for me and Jace. I’ve lived as much of a normal life as I could as a princess. I grew up outside of the city, raised mostly by my dad, had normal teen problems. Pimples. Girls.”
“Yeah, but, in a mansion, right?” my sister presses.
“Maia,” I chide.
“I’m kidding.”
“No, in a cottage,” Vanessa says dreamily. “I have chickens there.”
Maia sits up at that, a scandalous hand to her chest. “You have pet chickens and you never told me? I’m hurt.”
I shake my head, refusing to get sidetracked. I stare at the ceiling. “I don’t want to become another privileged socialite who worries about doing enough public charity work to save my reputation.”
“Well, that’s specific.”
Vanessa nods. “I understand.”
The more time I spend in this country, the more I feel like Ophelia’s daughter. “I think Mom would want us to be here.”
“ You’re the one who said we shouldn’t inherit a country because of our mommy issues.” She lies back down, propping on her elbow. “We’re the type who talk about dismantling a system, not joining it.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan. “If only we could just do both .”
Maia chuckles and says, “If only.”
But I hesitate.
What if we can do both?
“Wait,” I whisper, sitting up in anticipation. “Let’s do that.”
“Do what?” Maia asks.
“Both!” I spin around to face them, sitting back on my heels. “Let’s join the institution to take it apart!”
Vanessa matches my sister’s position, propping onto her elbow.
“They wouldn’t let us do that,” Maia says.
“Think about it. The Court is fighting for us because they want to change the fact that over half the country wants to get rid of the monarch system. But Maldanians love their tradition and history, so what if the crown ends with us and we spend our careers making sure the institution is getting a proper close?”
My sister tilts her head, her big mandala earrings swishing forward before disappearing into her curls. “Nina, that’s crazy.”
“A lot of people would lose their jobs,” Vanessa argues.
“Someone tried to kill me,” I say, shutting them up. “He was part of a group called Lo Revínastí and even though they’re violent criminals, they fight for what most Maldanians want. Who knows if it’ll become the next French Revolution? If I accept the crown, they’ll be a constant threat. To save jobs, we can—we’ll have openings by turning different properties into museums. Even a hotel! Do you know how much tourist revenue that would make?”
After a long, considering moment, Vanessa says, “I… I think that’s a great idea.”
“And the housing!” I exclaim. “We could either redirect funds or sell items to help build more homes and pay contractors to make the current ones safer.”
Maia snatches my arm as an idea pops into her head. “We could use sustainable materials, too!”
“I—sure!” I don’t know what sustainable building materials are, but she’s excited about it, so it must be great. With each passing moment, we come up with more ideas about what we could do.
We did it. We found a solution.
Since learning that my attacker was with a militia, the security team wants to move Maia and me into the royal palace until further notice once we return to Kosita.
“What a bummer ,” Maia had said.
We stayed another few days in Antina before taking a three-hour car ride back to the city. I step into my room, ready to pack, and find Dad sitting on the couch twiddling his thumbs.
“Hi,” he says.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Hi.”
“How was the trip?”
“Nice. Very pretty.” I drop my duffle on the foot bench before taking my suitcase out of the closet.
“It’s time we talk,” Dad says. “This is getting a little ridiculous.”
“Then talk.” I should’ve known this was coming.
He rises, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his linen pants. “Are you really angry with me for not telling you about your lineage?”
“Mad doesn’t come close.” I plop the suitcase on the bed and zip it open. I hadn’t expected to be riled up so quickly. “You did more than not tell me. You did more than hide my mother’s title. You hid her entirely.”
“I was doing what she wanted.”
“Really? She wanted to be completely erased from her daughters’ childhoods?”
He scoffs. “I was a new widow with two infants! I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“That much was clear,” I retort, opening the drawers and throwing fistfuls of clothes into the suitcase.
“Excuse me?” Dad narrows his eyes, watching me carefully because we both know that, before this trip, our arguments were limited to his drinking.
“I have always had inconceivable expectations put on me. You wanted me to be the best, but I didn’t know how to be myself. All I knew was how to be the girl you raised me to be.”
He blanches. “And what’s wrong with that girl?”
“ She’s tired, Dad! I am so conditioned to have everything done for everyone no matter how it might impact me.”
He wags a finger. “We all had parts to play in keeping our household running.”
I’m grateful that Ruby inspired and helped Dad clean up his act. It hurts that Maia and I weren’t enough motivation, but my stepmom relieved the pressure for me. Ruby’s presence created a rift, and since I was no longer the matriarch of the household, it was like Dad and I had nothing in common anymore.
It was like my skill as his caretaker determined my worth as a daughter, and I was no longer useful.
“No,” I insist. “ Your part was running away and emotionally abandoning your daughters and leaving me to pick up?—”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” he snaps, voice echoing through my room. “Crown or not I am still your father and I will be treated with respect! Not everything is about you!”
“YES IT IS,” I scream, and he flinches from my outburst because he expected me to cower. “I finally realized that I am the most important person in my life and you taught me how to take care of everyone but myself, and”—with a sigh, the tears break free at last—“now you expect me to take care of a country.”
Dad stares at me, shaking his head. “You’re using words you don’t fully understand. I did not emotionally abandon you girls.”
“You treated us like burdens,” I seethe, my face heating. “We never did anything as a family until you met Ruby and even then—you didn’t even care what we did!”
“Like when? Give me an example.”
I throw my hands in the air. Every time we argue or have a confrontation, he wants multiple thorough examples to prove my point. Even then, he has excuses to debunk all of it.
“Fine. When I was sixteen, the four of us went to a water park and you told me and Maia to leave you and Ruby alone until we left.” I start counting the incidents on my fingers. “You never came to our volleyball games. You never—made us school lunches, went to parent-teacher nights, picked us up from practice. I raised myself and Maia. Because of what? You were doing what Mom wanted? You were grieving? I didn’t lose one parent from that car accident. I lost two.”
He’s at a loss for words, mouth agape. I only now realize that my door is still open and everyone and their mother probably heard the argument, including Wesley.
Dad’s voice is gentle, quiet. “I… I’m sorry you think that.”
I’m sorry you think that?
A new wave of fury takes me. “Get out.”
“What?”
I grab one of the many pillows on my bed and throw it at him. “GET OUT!” I grab another and throw it. And another. And another. My eyes and face burn with tears. “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!”