Page 16 of Roaming Holiday

“Anything. We can wander, go shopping, go to museums…”

Maia smiles. “Let’s do all of it. I, for one, want to learn more about this goddess I’m named after.”

We hit the streets to explore.

While my sister dresses in her usual hippie attire, I opt for high-waist denim shorts with a sun embroidered on the back pocket and pair it with a simple white tank top.

Beck and Mason trail us from the hotel, and I’m not sure the best way to handle having bodyguards. I keep wondering if they need to stop to use the bathroom or get something to eat. Maia routinely sneaks a glance back, and I’m seconds away from insisting they walk in step with us. What if I have a wedgie?

Both men are handsome as hell; I can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing. Mason rocks the silver fox look with at least twenty or twenty-five years on me.

Beck is a whole other story.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Stubble. My goddamn weakness. It helps that he’s a man of very few words.

These men we just met match our every footstep, and it makes me painfully aware of all my movements. I shake off that worry and focus on walking through the streets both wide and narrow. The summer heat quickly exhausts us, so we seek a gelato stand for relief. The man behind the counter is impressed with my Maldanian as I order vanilla for myself and lemon for Maia.

“Sto bueni,” he says, thick brows raised. Very good. He’s at least two decades older than me, but I’d give him my number. Needless to say, the men in this country are delightful to look at. His smile fades once I ask Beck and Mason if they want anything. Mason looks like he could be our father, but Beck looks like one of our boyfriends.

Hopefully they don’t ruin every chance at finding a Maldanian distraction from this staggering princess news and my cheating ex.

My sister and I stroll to more souvenir shops. While I distance myself from being an everyday tourist, I can’t help drifting to the trinkets and perusing the jewelry, wallets, and other cheaply made items. When I look at Maia to show her a bracelet, she’s already making googly eyes with a Maldanian man standing with a group of friends.

I scoff at who she deemed worthy of her time. He has a stud earring, a partially shaved eyebrow, a tattoo on his neck, and cigarette in hand. I open my mouth to protest, but Mason shifts into view between us ever so subtly. His movement makes it clear that he’s with us, and the Maldanian’s smile falls as he and his friends walk away. I take a scoop of gelato to hide my laugh. Our bodyguards scared off two men already.

Maia groans loudly, stomps over to him, and throws an arm around his shoulders. “All right. Listen, Mason. I know you’re doing good and protecting me and all, but you’re getting a bit in my way. I’m trying to slut it up this summer. Just a little, though.”

I nearly choke on my gelato. “Maia.”

She has a habit of being a bit too raw; she doesn’t hold back, which is both a blessing and a curse. Mason clears his throat awkwardly before saying, “I’ve no interest in getting… in the way of that, but?—”

“Great!” She pats his arm. Her gaze lands on my bewildered one, and she giggles. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“He had a gang tattoo,” Beck says suddenly, and all attention swings to him. “The ink on his neck was from the Cranéos gang. They’re guilty of dozens of crimes including rape, murder, and assault.”

Maia looks at Mason for confirmation, and he nods. My sister inches closer to him. “Well, that’s good to know.”

Sheesh. Maybe it’s good to have a bodyguard after all.

We continue to stroll and shop for bracelets, shot glasses, men, and mugs. Every crowded street includes women who can’t stop staring at Beck. He has a steady presence even if he says very little and has virtually no facial expressions. Every time I scan my gaze over my shoulder in the following hours, I can spot him in the crowd quickly, his height a dead giveaway. He’s a moving shadow that can’t quite be described as stealthy. He’s being discreet, yet his size and handsome face—even with sunglasses on—garners all attention.

Even though I may not want a bodyguard, I don’t like the scrutiny he gets. He’s not here for them to stare at.

An old man with a bulbous nose plays the accordion on a narrow road we pass through. Souvenir and clothing shops flank us. The street is filled with minimal chatter and soothing tunes from the instrument. Maia takes my hands and twirls our way into a dance, and I tap into a faraway dream of being a ballerina and spin with attempted poise. While giggling, I toss a few euros into the performer’s hat.

“Wait, wait, wait,” my sister blurts, taking out her phone. “This is a cute background. Neen, let me take a picture of you.”

“Of me? Oh, no, no. I’m good.”

It helps that there are few people around, but there’s no way I’m getting my picture taken with Beck and Mason watching. Anxiety stacks inside my stomach. Maia tries to encourage me, but I’m insistent enough I’m almost mean.

“All right, all right, fine,” she mumbles. “Jeez.”

The moment Maia spots a restaurant with a sign showing off that they have vegetarian burgers, she insists we eat there. Our bodyguards sit at the table next to us, and it’s getting harder to ignore them. They sit too close for us to talk about them, but it would feel like I’m being stalked if they sit far away. I don’t know how people function like this.

Most of the day is spent in the many museums of Kosita. Maldanians love to cherish their history; historical plaques decorate every other block, and a museum or exhibit pops up in random pockets of neighborhoods. When we pass a vine-infested archway with a sign reading art museum, I tug on Maia’s arm.

“Look at this!”

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