Page 17 of Roaming Holiday

Since she loves art, we spend the longest time here. There are exhibits dedicated to each Maldanian deity, and we start with the goddess Maia for obvious reasons. The paintings depict the goddess as blonde with porcelain skin, not at all like my sister, but I wonder why Mom gave this name to her.

My birth mother is the only person I want to ask questions to. Not Beverly, not Dad—only her. Why did she leave her country? Would she truly want us to become princesses? She left. She wanted a different life. Why would I come back to the life she ran from? Neither Maia nor I brought back the scrapbooks that Beverly gave us depicting Ophelia’s life. It’s too much too fast.

Beck stays far behind, near the entrance of each room we enter. The crowd isn’t too big, but it’s still possible to get lost in. When Maia and I wander apart, I toss a glance behind me to check if he’s still there. On one hand, I hope he’s gone. On the other, I’m irritated to see a young woman talking to him. She looks more like the goddess Maia than my sister does, and she finds something hilariously touchable about his arm. But what has jealousy twinging in me isn’t from what she’s doing; it’s from what he does. They stay engaged in conversation and a chuckling smile even breaks across his face.

No, I don’t want a bodyguard.

Yes, I want him gone.

But he’s here. And while he’s here, his attention is supposed to be on me. I use the crowd to slip away to the bathroom. If he’s serious about his job, he’ll leave her to follow me, and I feel deliciously petty because of it.

In the bathroom, I use a damp towel to refresh the sweaty parts of my face before reapplying tinted sunscreen. I’m careful not to ruin the perfect messiness of my bun and wait another few minutes to leave.

Beck leans against a wall ten feet away, his arms crossed. His sunglasses are folded over the neckline of his white dress shirt. “Trying to get rid of me?”

I mimic his pose. “I’m surprised you were able to find me.”

“Surprised?”

“You were rather preoccupied.” I slide sunglasses over my face with a smug grin. “To answer your question, no. That was only a test.”

He’s the type of person who’s good at masking their emotions. Even the smallest bodily movements are calculated. He gives a quirk of his brow and looks away to tell me he’s annoyed. He clears his throat, and my own tightens when his eyes land on mine and he lowers his chin.

How can someone’s eyes be so damn sparkly?

“Did I pass?” he asks.

I square my shoulders, hoping I emanate some form of confidence. I shrug and walk off. “I’m still deciding.”

Maia and I haven’t spoken of the princess thing all day. Even now, the car ride to the hotel is silent. It’s only four p.m., but we need an hour or two of rest before we go out for dinner. The summer heat wiped us out.

“I don’t want Dad to join us tonight,” she blurts.

I inhale. “All right…”

“How could he just keep this from us? And never talk about Mom? We’re just starting our adult lives and making commitments. You have your new job in a couple months and I have my fellowship—the one he helped me apply to.”

I don’t tell her I hate this new job I’m taking. Yes, it’s working with languages, something I love, but it’s an administrative role. I was too scared to be without a job, so I accepted the first offer. But I still have a life plan. Both of us do.

“He did it for himself,” I explain. “He didn’t want to talk about Mom so he waited until the last possible moment and still had someone else tell us.”

Because he’s a coward.

I keep that to myself no matter how badly I want to say it. Maia scoffs, and silent contemplation falls over us. We’ve asked about our birth mother for years. We ached to know more about her, and Dad dropped her entire life on us without warning.

“I wish I remembered her,” I say quietly. I might have remembered her in some form—filled in fractured memories if Dad kept pictures or talked about her. But she was taken from us twice over.

Maia takes my hand. “Forget Dad. This is about us and our mom. Our real mom. Maybe this princess thing can bring us closer to her.”

I snort. “We shouldn’t inherit an entire country just to heal our mommy issues.”

“Then we do what Beverly said.” She breathes in deep. “We enjoy our vacation and see if we fall in love with the country.”

I squeeze her hand with a smile. A summer in Maldana—riding mopeds, eating gelato, and trying not to twist my ankle on cobblestone roads. Regardless of the outcome, this summer is going to change my life. Giddiness blossoms in my chest.

11

WESLEY

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