Page 21 of Roaming Holiday

A boastful, vain streak runs up my spine at the thought of him learning I’m the heir to a royal throne. His inflated sense of self-importance would implode.

I pull the blanket over my head as shame pools in my stomach. This is why we broke up. I wanted a supportive partner while he wanted an obedient one whose goals would mold into whatever suited his path best.

Of course, also because he can’t keep his dick in his pants.

Maia and I still don’t plan on spending time with Dad, but we settle for having breakfast with him in the garden. It’s filled with colorful flowers that I’m sure my sister could identify within seconds. Enough foliage and flora climb the trellises to block sight of the outside world. The only other people here are the few employees—no guests. Now I’m wondering if Beverly made it that way.

The awning above us provides enough shade for the morning heat. At home, I’m used to a bagel or bowl of cereal for breakfast. Here, Dora serves us yogurt, slices of baguettes, marmalade, fruit, and more. The nasal honks of mopeds remind us that we’re not in the countryside. At some point, we’ll venture deeper into the country, too.

Ruby and Maia do most of the talking this morning—about our museum visits and gelato-consuming the other day. No one loves ice cream like my little sister.

When I’m picking out my clothes for the day, Dad knocks on my door. I leave it open for him to follow me inside. I admit acting like he wasn’t there during breakfast was weird. Maia will reluctantly talk to him, but she said she won’t talk about the crown. Not with him.

It’s just Dad.

Things shouldn’t be awkward between us, but I’m finally angry enough to argue past his limits. My own mother became a ghost in more ways than one—and he’s to blame. I hope he’s not here to discuss her or the crown. It’s too soon.

“I… wanted to ask what you girls have planned for the day,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, unintentionally cold. He isn’t afraid to confront my disrespect and I don’t want to argue.

He doesn’t ease into the space; he stays tense, his hands knotted behind his back. “Your aunt Beverly would like you and Maia to join her at the palace for lunch so you can meet your cousins.”

My aunt Beverly. It still doesn’t feel right. “Okay. I’ll call her.”

Beverly has my number; she could’ve called herself, but Dad wants to test the water between us—and it’s boiling. Tense silence falls between us, so I refocus on picking different outfits for the day.

I sneak a glance at him, and a small twinge in my core feels bad for icing him out. He’s gone through a lot. His wife died. He was left to raise a five-year-old and a two-year-old while grieving. There’s no right way to mourn and he’s made a lot of mistakes. I’m trying to see his point of view, but almost twenty years have gone by and he’s still working for his own ease, not ours.

My sister and I just found out that our mom was more than a picture we sneaked looks at while he was working or passed out drunk on the couch. He had two decades of mourning someone he knew; we had less than a week of even knowing her name.

“What, uh, what have you and Maia been doing?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Exploring.”

“What are you finding?”

I sigh. “A world I should’ve known about already.”

Dad wants to say more; I can tell. He takes the hint and lowers his chin. “I should go.”

Once he leaves, I settle for a white knitted dress with bold colors around the chest. The pattern forms a point to my throat before splitting to tie around my neck in a halter. I twist my gladiator sandals around my ankles but grab a pair of heels and peek my head out the door.

“Can we keep these in the car for later?” I ask Beck sweetly, considering that holding my shoes probably isn’t part of his job description.

Instead of speaking, he nods and takes the heels, barely sparing me a glance. Am I that easy to ignore?

“Thank you!” I chirp, poking his cheek before dashing off to Maia’s room. I don’t look behind me to see if I got a reaction. One day, I will; he doesn’t need to be so stoic all the time.

I find my sister in front of a big mirror, putting on an earring. “Hey,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me.

I flop on her bed and study her colorful harem paired with a crop top and chains decorating her stomach. Her long hair is in a bun atop her head. She fixes a stray curl before saying, “Our lovely auntie Beverly wants us to have lunch with her and our cousins.”

“I know; Dad told me.”

Her eyes widen. “You two talked?”

“Briefly,” I say with a shrug, propping up on my elbows across the comforter. “I could tell he wanted to keep talking, but I just get this—I don’t know. I can’t help feeling?—”

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