Page 22 of Roaming Holiday

“Furious?”

I shake my head while searching for the right word. “Grief.”

My answer surprises both of us. Maia sits in front of me on the foot bench at the end of the bed. “For what—Mom?”

“Yes and no. I keep thinking about all the possibilities we could’ve had if Dad had at least taught us about the culture growing up. We could’ve spent summers visiting Beverly. Grew up learning the language.”

My sister tilts her head in consideration. “They wouldn’t be able to keep the crown thing a secret for very long then.”

I try to think of plans they could’ve come up with, but the what-ifs start to drive me crazy. I settle for shaking my head and saying, “It would’ve been better than what we had.”

“Yeah…” She bites her lip as she contemplates. “Can I tell you something?”

I crease my brow. That’s never been necessary to say; we share everything. “Of course.”

“I know we’ve been here for, like, four days, but… I love it here. Like—I really love it.”

A grin stretches across my face as I sit up. “Me, too!”

“Seriously?”

“Yes!”

We start squealing and flapping our hands together—and I suppose one of our squeals resembles a scream because we suddenly see both of our bodyguards in the doorway with menacing expressions.

“Is everything all right?” Mason asks.

“Oh my god, Mason!” Maia wails dramatically. “What if we were naked?”

I snort out a chuckle and slap my hand to my mouth. The two of them blanch and stammer.

“The door—,” Beck says.

“—it was open,” Mason finishes.

“I don’t care! We’re gossiping in here. Out.” Maia shoos them away, nearly shoving them out the door before slamming it shut. She whirls around with a toss of her head and rolls her eyes. She flops back onto the bench. “Anyway, it’s so vivid and alluring here. I feel like I’m in a daydream but at the same time I’m so grounded and spiritually connected to the life here.”

I let a full-bellied laugh break free. That’s such a Maia thing to say. “Well—let’s stop talking about it and go experience more of it.”

The streets are crowded beneath the relentless sun, so we find a shaded garden to stroll through. I notice there aren’t many parks or even patches of grass throughout the city. It’s a cobblestone jungle.

My entire world is heightened—the saturation and brightness turned up to its highest point. The sun blinds me enough that most of my memories from the day are blanketed in light. I hear every static from the radios inside the shops and gelaterias we frequent. I notice every half-smoked cigarette nestled between the centuries-old cobblestones. Maia and I want to coddle and care for every stray cat we come across and we’re grateful we don’t come across stray dogs. There isn’t an expense we wouldn’t cut to save it.

Panhandlers dot the most crowded areas, even using their children to beg for money. As I take in the surroundings, I look for a place in their society I could fit into. What can I offer them? Maldanians love their history and culture; their maroon and white flags hang everywhere.

And as much as I hate to consider it, I’d be stupid not to: racism. I can’t tell if the stares Maia and I get are because we’re Black or being followed by two men. Locals mistake me for Maldanian, which isn’t only the utmost compliment as a tourist, but it also tells me something about their culture and expectations. The island’s proximity to North Africa is a clear reason for much of the population—the city population, at least—having generally deeper undertones. I close my eyes. This isn’t school anymore. Stop overanalyzing.

Maia tugs on our interlocked arms. “What are you thinking about?”

Black and rusty lampposts line the curvy stone paths, leading us by outdoor cafes lining a town square. We walk around a fountain together, a few mopeds circling the roundabout. “I’m just thinking about what we could offer as royals. You hate performative charity as much as I do.”

She sighs with an exhausted look as though she’s been ruminating on the topic just as hard. “I was thinking we could change that—be different kinds of royals, but isn’t that what politicians say? They’ll be different, but once they get into the system, they wind up being the same because change is too hard.”

“And then we can’t forget it’ll be even harder because we’re Black.”

“That, too. But Maldana’s culture isn’t like other European countries.”

I glance behind me, my curls tickling my exposed back. I take advantage of wearing sunglasses by tracing my gaze down my bodyguard’s figure. He’s so… climbable. The regality of his posture only adds to his allure.

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