Page 34 of Roaming Holiday

He sighs. “If it makes you feel any better, very few people have access to your file.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You don’t want me to.”

“Yes, I do.”

My bodyguard hesitates as he searches for the right words. “My worst mistakes would scare the reader more than me.”

“Of course.” I roll my eyes. Did I expect anything different? I turn on my heel and snap, “Do not follow me.”

It won’t matter; he still will. I slam into the empty restrooms as every reality crashes in on me within seconds. The crown. My father. My lack of privacy. Wesley Troutbeck.

I stare at myself in the mirror. Maybe I panicked because of James. He’s across the ocean and I still let him rattle me. I like to be confident in all my decisions, and slipping onto his Instagram page reminds me of everything I’m unsure of.

What’s the plan, huh? I don’t fantasize; I calculate steps toward my goals. There is no point in thinking of Beck—Wesley—past his responsibilities. I’m not the type of person to act surprised when I suddenly find an interest in someone I’ve already known. I’m an observant over-thinker. I see a life story, a potential relationship, with every attractive man I meet.

Given, my interest often fizzles quickly, but it’s the opposite with Wesley. I keep waiting for him to do something to turn me off for good, yet every turn makes my cheeks flush and my heart race. It has to stop because I draw a blank when trying to thread a future with him, and a life without a plan is unacceptable.

A blinking light in the upper corner of the restroom catches my eye. It’s a camera angled toward the door, and I wonder whether he’s watching me from his phone. It’s a gross invasion of privacy. It turns my stomach to be entirely monitored by a team. Wesley’s job is to protect me, but it infuriates me that it feels as though he means it.

I need to snap out of it. After washing my hands, I splash my face with cold water and pat it dry with the shirt in my bag because European bathrooms rarely have paper towels. I reapply moisturizer and sunscreen and stare at my reflection. I’m pathetic. Wondering if he actually cares about me? Having a bodyguard just shows me how lonely I am. In a burst of motivation, I grab my phone and text Maia.

Let’s go to that club tomorrow.

Seconds later, her reply chimes in. She must be out of the ocean.

Maia

FUCK YEAH.

After another moment, she attaches that popular GIF of Tina Fey and Amy Poehler dancing in sync.

How many times in my life can I go clubbing in a foreign country? I won’t have to worry about being the inspiration for another Taken movie franchise—I have a whole team monitoring my safety.

I step out of the restroom and find Wesley waiting patiently, my piña colada in hand. With renewed energy and confidence, I accept the drink and take a sip.

“Feel better?” he asks, and I resist another roll of my eyes. Arrogant ass.

I shield my face from the glaring sun. “I’m calling you Wesley from now on.”

“Weren’t you already?”

I smile at his indirect approval, plucking the umbrella from my drink before sucking off the residue and sticking it behind his ear. “And Maia and I are going to a club tomorrow.”

It’s easy to miss, but there’s a subtle fall in his expression.

On the drive back to the hotel, I spot an adorable café passing through the Milagro neighborhood. The tables and chairs are angled for people watching near the fountain in the center of a roundabout.

“We have to stop there! It’s so cute and I’m starving.”

Maia agrees, and Wesley and Mason sit at another table when we arrive. My sister groans, exasperated. “Enough of that! I’m tired of you guys sitting over there like stalkers. Just sit with us.”

Mason sighs. Wesley looks at me for confirmation, but I shrug and say, “I agree. It’s weird.”

The moment they settle on either side of us and I open the menu, I realize something. “Wait—I haven’t seen either of you eat today.”

“I’m fine,” Wesley says, shaking his head.

---