Page 35 of Roaming Holiday

Mason nods. “As am I, Your Highness.”

I huff and stick menus in front of them. “Oh, my goodness. Eat! What do I look like, the queen?” At their knowing stares, I hold up a hand. “Don’t answer that.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Wesley says, his demeanor steady and obedient. Maia busts out laughing, and I watch him in disbelief before giggling.

“Well, well, well. Someone selected to be pleasant this afternoon,” I taunt, hiding my smile by surveying the menu between us. It’s unlikely he’ll ever make a move—he’s far too reserved—but at least we can be friendly.

17

NINA

At seven o’clock on the dot the next evening, Maia and a slew of people enter my room.

“Whoa, what’s happening?” I ask as the random people roll in a clothing rack and at least half a dozen glittery cases. “Who are they?”

Maia grins. A woman who seems to be in charge looks me up and down. She has a thick accent. “We’re your beauty team, courtesy of Princess Vanessa. We work on your clothes, hair, makeup, and jewelry together.”

I choke out a laugh. “Oh, no. That’s ridiculous. I don’t need a whole team for that. And I don’t like other people touching my hair.”

“They’re professionals,” Maia says.

“Yes, but I’m capable of doing my own hair.”

She releases a breath and takes my hand. “My fifth and eighth grade dance, all four of my homecomings, and my junior and senior prom. You did my hair and makeup for each and every one of them, including some of my friends. And then all of your own, too. Let yourself be pampered. Please. For me.”

I huff. Truth be told, I was dreading figuring out what to wear. I didn’t bring any clothes to wear to a club. What clothes would I even wear? I’ve never been to one. “Only ‘cause you said please.”

I let this group of six women turn my room into a beauty parlor. My phone buzzes with a text.

Maia

No princess talk. They don’t know who we really are.

I respond with a thumbs-up emoji. One woman takes my measurements silently before she starts tapping on her phone. The leader, whose name is Greta, gives me a list of options about what to do with my hair. Maia says hers will be in an updo, and I don’t want to worry about whether this group of white women know how to do Black hair.

“Just—straighten it.”

My sister notices and frowns. “Are you sure? They know how to do our hair.”

“I want this to be simple. And you know I never straighten my own hair the right way.”

The team of women pamper me with products I can only dream of affording. Maia connects her phone to a speaker and plays some soft R&B. The club is supposedly extremely upscale with acrobats dancing in the sky and good music. We’re arriving separate from Vanessa in case paparazzi show up, and it jars me that I would have to deal with that if I accepted the crown.

What if Maldana hates me?

The world hated Princess Diana, and now she’s beloved. The world loved Meghan Markle, but soon turned against her—the hatred only inflamed because of her race. Given, the British population is different from a Mediterranean country, but racism is everywhere.

“Hey—no thinking,” Maia interjects, looking at me from her spot on the divan. “Tonight, we don’t think. We party.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” I mumble.

The stylists straighten my hair before adding waves with a perfect amount of swoop. It curls away from my face to frame it and I would never have gotten this result on my own. I ask them in Maldanian if they could do my makeup light instead of heavy. The results are sleek, and it feels like I should be going to an event that’s way more important than a club. They show me an array of dresses that fit my measurements. I’m hesitant to pick the black-and-silver glittery one because it’s short. The neckline is a cowlick and no matter the angles in which I bend to test it, no boobs pop out. The material doesn’t slide up my thighs, so I won’t be constantly tugging it down.

It fits perfectly.

Maia gasps. “You have to wear that!”

I smile, holding back a giddy squeal. “I’ve never worn something that fits me so well.”

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