Page 5 of Roaming Holiday

I look down to see a scanned college ID from Wilton University. Nina Laffley. The princess of Maldana is beautiful. Sharp jaw, knowing eyes, a cloud of curls around her head and down her chest. Her brown skin tells me Pierce is Black.

“We want the girls to take on their birthrights as princesses and for Nina to eventually become queen. From our research, we see both are very educated and kind. Not to mention beautiful. We believe they would make excellent royals.”

The following documents include transcripts from Nina’s college and grade schools, letters of recommendation, pictures of her childhood home in Massachusetts, her playing volleyball in high school, and anything and everything about her life.

“So, what’s the job for me, then?”

Jack clears his throat. “The royal family and their advisors will spend the summer convincing them to take the crown. Although their identities will be kept tightly under wraps, there’s always a risk of a leak. We want to assign you to Nina as her bodyguard until—or if—she goes public.”

They need a security detail—and they called me? I tilt my head and admit, “I don’t have the experience.”

“You were on our radar because of Jack, yes. But after researching you, the rest of the security team believes you’re more than qualified. You’ve been an outstanding soldier for over a decade and single-handedly took down a subversive organization responsible for the deaths of many Maldanian citizens. Jack tells me you know the city like the back of your hand. Is that true?”

I nod once. “I know it well, yes.”

“Then you’re qualified. The only question now is whether you’ll accept the job. Housing in the palace guest quarters is included.”

A summer of following around a suburban American. There are worse ways to make money, and I’m indeed desperate enough for something to do. I inhale a breath.

“Okay. I’m in.”

3

NINA

Once the plane is high in the air, I flick on my favorite movie: Roman Holiday.

I bite back my excitement the moment I spot Audrey Hepburn on the back of a moped. I thought it would bore me considering I’ve seen it a dozen times. But it’s been years and I’m as invested in the film as if it’s my first time. Even now, Audrey’s elegance inspires me.

Roman Holiday tames my anxiety and builds excitement for the trip ahead. Dad sprung this vacation on us a month ago, declaring everything had already been planned and booked. Being in the throes of finishing school, I couldn’t prepare the way I wanted. I need a few more months to be fluent enough in Maldanian!

Rather than stressing over integrating, I try to emanate Audrey’s grace. I can do what my heart desires and eat copious gelato and french fries. If I’m lucky, I’ll meet a hot Maldanian guy to show me around.

Yes, this is supposed to be a family vacation, but I’m reeling from a bad breakup and would cherish a distraction.

By the time Gregory Peck finishes walking down the never-ending corridor away from Princess Ann, I take my trazodone and snore my way through the free meals and snacks. Maia wakes me up when we start descending.

“How’s your back?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes before holding my nose and blowing for my ears to pop.

“Not bad. Would’ve been worse if not for the pills.” She twists her spine, and I hear a few cracks. “I’m going to meditate for a bit.”

With her headphones on, she closes her eyes and takes steady, slow breaths. It took days to convince her to take pain pills for the flight; she prefers holistic and alternative medicine.

The overnight flight and time change puts us in Maldana’s late afternoon, and the fresh breeze is a relief after breathing in recycled air for nine hours. We deplane and walk outside with our luggage in tow. Up ahead, I spot a man in a suit holding a sign that says Laffley.

I stop in my tracks. “Dad, why?—?”

He smiles. “Nothing but the best for my girls on this trip.”

Maia cackles and runs to the man, handing over her bags without hesitation.

“It’s best not to argue,” Ruby says, nudging my arm. It’s good she mentions it because I have dozens of comments bubbling. How can he afford a professional car service? I expected us to be doing things the cheaper, smarter way: the metro, walking, stocking up at the grocery store, et cetera.

“Dad…,” I drawl.

“Neen, don’t,” he scolds lightheartedly as if I’m a kid again. “Don’t question it. Don’t argue it. Just smile, say thank you, and have the time of your life. You spent the last six years working your ass off.”

I sigh and quell my arguments; I’ve worked my ass off my entire life. My childhood consisted of telling him we couldn’t afford everything. He gets ahead of himself, and I’m always left picking up the pieces. I took care of him—of our family—more than he did.

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