Page 56 of Roaming Holiday

“Ay, prosíttento,” Wesley snaps, gripping my arm to push me out of the way as it zips by.

Be careful.

The same thing happened my first night in Maldana. In a subtle moment, I realize he’s been in my life the entire time I’ve been in this country. As if he’s weaved into my attitude and assumptions toward Maldanians.

I love this country.

Would that mean?—

No.

While I might be turned on every time he speaks Maldanian, those thoughts will lead me nowhere. I scold myself for forgetting so quickly.

“They drive so damn fast here,” Maia says, tugging me deeper into the sidewalk.

Each time I meet the eyes of a stranger, I wonder what they’d do if they discovered I’m the princess and possible future queen. Would they attempt to hurt me like that man did? It guts me to realize that I’d be hated for existing.

We don’t want you here.

Maia’s gasp rips me from my spiraling thoughts. “Ice cream!”

“Yes,” I insist. “I’m dying out here.”

My bodyguard curves around me to open the door for us. It’s nothing new, but he pointedly doesn’t look at me. I roll my eyes while passing him.

What I thought was an ice cream shop turns out to be a bakery that sells gelato. Maia squeals at the macaroons and their reasonable prices. I can feel us planning to buy a bunch of desserts just because we can.

The woman baking behind the counter stops mid-whisk to greet us.

“Ne tora di pomke?” I ask. She replies in Maldanian, telling me the next one will be done soon if I want to wait. I nod. “Sì, parafóré.”

We order gelato in the meantime. Before I pay, I glance behind me to check if any of the three bodyguards want something, and Mason actually takes me up on it. We settle amongst two tables with Vanessa and Maia in the chairs against the wall. Wesley disappears to the bathroom, and I take the chair in front of my cousin.

I slowly eat the gelato, savoring its cool taste in my sore throat. Did I apply enough foundation? I should have double-checked before stepping off the boat.

I flinch when Vanessa leans forward to lazily wrap her arms around me. She plants her chin on my shoulder. “Your bodyguard is flirting,” she says.

“What?” At first, I don’t think it’s me she’s talking to. Wesley doesn’t flirt. He’s far too serious.

And sure enough, he’s standing at the glass display counter with an elbow propped up. The perky blonde on the other side—the same one who greeted us—is so invested in the conversation that she wouldn’t notice if an earthquake struck. They speak in Maldanian, but they’re too far for me to translate. I lean my head against Vanessa’s and ask, “Can you tell what they’re saying?”

My cousin hums, straining an ear. The baker lifts her arms on the case, closer to Wesley’s, as she swings her ponytail over her shoulder. Shouldn’t that bitch be wearing a hairnet?

“She’s talking about the beach and how she loves to go there. He’s saying that he likes it there, too.”

“How riveting,” Maia mumbles.

It’s a conversation. I shouldn’t be jealous, but betrayal coils around me in a searing grip. He told me just a few hours ago that he dislikes being around people. What makes it so easy to talk to her and not me? Does that mean what happened in the bathroom last night was truly out of pity?

Maia looks at her bodyguard. “You should start flirting, too, Mason.” She gestures to his face. “Ladies love that silver fox look.”

“I’m married,” Mason replies, and I raise my brows, but Maia squawks in response.

“What—since when? You don’t wear a ring!”

He clears his throat. “She died.”

“Awwww.” She leans across the table and grabs his hand. “We’ll talk about getting you back on the horse later.”

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