Page 59 of Roaming Holiday

“I am,” Vanessa pipes. “I have no curves.”

“And I’m scrawny,” my sister adds. “No one takes scrawny women seriously.”

As much as I hate to hear them talk so poorly about themselves, I’m comforted in knowing I’m not the only one with insecurities. When I recline and check my phone, I open a text from Dad.

Dad

How are you feeling?

Fine. Just tired.

His reply is instant.

Dad

What are you girls doing today?

Relaxing by the pool. Yesterday wiped us out.

Dad

That sounds nice.

I lock my phone, unable to take any more of this dry conversation. The chef brings us fresh hummus, pita, and spanakopita, and I thank him profusely. I can live off these three foods for the rest of my life with no issue. With my sheer cover-up tied around my hips, I head into the kitchen for more water.

My stomach clenches at the sight of Wesley at the kitchen island, hunched over a laptop. I focus on getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator, reminding me that I would want to help make the faucet water cleaner if I become princess.

“That’s a new bathing suit,” Wesley says.

Butterflies tickle my stomach; I force them down and dryly respond, “Vanessa got it for me.”

Awkward silence passes between us for the first time. When I start to leave the kitchen, he asks, “What’s with the attitude?”

I stop in the doorway, rolling my eyes before facing him. “I don’t have an attitude.”

“You’re pissed about something.”

“Nope.”

“Just—cut the bullshit and tell me.”

“I’m not pissed!” I snap. He really knows how to charm a lady.

“Then what are you?”

I slump my shoulders and toss my head back. Pick one.

Sexually frustrated.

Angry.

Afraid.

Confused.

Completely falling for you.

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m—nothing, Wes.”

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