Page 86 of Roaming Holiday

He barely cracks the door before Maia forces her way into the apartment. She closes the door and immediately faces the corner and says, “Are either of you naked?”

Half yes. I stagger to find my clothes. “Just—stay turned around. How did you know I was here?”

“Your phone location, duh.” She huffs impatiently. “Everyone is awake and Dad and Ruby came home early. I heard Dad say he wants to ask you to go to brunch with him so I went to give you a heads-up. And then you weren’t answering.”

“Fuck. Have I mentioned you’re the best sister?” I say, ripping off Wesley’s shirt and tossing it to him. My stomach tingles from his unabashed stare at my breasts. I step into my pants and turn for him to fix the back of my shirt for me. When he’s done, he wraps his arms around me from behind, burying his face in my neck to plant a quick kiss.

“It wouldn’t hurt to mention every so often,” Maia says.

“You can look,” I tell her, grabbing my phone and stepping into my shoes.

Once Maia steps outside, I perch on my toes and pull Wesley into a kiss. He holds me against him without hesitation, biting my lip to keep me from pulling away. I shove down the urge to slam the door behind Maia so Wesley and I can steal a little more of the night.

“I’ll text you later today,” I mutter.

His expression is as crestfallen as mine. If only the sun would rest for a few more hours. “Okay,” he whispers with a nod, and I follow my sister into the hallway.

I manage to escape Dad by hopping in the shower before he reaches my room.

We’ll have to talk again at some point, but all my mental strength is gone. Not only do I need to help the communications team with our lineage announcement, I also need to tell Raven and pack up my entire life. My stomach aches with grief to leave her—even if she’s settled and living with her boyfriend. I’ll tell her when I return home.

Despite the grief, my excitement for the future intensifies: living in Maldana, learning about Mom, helping people, and being a princess.

Wesley.

Over the next few days, acting as if I’m not completely in love with him is torturous. I want to hold his hand. I want to look at him longer than a few seconds. I want him beside me during Sunday brunch with Aunt Bev and the family.

I want everyone to know that I can be loved.

Having him entirely is more invigorating than I imagined. It’s not just that I feel special because I get to see a side of him he rarely shows; it’s the fullness I feel with him. While I love how he physically fills me—even the memory gives me chills—Wesley has each part of me in his arms. My sadness, my joy, my affection—he takes it all like it was meant for him.

I manage to carve an hour of “shopping” between meetings. In reality, Wesley and I get french fries and ice cream and put the world on pause for the afternoon. We sneak off to a tiny park and sit under the shade on a bench. There are plenty of things for us to work out and plan, but we fall into a rhythm of silence, followed by a debate of what’s better: small dogs or big dogs. I say both. Wesley says big, of course.

“This is kind of our first date,” I say, “if you think about it.”

He grimaces, tossing an arm behind me while the other strokes my leg draped across his lap. “I can do better than french fries on a park bench.”

I peck his lips. “French fries on a park bench with you sounds nothing short of perfect.”

Wesley smiles. I’m privileged to have the title of princess. Fancy dinners and opulent clothes are going to be the standard now. Together, we can be real and humble.

He gets up to throw our trash away on the sidewalk behind us, but after nearly a minute, I look back. He’s not a slow walker.

“Wes?” I scan the area, but he’s not here. I rise to my feet. “Wesley?”

He wouldn’t disappear without saying anything. Panic seizes me as I wander for some hint of where he is. When I turn and bump into someone, a man says, “Miss Laffley.”

The man is three times my size and has tattoos up his neck. It’s at least eighty-five degrees, and he’s wearing a suit jacket.

“Come this way and I’ll bring you to him,” he says, and his calm tone unsettles me.

“Excuse me? How do you know my name?”

“He’s not here. Come with me; I’ll bring you to him.”

“Where is he?”

The man huffs, his patience thinning. He grabs my arm, firm but gentle—a warning, a sign that he’s stronger than me. My heart jumps into my throat. “This can be easy or difficult. Your choice.”

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