Page 10 of Her Royal Daddy
I had no idea where the plane stopped to refuel before continuing the rest of the way on to Osei. I only knew that we did because the pilot hit a pothole in the runway on takeoff. Or, if he didn’t, that’s what it felt like, and it startled me bolt upright in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar room, with Mazi’s low voice rumbling out a soothing, “It’s okay,” from the chair by the only open window cracked open to allow enough light in by which he was reading.
He turned the page in his book.
I stared blearily around the room, trying to remember where I was and how I’d come to be there. Sadly, I remembered everything, but as we lifted up into the air a second time to continue our flight to the island of Osei, I found I was still too sleepy to care.
Flopping over onto my stomach, I burritoed myself in the white comforter and went right back to sleep. No sooner had I closed my eyes, it seemed, then did we touch down at Osei’s private airport and there was Mazi, shaking me awake.
“Up and at them, Sleeping Beauty,” he said cheerfully. “We’re here.”
My mouth tasted like someone had worn it as their only sock for three days straight.
“You still want to take that ride?” Mazi asked, arching his eyebrows suggestively.
“Timing, dude,” I told him, feeling about as far from sexy as someone with sock-mouth could.
Laughing, he handed me a water bottle and walked out of the room, leaving me to grudgingly pull myself together enough to wonder what had happened to my shoes. It had been the middle of the afternoon when we’d left New York, not to mention the middle of summer, but it was three a.m. and a brisk forty degrees when I stepped out of the king’s private jet onto a runway lit only by strip lights, the jet itself, and the headlights of the stretch limousine waiting to pick us up. Thank goodness I had my sweater, but even so, the early morning breeze had a bite to it and I was shivering long before Jax organized the flight attendants to retrieve our luggage and then led the way to the back of the car.
I should have been grateful for the king’s unintentional chaperone of an assistant. Jax was like a robot. He sat prim and straight on the seat across from Mazi and me, a living, breathing Siri, just waiting for a voice activation cue before he’d offer up a sliver of succinct conversation.
“Jax, what time is it here?”
“Three-oh-three,” he said, consulting his pocket watch.
“I thought Africa was hot. Jax, why is it so cold?”
“Because it’s winter.”
“Look how quiet it is. Where is everybody?”
“In bed,” Jax said, drumming his fingers once upon his knee. “Where sensible people can usually be found at three in the morning.”
Yeah, okay. No need to rub it in. And, obviously, he’d never spent much time in New York before either. There was a reason it was called the City That Never Sleeps. For me, I had never spent any real time outside the city before. Where were the car alarms, the hordes of people, the constant hum of traffic and movement—the footprint of life that eight million people made just by existing within the same city limits as me? The unexpected quiet of Osei’s unnaturally empty streets was anything but peaceful. It unnerved me all the way to the palace. I have no idea what Mazi thought of it. He kept his face glued to the window, as if trying to see everything all at once as we drove by. Or maybe he was just trying to catch that first glimpse of the palace where we would be staying, me for the length of my employment and him for as long as he was on vacation.
“Holy shit,” he said, when he saw it. It wasn’t hard to make out either. It was the only building so far that I had seen with any lights on, much less as brightly lit as this was.
I don’t know what I was expecting, from it or the village we drove through. Grass huts, maybe. Dirt roads with livestock running loose. I probably needed to check my privilege, because in actuality the village leading up to the palace was made up of nicely maintained houses, shops, and businesses, all spaced out with plenty of trees, parks, and beautifully manicured yards. The architecture had a Dutch Colonial look to it and the main building material seemed to be stone and clay, but I could have been visiting any turn of the century seaside town back in the States for all the ‘foreign’ that this felt. And the palace reflected that, although at first it really didn’t seem all that grand.
We came up to a gatehouse first, and once the guard granted us access to the grounds, all I saw for almost half a mile was nothing but a shadow jungle of trees that gave way to palms and flowering plants, that gave way to lawn, and finally, there it was. A massive three-story structure with huge arching doorways, brightly lit windows, turrets and balconies, and towers with bulging dome rooftops. This was the Taj Mahal and Buckingham Palace’s illegitimate lovechild in building form, dropped on an island off the coast of Africa and all lit up in garden lights. And there wasn’t a single elephant or giraffe anywhere on the front lawn. I felt a little disappointed about that.
“Home, sweet home,” Mazi said, almost under his breath.
Startled, Jax came as close to a smile as I’d yet seen from that prim, unsmiling man. “Yes,” he said.
“For a while, anyway,” I added, almost not noticing the way Mazi startled, as if he’d forgotten where he was, or the censuring frown Jax gave me.
The limo brought us right to the front steps, where a small army of butlers waited to open the car door for us and take our luggage.
“Breakfast,” Jax said, “shall be served promptly at eight o’clock. His Majesty will be in attendance. Would you like a wake-up call?”
“Sure,” I chirped. Having slept on the plane, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be sleeping anymore tonight, but who knew what would happen over the next several hours. I might get lost in writing for a while. I wouldn’t mind a shower. I’d need to unpack. Who knew, after all that, I might take a nap. A call to breakfast, much less an escort to help find it, might be nice.
It was only when Jax gave me another look did I realize he was actually talking to Mazi.
“Sure,” Mazi said, but he didn’t sound anywhere near as enthused as I had. In fact, although his expression was closed, he almost seemed angry.
Jax issued a kind of bow, something more than a nod, but not quite obsequious, and then he walked away, leaving us in the capable hands of the butlers who beckoned us to follow as they carted our luggage inside. I had two suitcases, both of which had rollers, but they were carried. Mazi carried his own bag, the only one he’d brought with him, but as things were being unpacked from the truck, almost as if without thinking, he also grabbed my duffel bag. The one with Ms. Beatrix once more carefully hidden inside. I would have carried it myself, but he’d shouldered it so smoothly and naturally that, by the time I realized what was happening, he was already climbing the palace steps and I was afraid of causing a scene.
Compared to the rather understated exterior of the palace, the interior was every inch of it the home of royalty. The floor was a mosaic of Osei history done in a rainbow array of colorful tiles. The rest of the place was like a museum filled with both the modern and the ancient. Old tribal antiquities, weapons and shields, artwork, paintings, sculptures, and pot after pot after potful of green, leafy plants were everywhere—at the base of every pillar that lined the grand foyer, on tables and window ledges, and dotting every landing on the circular stairway that led up to the equally opulent second floor balcony.
