Page 3 of The Royal Governess
“Are we almost there? I’m starving,” Lexi grumbled, all legs as she sat beside me.
“I'm sure there will be food when we get there.” But at that point I wasn’t sure about anything.
Milo jumped into the front seat and nodded to the male driver, who wore a jaunty cap with gold braid. As the car pulled away from the boathouse, Milo leaned forward and pressed a button. A glass window slid up between us and the front seat. Lexi and I were encased in silence while the two men talked. Some guffawing went on, and I hoped it wasn’t at our expense. When I reached for my daughter’s hand, she didn’t pull away.
As we drove down a winding road dappled with shadows from the trees overhead, I didn't see any buildings. On either side of the road were forests that fell away in deep, green ravines.
Okay, I had a million questions, but rapping on the closed glass felt like a bad idea. So I stayed quiet, taking it all in. We were away from the problems of home and the city. I should content myself with that. But had I gotten us into an even worse situation? As the car swung along the winding road, the scenery became even more lush and beautiful. Certainly nothing bad could happen here.
Lexi dropped my hand. “Look at all the trees.”
I drank it in. Back in the States, the dogwood was just starting to bloom. Summer always came late to Pittsburgh. Here? It looked more like midsummer. Maybe that was the influence of the sea breezes, although we’d left the shoreline behind. When I tried to lower my window, I discovered it was locked. The door handle? The same. Fear tied a knot around my chest.
At one point, Lexi yelped and pointed. “Look, Mom. Deer.”
The “Mom” was a welcome change. Lately, she’d started calling me Christina. Of course I hated it––especially when she used it in the halls at school. Although I’d tried to have a civil conversation with her about respect, she’d laughed it off. Called me old-fashioned.
Relax, Christina. Relax. Enjoy wherever this journey takes you. Hadn’t I read that somewhere when I was going through my divorce? “Life is a journey, not a destination.” But I’d never been good at that. This was my one foolish attempt to let fate take its course. And now here we were, locked in the back of a car speeding toward who-knew-where. No map. No GPS. Just Milo and another man in the front seat, laughing about something.
“Look at this.” Lexi began fiddling with the knobs and levers. Hidden compartments opened and closed. There was a lot going in that luxurious back seat.
“Lexi, no.” I grabbed her hand. “You might break something.” And we would owe these people thousands of dollars.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Christina. Lighten up.” She shook me off and curled up next to her window. There, I’d gone and done it again. Eyes damp, I concentrated on the view outside.
Picturesque scenes flew past––so different from our rented bungalow with its small square plot of grass out back. Because the yard was shaded by a large oak tree, having a flower garden back there was useless. But I’d bought a hammock, where I liked to read during the nice weather. Unfortunately, we didn’t have a whole lot of great weather in Pittsburgh.
Right now my colleagues were cleaning out their classrooms in rooms that smelled of gum and boys who didn’t shower after gym class. Final grades handed in, Reena and Maddie would be packing up their rooms. Usually, it took a month for us to shake off the stress of never-ending papers and deadlines.
Here I was, surrounded by beauty, viewed from a limo.
But this isn’t a bloody vacation, Christina.
Well, there was that. I was ready to work my tail off, preparing King Napolitano’s son for Harvard. English and math were two things I felt fairly competent about. After all, my BA was from Amherst and my Master’s from Boston College. After teaching for seventeen years, I was up to the challenge. Gregorio had to be ready for his SATs––the standard tests juniors took to get a grade that summed up their academic readiness. Mr. Napolitano had ambitions and getting his son into that prestigious American university was at the top of his list.
Was it going to be all up to me? Who had taught the son before? I hoped he already had some background in American and British literature, as well as algebra and geometry.
The limo felt closed in and warm. My head began to bob with the rhythm of the tires. But just as I welcomed a nap, we rounded a bend and Lexi gasped. I sat up as the driver took the curve like a Nascar driver. Down below, the land dipped and rippled with fields of lavender against a backdrop of vineyards undulating into the distance.
It was difficult to pull my attention back to the winding road that led to one place. A castle stretched along a ridge.
“Whoa, is this it?” Lexi was riveted, her green eyes––so like her father’s––wide and curious.
“I––I guess so.” I could hardly get the words out. The castle was huge.
I rapped at the glass. Slowly the window was lowered. Milo turned and gave me a barely tolerant look. I was not the only one eager to leave this limousine. “Are we there?” I asked.
‘Yes.” window slid closed. Milo exchanged a long-suffering look with the driver.
Lexi pressed her nose against the window. “This is like a fairy tale.” And she pointed to the castle, probably thinking ofCinderellaorSnow White.
“Um, sweetheart, there’s just one thing…”
But there was no time to explain that Marco Napolitano expected a boy, a companion to Americanize his son for Harvard. The car swept through an arch that certainly looked Roman, motored down the road rimmed with tall cypress trees and slowed when we entered a courtyard.
Lexi was beside herself with excitement. “Whoa, look at this.”
I winced when she raked one hand through hair that needed washing. The purple hair had happened during a sleepover.
