Page 9 of The Royal Governess
“Very good,” Marco said with an officious nod.
At the other end of the table, the woman cleared her throat, a delicate reminder.
The royal hand swept down the length of the white linen cloth. “Yes, of course. And this is my mother, formerly the Queen of…” Here he went into another long name that I’d never be able to remember, except that it ended in Napolitano.
Queen.Ah, that explained the jewelry.
“So pleased to meet all of you.” Why hadn’t his mother introduced herself when she showed us to our rooms? Instead she'd hustled us around as if she were a chambermaid––and a very disapproving one at that.
“I am Ama, the Queen Mother.” She sat back, hands resting regally on the arms of her chair, as if she were used to reigning. Nodding to her son, she said, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
An enormous amethyst winked from the ring on her left hand. The chandelier cast deep shadows over her eyes. I’d seen eyes like that in “The Exorcist” on late night TV. Lexi was leaning into me, as if for protection.
More finger snapping from Marco and servers paraded from side doors, the smell of food almost making me faint. Lexi licked her lips as she took a huge wedge of bread, offered on a silver salver.
My throat dry, I sipped from the water glass.
His Majesty––my word, would I have to call him that?––turned to the young man. “More wine, please.”
Not a bad idea. But I wasn’t a big drinker and I sensed I’d have to watch it tonight. “None for my daughter,” I told the waiter when he came to us.
Platters appeared and the tantalizing smell of garlic and tomatoes made me ready to pick up my fork. Men in livery carried one platter after another around the table. I recognized the paella and it smelled wonderful. After His Majesty began eating––must take a lot of food to keep those muscles in tip top shape––I started.
Like any growing boy, Gregorio was shoveling his way through dinner. But when he motioned to the server for another helping of the paella, his grandmother caught his eye. “Gregorio.”
One word seemed enough. Face falling, the boy backed off.
When the next dish appeared––mussels were one of my favorites––we’d lapsed into the polite conversation of people who’d just met.
“Your flight was pleasant?” my employer asked, patting his full lips with a linen napkin.
“Oh, yes. Thank you for the business class tickets. Very generous and we appreciated it. Didn’t we, Lexi?”
My daughter stiffened and shifted as if she were stretching her legs out beneath the table. “That plane trip was so long. I’ve got leg cramps.”
Across from us Gregorio gave a little snuffle.
Under the table I pulled at her skirt.
But she twisted away. “Mom.”
My own face aflame, I picked at a mussel.
“Did you play games?” Gregorio asked, slathering butter on a hunk of bread. “On your flight, I mean? I always like the games.”
“Of course,” Lexi said, as if she flew across the Atlantic every day. “Planets vs Zombies.”
“Wow.” Gregorio looked impressed.
“And word games, of course,” I added. “Spelltower, that kind of thing. Very good for increasing your vocabulary.” The SAT had a vocabulary section and I hoped Gregorio was up to the challenge.
“I didn’t play Spelltower,” Lexi told Gregorio, as if they were the only people at the table. “But Mom did.”
Gregorio nodded. His Majesty had been watching the exchange.
“I was hoping we might talk about our studies, Gregorio,” I said. “Are you eager to begin?”
But King Marco took the lead on this. “Tomorrow we will talk about the teaching.” He circled the table with a fork.
