Page 138 of The Delta's Rogue
“Dad?” I tear mygaze away from the intruder and frown at Sarina. “He’s your dad?”
I switch my focus once more to the massive male in the doorway. A male I’ve seen countless times over my lifetime, and with increasing frequency in the years since Wesley found Haven. But never in my life have I seen him so disheveled, so worried. He’s always been a pillar of strength and power, with a calm, collected exterior and a stellar wardrobe to match.
Today, however, he looks as if he hasn’t slept, eaten, showered, or changed his clothes in days. Today, he’s dressed in sweats instead of in a custom-tailored suit. He looks as if he hopped on a plane as soon as he received word that we’d found Sarina.
He looks nothing like the powerful king I’m used to seeing.
“You’re her dad?” I ask again.
Sarina continues to smile at him, her bottom lip quivering with suppressed emotion.
He takes a step forward, crossing the threshold of the room but staying on the opposite side of the table. His face wears an expression that mimics Sarina’s—one filled with equal amounts of sweet relief and bitter remorse.
He grips the back of a chair. I can tell he wants to rush around the table to us, to hug Sarina, but keeps his distance. Perhaps because someone warned him of the state she was in when we rescued her or from what I assume is respect for our new bond. Or maybe both.
“Yes.” King Malachi gives me a look filled with gratitude and what I can only describe as fatherly affection. “I’m her dad.”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “No, that’s not possible. Your children are twins. Sarina doesn’t have…”
I run my hand through my hair. I don’t know what siblings Sarina does or doesn’t have. She never told me, and I never asked.
“Her twin brother is at home with their mother.”
“Micah is back?” Sarina’s eyes light up briefly at the mention of her brother.
King Malachi nods. “He came home as soon as he heard what happened to you.”
I shake my head again. “I met your twins, though,” I insist, interrupting them. “I met the princess when we visited the royal palace in Hawaii after Wesley shifted early. I was ten, and she was seven, and her name was…”
I open my mouth to say her name, but nothing comes out.The name is right there. It’s on the tip of my tongue. I know that I know it. I can feel it like an itch in my brain, like when you enter a room but can’t remember why you went in there in the first place.
“Sara Anaís Goodrich Cisneros.” King Malachi’s lips tip into a proud smile as he utters her full name. “But we’ve always called her Sarina.”
Like a dam breaking, his words unleash a tidal wave. Forgotten memories—repressed memories—rise to the surface in the ocean of my mind, each one fighting for dominance.
A seven-year-old little girl, with dark brown eyes that match the pinecones littering Crescent Lake’s forest floor, skips up to me. She’s dressed in a frothy concoction of pink tulle and chiffon, and her sparkly shoes click across the marble floor of the palace. She beams up at me, her face framed with shiny, dark hair. Stars of excitement sparkle in her eyes as she sways side to side with her skirt held in her hands.
“Do you like my new dress, Sebby?”
I’m outside in the grass. The humid, tropical air mixes with the sweat on my skin from our workout, and the sun descends in the west, heading towards the ocean’s surface. The same little girl runs up to me, wearing shorts and a T-shirt now, her dark hair in a high ponytail that bounces and sways with each of her sprinting steps.
“Sebby!” She yells my name with the enthusiasm of a fan at a sporting event, even though she’s within three steps of me. “Sebby, play tag with me!”
It’s night, and I’m on the roof of the palace’s enormous glass greenhouse, sitting cross-legged in my pajamas and gazing at the stars.
I’m supposed to be packing, but instead, I snuck out of my room and meandered around the palace grounds until I ended up here. Honeysuckle vines wind their way up the sides of the building and across the roof’s edge. Their subtle fragrance floats on a soft, nighttime breeze that carries another, sweeter scent on it—a scent similar to the perfume of the honeysuckles all over the grounds, but more layered and nuanced than the flowers alone.
Across the glass roof, footsteps pitter-patter towards me, their owner not bothering to keep their steps quiet. I glance at her as she sits next to me, her two long braids draped over her shoulders and hanging down the front of her light blue pajama top. She lifts her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs, hugging them closer.
I turn my gaze back to the stars, and she does the same, sitting in silence with me as the night passes us by. Neither of us speaks as we watch the stars, which is odd since she usually talks my ear off with her nonstop chattering. But tonight, she’s quiet. Pensive. Maybe even a little sad.
The breeze continues to drift through the island flora. The palm fronds dance and tap against the glass walls. A shooting star streaks across the vast, sparkling sky, its glittering tail lingering as the stardust drifts towards Earth.
“Sebby?” Her voice is a whisper, almost carried away by the gentle breeze rustling the honeysuckle vines draped across the length of the roof.
“Yes?”
“Promise me we’ll see each other again.”
