Finding Home

by B. E. Baker

  “Look, I appreciate the heads up,” Holly says. “And of course I’ll support your decision, but I can’t imagine Mom and Dad could be anything but positive. I mean, you’ve given the last decade to them when you could have left and pursued your own life right away. It was practically saintly, but they can’t expect you to hover at Dad’s side forever, not when he can’t even make you Regent.” Holly grunts. “For the record, I think that’s garbage. Why can’t an adopted child be Dad’s heir? Does he love you less? Certainly not.”

  “Those rules are way beyond our reach.” And whether Dad wanted to adopt me or not, no papers can change my blood—and I’m not really part of the Princely family. I’ve always known that. It’s time for me to make a real home for myself, one where I belong. I head back downstairs.

  “That was more than five minutes,” Mom says when James and Holly finally reach the dining room.

  “I’m afraid that’s my fault,” James says. “I had a conference call I forgot about, and it took me a little longer to excuse myself than I expected.”

  “Well, I had cook make a new batch of asparagus,” Mom says. “So don’t worry.”

  James’ mouth falls open slightly.

  “We take our asparagus seriously around here,” I say. “And right now the white asparagus is in season—and that’s practically a national delicacy. You almost can’t eat dinner here without it during the three weeks or so it’s available.”

  Holly laughs. “I’ve never once seen that in the United States. Did you know that?”

  Dad snorts. “I’m not surprised. I hear all they eat are hamburgers and french fries.”

  “We offer a little more variety than that,” James says. “But I am eager to sample this magical white asparagus.”

  It tastes almost the same as the green kind, in my opinion, but I don’t bother mentioning that. Especially while Mom, Dad, and Holly are going on and on about how it’s not at all the same. Before I know it, dinner’s over. Mom’s waving Mirdza in with the cheesecake.

  “Holly told us that this is your favorite.” Mom beams at James.

  “Oh,” he says. “You shouldn’t have. I’m trying to watch the sweets.”

  “You have no idea how hard it is to maintain a six-pack, Mom,” I say.

  Mom rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. He’s young. He can eat a slice of cake once in a while.”

  “I don’t turn down cheesecake.” He picks up his fork with relish.

  This is probably the best opening I’m going to get. I open my mouth, but before I say a word, Mom says, “Perhaps we can take a little time now to discuss our plans. I never heard whether you wanted to go for a ride.”

  “Horseback,” Holly says.

  “Right,” Mom says. “There’s no more beautiful way to see the scenery around here, and you used to love riding out on Traveler. Remember?”

  Holly smiles.

  “We’d better not this time,” James says.

  “Oh?” I ask. “Not a fan of horses?” I hate them, myself. They’re always looking for ways to kick or bite or poop. Unpredictable and smelly. A bicycle serves the same purpose with a great deal less effort, expense, and danger.

  “It’s not that,” James says.

  Holly puts a hand on his arm and murmurs something, but James doesn’t seem to notice.

  “We’ve got some amazing news, and we wanted you to be the first to hear.” James’ eyes light up and he wraps an arm around Holly’s shoulder. “Do you want to tell them?” He looks down at her.

  Holly’s eyes dart to mine, apologetic, chagrined. “Uh, no, you go ahead.”

  “We’re expecting a baby.” James squeezes Holly’s shoulders. “So we’ll have to take a rain check on anything super bouncy on this trip.”

  Mom leaps from her chair, her hands clapping, her eyes bright. “That’s the best news ever!”

  So much for calmly discussing my new job. Which I’m supposed to be starting in less than three weeks. I sigh.

  “We are very excited,” Holly says. “But you know, I heard that Cole—”

  I shake my head.

  “We actually have some news too,” Dad says.

  Mom’s eyes widen, and she turns to face him. “We do?”

  Dad licks his lips. “Well, maybe it’s more my news. I’ve been talking to Horatio, and we’ve worked up a plan. But before I can talk about that, I need to know something from Holly.”

  Holly’s eyebrows draw together. “Huh?”

  “Do you have any interest at all in ruling in my place some day?”

  The joy melts from my sweet little sister’s face. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, Dad, but no. Not even a teensy tiny bit.”

  Dad bobs his head. “I suspected that, and so Horatio and I have worked up some documents.” He stands up and walks out of the room.

  “Umm,” Holly says. “What in the world is going on?”

  Mom shrugs.

  Dad walks back inside, and sets a sheath of papers on the table, next to his cheesecake. “These are two rather long documents. The first is a petition of adoption, which I’m actually authorized to sign myself, but I drew them up to have the chief magistrate sign. And the second is a call for an amendment to the Princely Family of Liechtenstein’s House Law.”

  I blink.

  “I don’t understand,” Mom says.

  “Cole has been my son for almost thirty-one years, since the very day I married you, Serena. I’ve always seen him as my own boy, no matter what the law said.”

  Tears well in Mom’s eyes.

  My heart stutters in my chest.

  “I think it’s high time we at least attempt to change the law so it reflects the reality of our family.”

  Mom shakes her head sadly. “They’ll never approve this.”

  Dad smiles. “When has the Princely family ever turned and run from a fight?”

  “Uh, well, two world wars come to mind,” Holly says.

  Dad scowls. “Our entire family was essentially bankrupt after those wars, and Grandfather created a formidable economic empire. And I’ve—”

  “Even if that’s true, this particular fight is with the Princely family you’re so eager to defend,” Holly says. “So our general stubborn and intractable natures work against us.”

  “Every single one of our dynasts would lay down his life—”

  “Calm down,” Holly practically shouts. “I was mostly kidding. And of course, if this is what Cole wants, I’ll strap on my armor and attack whatever you want me to attack.” She leans toward me, her eyes intent on mine. “But I think Cole might have other plans in mind.”

  “You’d be risking your father’s lands and title,” Mom says. “If you let Dad adopt you formally, your claim to Gerard’s property will evaporate. Karl will take it all.”

  My cousin. He’s not a bad guy—if someone is going to benefit from a tremendous windfall, it may as well be him.

  “I seem to be the only person here who isn’t sure quite what’s going on,” James says.

  Holly takes her husband’s hand. “I’m not one hundred percent sure either, but I think that Dad’s offering to formally adopt Cole and make him the Regent, preparatory to becoming the new prince. Is that right?”

  “But why is that a risk?” James asks.

  “Dad hasn’t ever adopted Cole,” Mom says, “because of the laws of primogeniture. Cole would lose his inheritance from his father, which is substantial, and still be unable to rule here in Liechtenstein. Currently, the House Law makes no allowances for adoptive children.”

  “It’s high time the family votes to change that law,” Dad says.

  “They never will,” Mom says.

  “Well, I think they might,” Dad says. “I don’t think Franz has any interest in politics, and Josef’s too busy with his microscopes and research to want to rule.”

  “Neither of them has ever lived here either. Even so, it’s a pretty big gamble,” Holly says.

  “There are more than fifty dynasts,
in any case,” Mom says. “The odds of all of them being fine with Cole shifting them back in line. . .”

  “If you’re worried, we’ll try to change the law before we finalize the adoption,” Dad says.

  “It lowers the stakes,” Mom says. “It might make it less likely that we’ll win. But Cole will still have Gerard’s title to fall back on.”

  “What exactly would it take to change the House Law?” Holly asks.

  Dad looks at his hands. “A two-thirds majority would need to approve the change.”

  Holly whistles.

  Dad nods. “It’s a lot, I know.”

  “Have two-thirds of our family’s males ever agreed on anything?” Holly mutters.

  “I haven’t heard much from Cole,” James says. “What do you think about all of this?”

  I lean back in my chair. I spent decades wishing Dad would go to bat for me. I used to dream that one day, the stars would shift in the sky, and somehow, I would be worthy to take over for him. But that dream died—and I’ve already buried it. It hurt quite a lot when I did, and I don’t want to go through it all again.

  “I meant to tell you this before Holly’s news and Dad’s surprise, but I’ve taken a job in Antwerp working for Argenta. I start in three weeks. So while I appreciate your very noble intentions.” I shake my head. “I don’t think this plan has the slightest chance of working.” If it had, we’d have taken steps to do this ten years ago when Dad was strong enough for some kind of pitched family battle.

  “Are you sure, son?” The intense look, the sorrow in my Dad’s eyes, shakes my resolve, but not for long.

  I’ve always known he loved me. That doesn’t mean that I really belong here, governing his country. “I’m sure. I think you should call Uncle Franz and start working out the details of transitioning the rule to him.”

  It’s time for me to move on with my life. My real life.

  3

  Beth

  When I finally made it home last night, Mom had been asleep for a while. But I know she’ll be awake and waiting with a smile when I get downstairs this morning.

  I requested to talk to you several times over the years, but they always declined.

  Henrietta’s words have echoed through my brain on a never-ending loop since she spoke them last night. She reached out, several times. My parents never told me, and they refused contact.

  Why?

  I alternate between fury and sorrow. I’ve always been the lone musician in the family—the only one who had any musical interest. In spite of having no musical talent themselves, they’ve supported me from start to finish. Mom put me in private lessons, attended every single recital, and they even bought me a baby grand and plonked it down in the middle of the house. They’ve also never complained about the never-ending practicing, even though it must get annoying.

  If they don’t quite understand my obsession, well, they have always encouraged it in spite of that.

  Could Henrietta be lying? I can’t think of a single reason she would do that, other than perhaps guilt? Could she have felt bad about never reaching out to me? Could she have regretted the closed adoption, but never have done anything to change it?

  Only one way to know.

  I square my shoulders and march down the curved staircase, passing my Fazioli as I reach the first floor.

  “Good morning, darling,” Mom says.

  “Hey.” I grab a bowl from the cabinet, a spoon from the drawer, and a box of Life cereal from the pantry.

  Mom grabs the milk carton. “Did you happen to see Rob yesterday before he left?”

  I suppress a grin. “Rob? Why would I have seen him?”

  Mom’s shoulders droop.

  “I’m kidding. He grabbed me right as I got off work.”

  Her eyes light up.

  “Best news of the year, easily. I can hardly believe it.” I take a bite, the cereal sloshing around in my mouth. “But that punk won’t tell me the gender, which is just mean. Did he tell you?”

  “They’re refusing to reveal it to anyone until they can do a big production. When I was having children, the gender reveal came at birth.”

  I sit down, still shoveling cereal.

  “How did Parker’s go last night?”

  I shrug. “It was fine.”

  “So the new requests thing didn’t turn out to be hard?” Mom offers me a cup of coffee.

  I take it with a smile. “Actually, I played better than I’ve ever played.”

  “Hey, that’s awesome,” she says. “So it upped your game. It’s great to hear that you were nervous for nothing.”

  “I think it may have been because of my nerves that I did so well. Or maybe not, I’m not sure.”

  “When are you back?” She sits down near the window. “Dad and I didn’t want to stress you out, but we’d like to go and hear you the next time you’re there.”

  “So, that’s kind of up in the air,” I say.

  “What?” Mom leaps to her feet. “I thought you said it went great. Those idiots didn’t decide to stop the piano music, did they?”

  “No, but I might have a better opportunity.” I bite my lip.

  “Well, that’s wonderful to hear.” Mom perches on the edge of her chair, her eyes intent. “Did someone hear you play last night and offer you a job?”

  I set my coffee mug and my cereal bowl down and sit. “I got a call yesterday, just as I was leaving Zena, actually.”

  “Okay.” Mom’s brow furrows. “From?”

  Anger ripples through me—that she has kept my mother from me all this time. That Henrietta had to track me down with a private investigator. “My mom.” I cross my arms under my chest.

  Mom’s mouth drops open, and she stares at me blankly. “Your who?” Her bright blue eyes widen.

  My heart constricts. That was mean. Whatever my mom did, she doesn’t deserve that. She’s been the best mom anyone could have wanted. She was there for me, every day. I wish I could snatch those two words back, unsay them somehow. “A woman named Henrietta Gauvón called me. She claims to be my birth mother.”

  Mom swallows, hard. “She is your birth mother.”

  For some reason, I expected her to argue with me.

  “What did she want?” Mom presses.

  The anger returns, burning inside my chest. “Why do you assume she wanted something?”

  Mom shrugs.

  “Why?”

  Mom looks at her hands, folded in her lap.

  “Mom.” I lean toward her. “What’s the deal?” I wasn’t going to tell her what Henrietta said, but the words bubble out uncontrolled. “She’s famous, and she doesn’t need anything from me. But she did try to reach out to me several times, and you blocked her attempts.”

  “We did what we thought best,” Mom says softly, still not meeting my eyes.

  “So it’s true.”

  “Adoptions are complicated,” Mom says. “And your father wasn’t as keen on the idea, not back then, but I knew it was right. I knew you were our baby.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “I always figured you sort of filled out paperwork, and then someone called, and you went and got me.”

  “We should probably have told you more,” Mom says. “But it felt like it didn’t matter. It felt. . . irrelevant, once I had you in my arms.”

  “Why did she give me up?” I ask.

  “That’s something you’ll have to ask her,” Mom says. “I don’t know that for sure, but I can speculate. She was a performer, even then.”

  “Were you guys even looking to adopt?” I ask.

  “We were,” Mom says. “We had filled out paperwork here, and we had a completed home study, but the circumstances of your family were complicated. Your father was a rather prominent professor.”

  I lift one eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “Henrietta was one of his students,” Mom says. “And I assume she had opportunities to pursue that a baby would interrupt. Your father had no interest in pursuing a relationship with her—the
re was quite an age difference.”

  I don’t want to hear anymore, and I’m desperate to find out everything. “He’s American, my birth father?”

  Mom nods. “But he passed away, Beth. Nine years ago.”

  “So, how in the world did you get me?” I ask.

  “His wife wanted a child.” Mom frowns. “She convinced Henrietta that they would care for you together. They wanted a fresh start, where everyone wouldn’t remember that she hadn’t been pregnant, so they moved to Atlanta. They didn’t stay here long.”

  “Why not?”

  “When your biological father brought you home.” Mom shakes her head. “His wife couldn’t do it. Henrietta had already severed her parental rights, and you were a US citizen. Your father passed you off to a social worker, and she had a horrible car accident, with you in the car. You were alright, thankfully, but she came to our dealership to buy a replacement.”

  “Are you kidding me right now?”

  Mom shakes her head. “Your father may have given her an amazing deal on a car so that she’d put in a good word for us.”

  “You bought me with a free car?”

  A tear rolls down Mom’s cheek. “I was handling the books at the time, or trying. I held you while your dad helped the woman find a car. By the time she chose one, I was already in love with you.” Tears stream freely down her face now. “Your huge brown eyes and your chubby cheeks. You hiccupped when you cried too hard, which is exactly what you were doing when I picked you up the first time—bawling uncontrollably.”

  My eyes well up, too.

  “You never cried when I was holding you, not that first day, and not for months after. My other three children, the ones I created inside my body, they squalled when they were tired, when they were hungry, when their tummies hurt. For no reason at all, sometimes, but not you, not once. I knew it that day, and I’ve known it every day since: you’re my daughter.”

  I swipe at the tears on my face. “But you kept her from me, and it wasn’t her fault. How could you do that?”

  Mom grabs a napkin and blows her nose. “She chose the closed adoption—she wanted no contact after your father took the baby. But.” Mom inhales and exhales. “She did contact us twice much later.”