by Holly Rayner
It’s as if the very air around us has dissipated. No one says anything for a long moment.
Darius, hands folded behind his back, nods solemnly. “You are eager to see him. Good.”
“Thea never said what was wrong with him,” Nikos says.
Thea looks down and busies herself by sliding a gold bangle up and down her wrist.
“Perhaps it will be best if we take you to see for yourself,” Darius says.
“Yes,” Thea says in a small voice. “That will be good.”
“Then lead the way,” Nikos says. I can’t be the only one who senses he’s wound tighter than a spring.
Darius’ gaze flicks to me. “Would you like to wait somewhere, Julia? The head housekeeper can show you and Maya to your rooms, if you wish to get comfortable.”
“No,” Nikos answers, taking my hand in his. “I would like her with me.”
I look into his dark eyes. It’s the most vulnerable moment I’ve ever gotten from him, a far cry from the man who denied his true identity and shut me out of his life.
Closing my other hand over the two of ours, I nod. I’m here through it all, and I know that he would do the same for me.
Not that any of that needs to be said.
Chapter 25
Nikos
I cannot feel my legs as I walk down the hall leading from my brother’s study. Surely, they must still be working, for how could I be moving along if they weren’t?
Julia tenses against me, and I realize I have her hand in a death grip.
“I’m sorry,” I say, relaxing my hold.
“It’s okay.” She rubs my arm.
I try to smile, but who knows if I succeed. Up ahead, Maya walks between Darius and Thea, talking a mile a minute.
“...and we like to go to the river sometimes, because there’s a good swimming spot there. Hey, you should come to Sterling. It’s real nice.”
“I would love to visit you there,” Thea says. Over her shoulder, she smiles at me and Julia.
We traverse the west hall, which is all windows on one side. Each step I take feels like walking in a dream. This is my childhood home. Even with as big as it is, I swear I know every square foot by heart. Being in it again, after years of thinking I had to forget it, defies logic.
Thea takes us to the western patio, one of the nicer ones in the palace. Sunny through most of the day, it overlooks the sea and regularly enjoys a nice breeze.
Not much about it has changed. The giant pots with tropical plants are still placed strategically in the corners, though the cast aluminum furniture I remember from years ago has been replaced with wicker chairs and loveseats piled with plump blue cushions.
In a rocker chair faced away from us, a small figure sits hunched over. I stop walking. Thea notices and leaves the chattering Maya and Darius.
“Nikos,” she says in a gentle voice.
“Where is Father? Who is that?”
Her eyelashes flutter. Her throat rolls with a swallow.
Reality hits like a ton of bricks.
“Oh,” is all I have the wherewithal to croak out.
“Do you want to take a minute?” Julia asks. “We can go back inside and—”
“No, it’s fine.”
If I don’t do this now, there is no guarantee that I ever will.
Darius is watching us from the corner of his eye. Reading the tone, he says, “Maya, come look at the flower garden we have.”
“Is it near the horse stable?” she asks.
“Er, you can see the tennis courts from it. Do you play?”
“Huh?”
He puts his hand on her shoulder and gently steers her down a garden path. “Come see.”
Thea walks slowly toward our father, almost as if she were afraid of breaking something underfoot. Stopping next to him, she delicately clears her throat.
“Father, you have visitors.”
He lifts a hand to show his acknowledgment. Even from across the patio, I can see how thin his arm is. Gone is the burly man I grew up first fearing and then resenting.
“Visitors?” he asks, the frailty of his voice matching that of his body.
“Yes.”
I draw my hand from Julia’s, and though she gives me an encouraging smile, she stays where she is.
“Go ahead.” She gestures at my father. “I’ll be right here.”
Thea moves to allow me space. A lump in my throat, I walk to the side of my father’s rocking chair. He’s dressed in long pants and a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat, and the hair that only showed hints of age when I left is now thickly salt-and-pepper.
For a moment, I’m struck dumb.
This is my father, and yet… can it be?
It suddenly seems preposterous that this old, feeble man ever exerted any degree of control over my life.
He doesn’t look at me, only continues to stare straight ahead. Familiar anger rises in my belly. Is this how he fancies he should treat me? That my return after many years away, a move made due to his poor health, should be received in such a disrespectful manner?
I open my mouth, ready to express my annoyance, but only air moves over my tongue.
His eyes… Something is different about them. Are they paler?
Or, no, it’s…
He cocks his head, listening.
I nearly keel over.
My father has gone blind.
“He had a stroke,” Thea says, using that same quiet voice she did when she told Father someone was here to see him. “About six months ago.”
My chest constricts.
Thea begged me to return home so many times. Now that I am standing here, I cannot for the life of me remember why I denied her requests. Was it out of pride? Denial? Belief that my father’s callousness was reason enough for me to return the same negativity?
He is a man at the end of his life. Whether death comes for him tomorrow or in five years, it matters not. Surely, he is much closer than I to leaving this world. At this point, if I choose to harbor a grudge, I am only keeping alive the harm he initially bestowed on me.
Dropping to my knee so that our faces are closer, I set my hand on my father’s. He turns his palm over, fingertips grazing me.
I clear my throat. “It’s—”
“Nikos,” he says.
“Y-yes,” I stammer.
“I recognize your touch,” he says, voice low and hollow.
Recognize my touch? It has been eight years since we saw each other, and I hardly remember him touching me before that. At public events, sure, when he might have put a hand on my arm or shoulder. But he was never an affectionate father.
How deep into his memory has he had to delve in order to recover what my touch feels like?
“How are you, Father?”
It seems such a ridiculous question to ask. Clearly, he’s been better. But I am at a loss as to what else to do. Thea and Julia still stand quietly, like sentries guarding the scene, and across the garden Darius lifts Maya up so she can look into a birdhouse.
This moment is all about my father and me. It’s been years in the making.
And I have no clue what to do with it.
“Full of regrets,” he answers. “That is how I am.”
I stiffen from shock. That’s not the response I expected at all.
“Nikos.” He turns his face in my direction and pats my hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thea asked me to.”
“I know.” Again, he pats my hand. “She is a good daughter, and a caring sister.”
I work my tongue around. Yes, Thea was always the good one—but only by luck. She relishes the chances being royal gives her, always seeing her time in the spotlight as an opportunity to make life better for others. Merely because her desires align with my father’s, she is the “good one.”
“You could have not come, though,” Father says. “And that choice would have been understandable.”
His head hangs. His eyes glisten.
It can
not be. Is he crying?
This is the man who did not even cry at my mother’s funeral. Instead, he went into his office afterward, shut the door, and did not come out for hours. If he did any mourning at all, it was in absolute privacy.
“I almost didn’t come,” I say, hard as it is to admit. “I had many reasons not to.”
“Yet you did.” He pauses and swallows. Collects himself. “Nikos, it has taken this old man months spent in darkness to see what I have missed by casting you out. I understand if you can never forgive me, but know that I am sorry.”
My throat burns, and my heart races. A shaking takes control of my hands.
“I was intolerant,” he goes on, “and for no reason other than that was how I was taught to be. But not you, my son. You broke that curse. You loved with no regard of political or state lines. And I… I punished the both of us for it.”
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. There’s a well of grief deep in my soul that’s been filling up for the last eight years. I’ve done everything I could to ignore its existence, but that’s no longer possible. It’s overflowing, bursting from me with such force that any second now it’s sure to break me in two.
And yet… that never happens.
Instead, as I sit clutching my father’s hand and soaking in the truth he’s given me, I heal. The anger that I’ve held onto for years, which has always seemed so real, dissipates in the amount of time it takes to snap two fingers.
It’s almost as if it never existed at all.
“I forgive you, Father,” I say. “And I understand now. You thought you were doing what was best.”
He shakes his head. “I was wrong.”
“I am back now. Let’s put it behind us.”
It’s hard to believe my own ears, but that is me saying those words.
“Thea told me about Melissa.” Grief drags down his features. “I am so very sorry, my son. I cannot imagine what it has been like for you to go through losing her then raising a child on your own.”
I want to act strong, because that is what I’ve become used to doing. He has broken me open and extracted the truth, though.
“Yes,” I rasp, “but I have managed, because my daughter needs me.”
“You’re a good father.”
A pregnant pause hangs in the air, meshing with the sound of birdsong from the gardens. There’s much more we could say, but where do we even start?
Maya’s muffled voice, gushing over something, pulls me from the reverie.
“I have someone here who would like to meet you,” I say. “She has been asking after you for years, actually.” Standing, I wave at Darius, who is pointing out something in the distance to Maya.
Putting his hand on her back, he steers her over to us.
The shyness she displayed upon arriving at the palace is back. Maya tentatively approaches her grandfather, her chin tucked and her hands clasped.
“Maya,” I say, “this is my father, King Kostas. Your grandfather.”
“Hi,” Maya says in a small voice. She looks to me, and I nod encouragingly.
“Your home is beautiful,” she says. “I love the flowers and all the pretty paintings.”
My chest swells with pride. If nothing else, at least I can say I raised a polite and sweet kid.
“Thank you, child.” My father smiles.
“Uncle Darius said that you went blind.” Maya shifts her weight back and forth. “I can tell you about everything, if you want. I can describe all the parts about the palace if you can’t remember. Maybe it would make you feel better.”
Thea claps her hand to her heart and wipes away a tear. Julia’s smile lights up the patio. Yes, I might be the proudest father on earth.
A prescient pause, and then—
“I would love that,” Father says. “I would love for you to tell me about everything you observe. But, you know, this palace is as much your home as it is mine.”
Maya sucks in an excited breath. “Really?”
He hooks a finger under her chin. Though he cannot see, he points his face straight at hers. It is as if he’s working his way through the darkness he lives in.
“Absolutely. You are a princess of Kalista, after all.”
“I am?” Maya squeals.
“Yes, you are.”
“Did you hear that, Dad?”
“I did. What do you think of that?”
“I didn’t even know princesses were real,” she says on a giggle. “What do I do now? What do I get to do?”
“How about we visit those horses we’ve been talking about?” Thea suggests.
“Yes!” Maya jumps up and down.
My father’s eyebrows knit together. “Nikos. Who else is here?”
“Someone very special to me, Father.”
“Can I see the horses, Dad?” Maya asks.
“Yes. Stick close to your aunt, though.”
“Woo-hoo! Come on, Aunt Thea! Come on, Uncle Darius! We’re gonna see the horses!”
The three of them leave through the garden, and Julia steps closer to me. Wrapping my arm through hers, I give her a smile. Her eyes are red and puffy from tears recently shed, but it doesn’t diminish her beauty. If anything, the display of emotion only adds to it.
“Father,” I say, “this is Julia Fernandez. Without her, I would not be here today.”
“And why is that?” he asks.
I squeeze her arm, a lump forming in my throat. “She helped me see what is truly important in life, that holding grudges is never worth it, but that taking chances is.”
Though she stands stoic, Julia wipes away a tear. “It is a pleasure to meet you, King Kostas.”
“Julia,” he says. “A beautiful name. And a beautiful soul, I know. Like myself, my son has a mind that is not easily changed. You must be a very special woman indeed to work such magic on him.”
Julia and I both laugh.
“Yes,” I say. “She is very special.”
“Then it is you I must thank more than anyone,” Father says. “For you brought a stubborn old man happiness before it was too late.”
“I only did what seemed natural, sir,” she says.
“A good woman.” He nods in satisfaction. “Thank you for coming today. Please, stay as long as you are able to.”
Julia and I turn to each other. It’s funny that only an hour ago I considered departing Kalista on the same day as our arrival here.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Would you like to stay for a few days?”
Julia wraps her arms around my torso. Her head rests perfectly against my shoulder.
“I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do than be here with all of you,” she says.
I kiss the top of her head, my heart overflowing with gratitude. “Me neither.”
Chapter 26
Julia
The massive dining room booms with laughter.
“Another one!” Maya requests. “Tell me another story about my dad!”
“Hm.” Darius taps fingers against his mouth. “Let me see. There was the time he and I snuck out of the palace by sliding down a drainpipe, but you probably don’t want to hear about that.”
“What? Yes, I do. I do, I do.”
“Watch what you tell her, brother,” Nikos says from his seat next to me. “You will give her notions.”
Darius swirls the wine in his glass. “I have a feeling that, being your daughter, Maya is likely already her own person. Any influence I or anyone else exerts would do little to change the intrinsic features of her personality.”
Thea laughs and rolls her eyes. “As you can see, Nikos, Darius’ lofty attitude has not suffered from erosion at all.”
In a good-natured show, Darius narrows his eyes at her.
“Maya,” Kostas says from the head of the table. “How do you like your dessert? I asked the chef what American girls like, and she said that fried ice cream was sure to win you over.”
“Her bowl is clean,” Nikos says. “Does that answer the que
stion?”
Maya rubs her belly. “It was so good. I want to hear the, um, the story about the… what pipe?”
“Drainpipe.” Darius folds his arms on the table and leans into them. “It was a dark and stormy night…”
Nikos lowers his voice, speaking just to me. “Do you need to hear this story, or can I steal you for a few minutes?”
“Both sound good,” I laugh. “I have to admit.”
His devilish smile has me melting. “Just a few.”
“Okay, then.”
Nikos puts his napkin on the table and stands. “Father, if Julia and I might be excused…”
“Certainly. Don’t be gone too long. I wish to hear your take on this story. I did not know the drain was an appropriate means of escape.”
“It’s not,” Darius chortles. “It broke when Nikos was halfway down it.”
“Everything he says is a lie.” Nikos points at his brother. “Everything.”
Nikos leads the way from the dining room and down the main hallway. Since I’ve only been here for a few hours, the palace is still a maze to me, but he navigates it like the back of his hand. Soon we’re emerging into the warm night and crossing a patio.
In the garden, Nikos takes my hand. Solar lights line the path ahead of us, and the trickle of a fountain sings a soothing lullaby. We walk slowly, the pebbles crunching underfoot.
“It really is like one of your paintings come to life out here,” I say, gesturing at the view of a neighborhood down below.
The rooftops are dark, but lights from porches and cars pepper the scene. Upbeat music drifts up the hill. There’s a party going on somewhere.
“Thank you for the compliment,” he says, “but even the most beautiful rendition of Kalista is nothing compared to seeing it up close.”
“I can certainly agree with that.”
“I have missed it so.” Nikos’ hands drifts out of mine. A rosebush climbing a trellis has captured his attention.
He plucks a vibrant pink rose and brings it over to me.
“Don’t worry,” he says, tucking the rose behind my ear. “It’s thornless.”
“Are you sure?” I tease.
“If I’m wrong, you have my full permission to dish out any kind of feedback that you see fit.”
