by Holly Rayner
“It’s me.”
My heart thumps. I’ve seen Nikos every day for the last six months, with the exception of when I took a trip to New York while he went to Kalista, but the sound of his voice still makes me feel like a teenager all over again.
“Come in,” I call, putting the phone on the end of the bed.
Nikos enters, but he only makes it one step in. His eyes widen, and his hand freezes on the doorknob.
Heat pools in my face. I’m suddenly shy. Biting my lip, I look down and smooth the dress.
“What do you think?” I ask. “Thea gave it to me.”
His throat rolls with a swallow.
“Nikos?”
He shakes his head and blinks, like he’s working on waking up from a deep slumber.
“Apologies,” he says. “I was mesmerized.”
“Stop,” I laugh.
“You doubt me? Julia, you look amazing. You were already the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“That’s nice of you to say, but you didn’t really answer my question.” Stepping into the center of the room, I do a spin. It ends with me a few steps closer to Nikos.
“Does it suit me?” I ask.
He closes the door behind himself and takes me into his arms. “My love, you look every inch a queen, but…”
“But what?” I raise my eyebrows.
“You look that way to me every moment of every day. A beautiful dress is merely a cherry on top.”
“Thank you.” I press my palms against his shirt. “You look amazing.”
“I’m not wearing anything special,” he laughs. “Only a button-up.”
“Well, I wasn’t talking about your clothes. I was talking about you.”
“Ah. I see how you turned that around on me.”
I shrug innocently.
Nikos plants a sweet kiss on my lips, and I start to move from his arms, but he holds me tight.
“The party,” I remind him.
“I know.”
I tilt my head, waiting for more.
“Do you think Maya would mind making today a dual celebration?”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What else is going on?”
He draws a long breath and searches my eyes. “Nothing official yet, but I hope that’s about to change.”
“Nikos.” I laugh. It drives me crazy when he keeps me in suspense. He knows it, too, which is probably why he’s made it a habit.
“Julia.” He loosens his hold on me and reaches into his pocket.
The little jewelry box he withdraws makes me freeze. Nikos has never given me jewelry before. On my birthday a few months ago he painted a picture of Maya and me. He knows that kind of thing means much more to me than anything shiny or expensive ever could.
“I have been extraordinarily happy these last six months,” he says.
My mouth’s dry. “Yeah,” I rasp. “I have been, too.”
“Will you make my happiness complete and marry me?”
Nikos pops open the jewelry box. A diamond sparkles from its mount on a simple gold band.
The answer’s one I don’t even need to give thought to; it slips right from my lips.
“Yes.”
Smiling wide, Nikos takes the ring from the box and positions it on my finger. Like the dress Thea gifted me, it’s the perfect size.
I hold it up to the light, relishing the way it shines. Wearing it feels so right, I can’t quite believe it.
Nikos kisses the corner of my mouth, a smile playing on his lips. “I think this might actually be a perfect moment,” he breathes.
“Actually…” I say.
“Hm?” He arches a brow.
“There’s one thing I can think of that would make it better.”
“And what would that be?” he asks.
“You could sing a song to mark the occasion.” Taking his hands in mine, I swing them back and forth. “You know, like you did on our first date.”
He throws his head back in laughter. “Ah, yes. I remember it well.”
“Well?” I tilt my face up to his. “What do you think? Your voice is amazing.”
He sweeps his thumb down my cheek. “I would be happy to sing to you anytime, but you know what?”
“No. What?”
“I no longer have a need to hide behind anyone else’s lyrics or music, for you have brought a far more melodious tune into my life.”
That makes me laugh.
“Was that too much?” he asks. “Too cheesy?”
“No.” I lean closer. My breath kisses his face. “It was perfect.”
Nikos kisses me deeply, slowly, his lips stirring a happiness that’s been growing in me all year long.
There have been so many times in the past few years where I didn’t know up from down. Days where the things I loved most seemed to just slip through my fingers. In those dark moments, it was hard to keep hope alive, hard to keep going and believe that everything would get better.
But I did anyway.
And I thought I walked alone, but now I see that I never really did. I had the love of my parents, even once they stopped physically being with me. I had my friends.
Now I have Nikos and Maya, and the loving, generous family that comes with them. It’s more than I ever dreamed for myself.
It’s the life of a princess.
“Ready?” Nikos asks, opening the door.
“Let’s rock this party. Oh, Nikos?”
“Yes, my love?” he asks as we walk for the staircase.
“I wasn’t kidding about singing a song. I ordered a karaoke machine for the party.”
His eyes go wide. “You didn’t.”
“Yep.” I laugh into my hand. “What do you say? Will you perform a duet with me?”
Nikos stops walking to cup my face and kiss me. “Every day for the rest of my life.”
The End
The Royal Treatment
Holly Rayner & Ana Sparks
Copyright 2019, 2020 by Holly Rayner and Ana Sparks
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Rose
The dawn call to prayer sounded out over the rooftops of the city of Safirah, the voice a crackling recording that cut out after a few creaky repetitions. The man who had previously climbed the tower stairs to call out prayer times over a loudspeaker had determined it was too dangerous after a bomb hit the tower. Now, the damaged loudspeaker played the recording instead.
I opened my eyes to stare at the cracked geometric tiles arching over my head as the last call echoed away into silence. I reminded myself not to roll over too fast; the cot was narrow, and I had fallen off more than once during my first mornings sleeping on it. I had left comfort behind in America. Here, I got the best they could provide, which wasn’t much.
I couldn’t remember what I’d been dreaming about. Last night I had dragged myself up to bed exhausted, having worked so late at the aid center’s administrative wing that I couldn’t even remember the walk back to my room. Despite that, I now felt refreshed. The sleep had done me so much good that last night almost felt like the dream.
When I got back to the center, of course, there would be people to orient, problems to solve, and a fresh pile of paperwork to handle. With no reliable local internet in all of Al-Rasmah, everything was done by hand, on typewriters, occasionally via a precious fax before the phone lines cut out again.
We were there to help the civilians cope with this increasingly heated war. Neither side looked good when ex
amining the pain the war caused. The insurgents wanted freedom from oppression. The government wanted to regain control. All that everyone else wanted—including those the insurgents claimed they were fighting for and the government claimed they were protecting—was for the shooting to stop. But for five long, ugly years, it hadn’t.
I had only been here for about six months, and I was already sick of it myself.
Every day, there was another crowd at the doors. Every day, another mountain of papers, each form representing someone wounded, sick, starving, their home destroyed, separated from their family. The lucky ones had stayed together, but had nowhere to go. The unlucky ones came to us on the brink of death. And it was my job to greet them with a smile, a listening ear, and as much hope as I could lend them.
Fortunately, I knew all about giving hope to people on the brink. I had years of experience of that from my last job. “Hi Mrs. Johnson. You’ve had a fall and you’re in the hospital now. I’m Rose. I’m going to be helping the doctor take care of you. Your hip is broken, honey, but your insurance will cover the replacement. Please don’t worry. Your husband is on his way.” Sometimes, these days, that life felt like it had happened a thousand years ago, not two. But that was what I had come here for, wasn’t it? To put the past behind me.
I got up, wrapping my robe around me before drawing near the window. The dry warmth of outdoors was already flowing into the open archway; by noon, it would be like the breath of an oven. It was nothing like the wet, sensual heat of Miami, which made you want to drowse in the sun.
Here at the doorstep of the desert, the heat drained you dry. Like the landscape, or the men with guns who sometimes rode through the streets, it was brutal and unforgiving, and could kill you in answer to a single misstep. All the more reason why this place needed the help that the rest of the volunteers and I were struggling to give, day in and day out.
Outside, the dusty streets were deserted; those who were already up had slipped inside for prayers. Normally, they would emerge soon after, off to work or shopping, as life struggled to go on in the war-torn city. But after last night’s siege, nobody seemed to want to be the first to stick their head out.
I stared out over the rooftops, watching a portly older woman hanging her laundry between two poles on its flat surface. Rooftops were the land of women and children now, not the streets: outside work was done up in that semi-private space as much as possible, leaving the streets and yards to those prowling men, whose movements—and acts of violence—could not be predicted.
Finally, I turned and went back into the bathroom to get ready for my shift. I washed the sweat from my thick mahogany-brown hair, rinsed off in the cool water, and smoothed some of my precious skin cream over the sunburn across my cheeks. I was half Scots and not made for such a sunny country. But I went where I was needed.
Joining Rescue Aid International had been my version of joining the Foreign Legion. I had needed to get away from my past life as a nurse at Miami General and all its painful memories. But more, I had needed to do something meaningful while I was running from those memories. Something I could be proud of.
Something those I loved could be proud of, too. Even the ones who had passed on already.
Karla, I did it, I thought as my skin dried in the time it took me to find an outfit. I took your advice and came. I’ve saved more lives here than in the hospital, without feeling your absence every time I go to work.
Maybe that was an exaggeration. But making sure people were housed and fed and had access to clean water in a place where the heat could kill you did indeed save them, even if I wasn’t setting bones or pulling out bullets.
I picked a modest dress of light, pale linen, with neither jewelry nor much in the way of makeup. So far from home, I had no reason to bother with dolling myself up overmuch. There was nobody here whom I wanted to impress with my looks. Only my ability to help in a crisis mattered in this place.
That was just how I liked it.
Before I left, I stopped at the little shelf memorial that Karla’s Cuban grandmother had told me how to set up. It had a single white candle in a plain silver holder and a glass of clean water, with a photo of Karla between them in a thin silver frame. They were the only valuables I kept besides the silver pocket watch she had given me, which hung from a fob at my throat.
I grew up alone, a foster child with few friends, thanks to my shyness. Karla had been my first experience of sisterhood, as an adult, at my job. She always had a smile no matter how crazy things got. Losing her was why I had left Miami. Her inspiration and advice were why I had come here. I still missed her every day; I was just too busy now, and in survival mode too often, to become bogged down in it.
My room was on the top functional floor of the old hotel the city had given us to use. The aid workers all slept up here, where we could see trouble coming. We took turns in pairs, keeping watch from the nearly roofless top floor, and were happy when the vast black night outside the city’s ancient sandstone walls wasn’t lit up by headlights or fires. When the desert was quiet, we were safe.
Outside on the street, all was still quiet, a few shops hanging out their signs but leaving their windows shuttered and their doors closed. Locals would knock furtively to be let in, on watch as I was the whole time for plumes of dust from approaching jeeps. As I walked down the stairs, I kept taking peeks out of the small, square windows, wondering how long it would take this time for things to get back to normal around here.
Compared to what the people here suffered daily, my problems were small, petty. Personal failings, dating woes, and lost friends were nothing in the light of burning homes and bomb-shattered streets. It put everything into brutal, unflinching perspective. I could still mourn my losses, but watching people pick up and move on with their lives every day in the face of civil war left me determined to emulate their strength and do the same.
The broad lobby had become our organization’s office space, cubicles sectioned off by cheap hospital dividers, same as were used in the emergency clinic in the building next door. I stepped briskly into the bustling maze of pale blue screens, trying to tune out the weeping, the quiet discussion of horrors. I was tough, but I still had a heart, and the desperation of our clients plucked at me.
When I got to my cubicle, a delicate-looking woman with wide blue eyes was already standing nervously beside my desk. Her blond hair was meticulously braided, and she hadn’t run out of nail polish or lipstick yet. New volunteer, I pegged her at once.
“Hi,” I said and stepped toward her with a smile. “I’m Rose. I handle orientations around here. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”
“Oh, no, no. I came early in case I got lost.” She flashed me a bright, nervous smile, her French accent so thick that it took me a moment to sort her words out.
I need caffeine.
“I understand,” I said. “This place can be confusing, and as I understand it, they’re mostly just sending people over after two hours of training and a website referral.” It had been more for me, but donations were down, and that meant training for new volunteers was getting more and more bare-bones.
She laughed gratefully and with a bit of embarrassment at my sympathy. “Ah, I see you already know. Yes, I am lost.”
“Well, don’t worry, we all go through it when we first get here. Let’s sort some paperwork out, and I’ll show you around. Then I’ll get you your room key and give you a chance to settle in.” I did my best to keep my tone reassuring, but inside, I was panicking a little. I preferred to start my day with caffeine and whatever papers were waiting on my desk. “Let me just find your file.”
It took a few moments of digging through the new stack left in front of my old word processor to find her files and papers. Yvonne Lévy. Fresh from Paris, France, barely just finished her internship, good grades, good recommendations. I felt a tug of worry.
“Did anyone you’ve talked to so far tell you what to expect here?”
“I only received th
e basics, and what I was able to research about the conflict and humanitarian crisis.” She said it like she was reading it off a website. “You are short on nurses, yes?”
“That’s correct,” I sighed, feeling my heart sink with guilt. I had made a point not to admit my medical background when I had come to work here, claiming I had been a medical receptionist. I had to get away from the job for a while, along with Miami. What had happened to my best friend had simply left me unable to continue working in that capacity.
“Is something wrong?” Yvonne’s voice was like the twitter of a small bird.
I recovered at once and shook my head, smiling. “Oh, no, nothing important, I’m just still waking up. Sorry about that.” I grabbed a questionnaire and sat down at my desk, offering her the seat across from mine. “Our tea guy should be around in a bit. Let’s get started on these questions in the meantime.”
Yvonne was smart, and well prepared when it came to her nursing duties, but like most new medical personnel here, she hadn’t been emotionally prepared for this place at all. She stared at me in horror as I started to describe the nightly watch shifts. As I showed her around, it seemed to start sinking in.
“How long have you been here?” she finally asked, in a much more subdued tone.
“Six months.” I closed the half-empty medicine cupboard I had been showing her and locked it. “You do get used to it.” Somewhat, anyway.
“I see.” She swallowed dryly. “Please, show me my room.”
I don’t know if this one’s going to last, I thought a little sadly as I walked back down the stairs from showing Yvonne to her room. She had brought four suitcases. I wondered how many of them were full of clothes she would end up never using.
Welcome to the war zone, sweetheart. It isn’t pretty, but you’ll be where you’re needed most.
As I reached my cubicle, I was relieved to see it was momentarily deserted. I sat down and started going through my daily stack of papers, absently sipping at the half-cooled tea that had thankfully been delivered.
