“That’s an odd question. Did you win the lottery or something?” She takes a bag from my hands and shuts the door behind me.
“Let’s go with ‘or something’.” I set the rest of the bags on the table and start pulling everything out. I snatch a container of fries off the table and stuff as many of the salty treats that I can in my mouth.
“Burgers, pizza, and Chinese?” She pulls the container of fries out of my hand and sets it on the table. “What’s going on?” Her brown eyes investigate mine full of concern. She sits in a chair and pulls the one opposite out patting it for me to sit.
I finish chewing and swallow the obnoxious number of fries before letting her know what kind of crazy just fell in my lap. Taking a breath, I get up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “He must be a horrible person for her to lie to me all these years and then refuse to see him like that. Not that I really trust her judgement right now.”
I huff out a breath and take a seat at the table. Seneca sits beside me, busying herself making us some plates of food, and pushes one piled high with French fries, orange chicken, and pizza to me.
“That’s a lot to take in. Are you sure you want to go? What if he’s a psycho? I mean, who really stays away from their child her whole life then suddenly wants to play daddy?” She takes a big bite of her burger and mumbles. “Sounds psycho to me.”
“It’s not normal, no, but there is more to it than my mom is telling me.” I twirl a fry in a dollop of ketchup. “No matter what, I just found out my father is alive. I have to at least meet him.”
She nods. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Do you know when? I signed up for some classes in the second half of summer.”
“Even if you can only go for a day, I want you there. I need some support, and I’m not getting any from my mom.”
Seneca hugs me to her and my shoulders relax for the first time all day. “I’m sorry she’s acting so crappy about all of this.”
“Yeah. It’s weird right? Am I overreacting?”
“No, it’s totally weird, even for the Ice Queen. What are you going to do?” When Seneca gave my mom the nickname, I never thought she would live up to it to such extremes.
“About her? No clue. About him? Also, no clue.” I sigh and push my food away sinking down into the chair. “I’m just going to meet him and go from there. It’s all I can do.”
She pushes the food back and tilts her head, raising her eyebrows. I pick up the pizza and take a bite. She nods her head, curls bouncing. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow,”
“Let’s go pack then. Better yet, let’s go shopping. A nice new outfit to wear when you meet your dad will make you feel better.”
Chapter Two
Seneca darts around the bow of the boat taking in everything, while I sit and try to prepare myself. She snored through most of the long flight, lucky for her, I couldn’t as my thoughts raced. Now I can barely keep my eyes open. That mixed with my growing anxiety has left me feeling agitated and drained.
I want to appreciate the first view of this little island my father calls home, but it’s hard to focus on. The cliffs along the far-right shore are breathtaking and the water is a brilliant blue and clear enough to see fish of brilliant colors swimming near the other boats. The boat slows as we approach the dock and people mill around on shore waiting for their loved ones to get off the boat. As we unload couples and families embrace and chatter erupts all around, mostly in Italian, but some in English and Spanish. Wendell, the man who came to see me in Philadelphia, rushes over to grab our bags.
“We can help you.” I reach down to grab my carry on, but he snatches it up, throwing it over his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.” He sets our bags near the trunk before rushing to open the door before I can reach for the handle.
“Umm, thanks.” I’m not used to such luxurious treatment. Everything Wendell does is so formal. I don’t know how to react.
“This is swanky,” Seneca says enunciating each word and slides across the leather seats to the other side. I get in after her, and Wendell closes the door.
I turn to her as soon as the door closes. “Everything about this seems crazier by the minute. If it wasn’t for my mom’s reaction, I would think this whole thing was fake.”
“How are you doing with that?”
“I don’t want to worry about my mom right now. I’ll deal with it when I get back. Right now, I’m going to focus on my father. Hopefully this parent will give me some answers.”
“Well, I’m here for you, whatever you need. If at any time you’re ready to bail on this and go back home just say the word.”
I squeeze her hand and settle into the plush seat. Traveling for hours and jumping forward in time is exhausting.
A moment later the trunk shuts behind us and Wendell slides into the front seat. We pull away from the marina and pass through a cute little town full of aged stone buildings with flowers everywhere; along the side of the road, in window pots, around trees. Throughout the town are royal blue flags trimmed in gold hanging from lampposts and walls. The farther from the town we get, the less buildings there are. The road follows the coast showing us brilliant views. The shore is mostly rocky but has some sandy coves. Inland is green hills dotted with trees and covered with wildflowers as far as you can see. It’s beautiful. On the edge of the road in the middle of nothing is a blue flag hanging from a light pole like in the town.
“Wendell?”
He glances to me briefly in the rearview mirror. “Yes, ma’am?”
“What are the blue flags on the side of the road? I saw them in that little town when we arrived, too.”
“The royal crest, ma’am.”
The design is gorgeous. An M on a shield flanked with vines and topped with a Pegasus, all in gold on the deep blue flag. “Italy hasn’t had a king in almost a hundred years.”
“No ma’am they haven’t. Messalinia is its own nation.”
“Oh, I just assumed it was part of Italy with the location.”
“A common assumption to people unfamiliar with our country. We find it fortunate we have maintained our sovereignty over the years.”
“It must be interesting to live in one of the last surviving monarchies. Has there ever been any consideration to change to a different form of government?
“Our king treats us well; most citizens are happy.”
Seneca leans forward in her seat. “Oh, can we see the castle?”
“I’m sure there will be time for some sightseeing, miss.” Wendell smiles the most genuine smile I have seen from him. He must be one of the ones that loves the king.
“What about the ones who aren’t happy with the monarchy?”
He meets my eyes again, smile gone. “There are some who support a relative of the king and hope he will come into power.”
“Does he plan to change the country from a monarchy?”
“He wishes to be king.”
“So, wouldn’t they just have the same problems with a different king?”
“I’m not sure what problems we would face with a new king ma’am.” He lets out a small sigh, so small I can’t be sure I heard it.
Before I know it, Wendell turns off the main road and we stop at a large iron gate. Outside his window, he swipes a card against the faceplate of the iron box. The gate begins to open parting down the middle without the creaking and squeaking I was expecting. He follows the tree lined road and a gorgeous mansion comes into view.
“Wow, your dad must be super rich. Look at this place.” I always knew my dad came from money because of the trust payments I receive every month. But, I agree, this is really something.
The estate sits on a cliff above the ocean, waves crash against the cliff somewhere below us and the salty breeze whips my hair around my face. The cream and brown stone walls tower above us. Two chimneys sit at opposite ends of the house and ivy creeps up the walls.
The gardens are full of blooming flowers and
greenery and a large fountain sits in the middle of the circle driveway, surrounded with more of the colorful flowers.
“I will have your luggage brought to your suites. If you would follow me, I will introduce you to Mrs. Brighton. She will assist you with anything you need during your stay.”
We follow Wendell up the large stone steps to the carved wood double doors.
“Where’s my father? When do I get to see him?” My stomach flips and I take a deep breath.
“He will be traveling from the city later this afternoon.”
The foyer is big and open, two stories high with a beautiful winding staircase and sparkling chandelier. An enormous Messalinian crest hangs on the wall. My father must be a big supporter of the king as well. Footsteps to my right attracts my attention.
“Here she is. Ladies this is Mrs. Brighton. This is Miss Adellaide and, her friend, Miss Seneca.”
The adorable, plump lady stops in front of us, and looks me over through the glasses perched on the end of her nose. “I would know you anywhere.” She pulls me into a smothering hug. I glance at Seneca pleading for some sort of intervention. She just shrugs and covers her smile. Mrs., Brighton holds me out at arm’s length. “You look just like your father, but with those beautiful brown eyes like your mother.”
“I can’t wait to meet him and see for myself.” I never really thought I looked like my mom. She has dark brown hair and olive skin, I have lighter, redder hair and pale skin that never tans. The only similarity we share is our deep brown eyes. I only saw one picture of my dad. Mom caught me looking at it when I was about six, and I never saw it again.
“You girls must be starved. Let’s get you some nibbles and coffee. Then you can go up to your suites and freshen up.” Her mention of food has my stomach rumbling. I nod and grab Seneca’s hand before following Mrs. Brighton to the food.
The suite is huge, with split-level separations between the sitting room and the bedroom area. A large U-shaped couch sits in the middle of the sitting room facing the glass wall panels that open to a balcony. In the bedroom area, all the furniture is painted a shimmering pearl with gold accents. A double-sided fireplace separates the private bath from the rest of the suite.
A gold and white clawfoot tub sits near the fireplace and I can’t wait to climb into it with a book. A glittering chandelier hangs in each of the separate areas. Who needs that many chandeliers for one guest room?
The gardens below my bedroom are filled with the same blooming flowers from the front are planted around a gazebo and line the paths. Trees are scattered around many of them full of fruits and blossoms. Behind it all the ocean ripples and glitters stretching into the distance.
Looking down at my sundress I second guess my choice. I should have picked out a business suit when we went shopping instead. My dress just doesn’t seem nice enough to meet the person that lives in this house.
The heavy knocking against the door has me turning away from the window.
“Come in.”
Wendell steps in and bows. “Your father has arrived. If you’re ready I will take you down to see him now.”
I nod and follow him from my room back downstairs and to the back of the sprawling house. We pass dozens of paintings and portraits with long gone faces staring out and so many rooms I lose count. Crystal vases filled with fresh flowers sit on every flat surface possible filling the air with their scent. Wendell talks about some of the artwork we pass, but I can’t concentrate on a word he says. Each step brings me closer to meeting my father and every second adds to my anxiety. I wasn’t sure what to expect coming here, but when I imagined it nothing close to this ever crossed my mind. There are a lot more people in the house now that my father is here, including security.
Two guards stand outside the doorway we stop at. The door opens and Mrs. Brighton steps out. She smiles at me and I try to smile back. She reaches out, grasping my hands with hers. “You’ll be fine cara. He’s just your father. He loves you.” She putters down the hallway, leaving me with Wendell. My hands are shaking, and I take a few deep breaths.
“Ready?” Wendell asks, and I nod. He knocks on the door and waits for a response. A deep voice responds, and he opens the door and steps in. Once again, he bows, which I have decided is just his typical response to people. “Your—” he stops, looking back at me. “Sir, your daughter has arrived.”
“Well show her in, Wendell. I’ve waited a long time for this.” His chuckle echoes out in the hallway.
This is it. I try to swallow but my mouth is too dry.
Wendell steps to the side, and I walk into the room. He bows and shuts the door behind him. Like every other room I’ve seen, it’s enormous and extravagantly decorated. There’s a large conference table in the center of the room, and on the far end near the windows, a wooden desk with elaborate carvings. A man sits the desk, he fits in with the fancy room with his elegant clothes and dignified movements. He stands and smiles. Mrs. Brighton was right. That's my smile and my nose. Even our auburn hair is a close match. I couldn't deny being related to this man if I wanted to.
“Adellaide. I'm so happy to finally meet you.” He stands and steps around the desk, reaching out to for a handshake. I try to discretely wipe my sweaty hand before touching him.
“Um, me too. You can call me Adella, by the way. Everyone else does.”
“I know this is terribly awkward. You can call me Alexander if it makes you more comfortable. I truly wish we weren't meeting like this.”
I stand a little taller, my nerves tapped down by curiosity, replaced by the need to know why all the secrets. “Why are we exactly? Why now, after all this time?”
“Straight to the point. I like that. I know you have questions.”
Finally, answers. “I do. Loads, actually.”
“Why don't we sit.” He motions to the couch against the wall. “Mrs. Brighton brought in coffee for us. We can talk and get to know each other, and you can ask all the questions you want. I promise I will answer all of them.”
“Okay.” I nod and sit with him on the couch. Where do I even start?
“Cream and sugar?” He pours coffee into two cups.
I couldn’t care less about coffee right now. “However you drink it is fine.” I watch him fix our coffees to his taste. He hands me the mug, and I focus on the milky coffee swirling in the cup. We sit in silence for several minutes, neither seeming to know what to say.
“You asked why we are only meeting now.” I look up from the coffee and nod. “Your mother and I made an agreement. I wouldn’t contact you until you were twenty-one. You having a normal life was important to us both.”
“Why would you do that? There is nothing normal about that.”
“Because of my… work, your mother thought it best you weren’t exposed to this life until you could make your own choices about being involved with me.”
“So, you just walk away from your daughter?”
“I agreed to not contact you, but it doesn’t mean I wasn’t checking up on you. So often I wanted to talk to you, to know you. I’ve been there your whole life. Dance recitals, graduation, any chance I could. I never wanted to walk away from you.”
“So why now? You said the agreement was until I turn twenty-one, that isn’t for four months.”
“There have been some unforeseen legal issues that can’t wait until then.”
“Legal issues.” All that security that arrived with him, this house, all the secrecy, keeping me away from him. My mother would have told me if he was dangerous, wouldn’t she? “You don’t want to use me for something illegal, do you? You aren’t some sort of drug lord, are you?”
His deep chuckle has my entire face heating up. It does sound a little silly when I say it out loud. He shakes his head. “No, dear girl. I’m not. Though some might say I’m a criminal when they don’t agree with me. I’m a law-abiding man.”
“But your work is dangerous? I see all the security that wasn’t here until you arrived.”
&n
bsp; “It can be, but then anything can be given the right circumstances. My life, my work, make the potential for danger to be anywhere. Now more than ever.”
“I feel like every question I ask just leaves me with more questions. What happens when I turn twenty-one?” He sighs, and I wait the agonizingly slow seconds for him to answer.
“In my country, a child such as yourself has until their twenty first birthday to accept or deny their birth right. If you do neither, after the birth date passes it becomes an automatic deny. Therefore, I agreed with your mother to wait until you were twenty-one to contact you. That way you would never have to choose, never have to be burdened.”
I set the coffee mug on the table. “Shouldn’t that have been my choice? I would have liked to have had a father growing up, even if it was only to come visit at Christmas or the summer. Plenty of girls grow up with separated parents. Traveling between the two is pretty normal. Pretending one is dead is not.”
“I would have like that too, but it wouldn’t have been that simple. If you were connected to me, your life would have been very different. Pressure and questions, private schools and security, all things you never had to worry about growing up. You got to live. You were safe. That’s all I wanted for you. To be safe and happy, even if it meant I wasn’t there.”
I understand wanting to keep your child safe but there had to have been a better way. Lying to me, keeping secrets, and then turning my life upside down couldn’t have been the best option. How is any of this better? I just want the truth. I want the answers I was promised. His vague replies make me want to scream.
“None of this makes sense to me and I don’t understand why it’s all suddenly different now. Can you please just explain.”
“How about we start at the beginning?”
I nod. He takes a deep breath and I hold mine hoping he’s finally going to give me the answers I deserve.
“Your mother and I met in college. Our time together was brief, but wonderful. We were so in love. She showed me what it was like to be a normal person. I wanted to marry your mother, but I kept secrets about myself that eventually drove us apart. I had made an agreement with my mother that if I didn’t find love on my own, I would marry who she chose for me. After your mother turned down my proposal, I came home to fulfill that duty. By the time I knew about you, I was already married and had accepted my role as king of Messalinia.”
A Royal Surprise Page 2
