by Lara Swann
“It’s Aldora, Princesca.” He says, voice endlessly patient. “It’s pretty much closed off - they’re our private, national treasures.”
“You’re doing the world a disservice.” I say immediately. “Can you even imagine how many people would adore to come here - to see some of your stunning countryside, to visit cathedrals and castles and the perfect medieval city? God, you’ve got a goldmine in tourism that you’re ignoring right under your nose, and you complain that Aldora is struggling to find income?”
Derek just laughs, kissing my head again.
“Aldora is never going to be a country for tourists, Hanna. Everyone here would be in complete uproar - god, can’t you imagine it?” He shakes his head. “We’re not exactly the most easy or welcoming people - I’m sure you’ve learned that by now.”
Your court isn’t. I think. But your people…they were lovely.
But I don’t say it. It’s none of my business, even if there’s part of me that is already disappointed I’m never going to be able to come and visit these places again - never going to be able to bring Carly, or show anyone else.
“How did you end up with masterpieces like this, then?” I ask instead, and let the conversation move on to Derek’s explanation of how responsibility for works of art and religion was one of the few things left in control of his family during the colonial period - and therefore one of the few ways they had to feel powerful and important.
That, combined with being right next to both the artists and skill from Italy - and the competition from the elaborate designs over there - left Aldora with some truly stunning buildings.
He’s as good as his word, too - the other places he takes me are just as impressive. It’s almost enough for me to forget about everything else going on, and these couple of days are exactly what he wanted.
The perfect end to our summer together - and one I’ll always remember.
But it does end.
And in this case - with a violent storm in the mountains.
We leave a few hours early, after Derek’s concerns about it blocking us off from getting back grow to the point we really can’t idle lazily for a while before returning to the real world.
I’m not entirely sure how serious he is, but I’ve read about some killer storms here in Aldora and figure it’s just my reluctance to leave that brief moment of paradise we made for ourselves. And, as he points out, if we get stuck up here for a week then I won’t be able to meet Carly on time and start my trip.
And the moment he says that, things shift between us…just a little. We drive back to Salda, and the light, easy air between us slowly becomes something thick and almost uncomfortable. The conversation dries up and we both end up lost in our own thoughts.
I can see the storm on the mountain behind us through the rearview mirror - the rain lashing almost sideways, and looking like it’s coming down towards us - and I’m glad that Derek was thoughtful enough to make sure we got out in time. At the same time as being really not glad that we’re driving back towards the city and not huddled together, under duvets and blankets with a cozy, crackling fire.
Neither of us say much on the way back, and even though I want to ask how we’re going to tell his family that actually I don’t want to be their Princesca, I don’t quite dare. It’s hard to think about right now.
By the time we get about halfway there, the storm has caught us - and the wind and rain slashes at the car. I glance over at Derek, wide-eyed. It’s the first bad weather I’ve seen in Aldora, and despite all the reports…I’m not sure I could quite imagine it being…bad.
He just grits his teeth and drives carefully, staring through the torrential rain ahead of us and cranking the heating up inside the car. I’m a little freaked out, but he says he’s done this before and that the storm isn’t that bad - not yet. That only makes me even more dubious.
It gets worse as we get closer to Salda - and I jump when my phone starts buzzing, then take a few deep breaths and laugh at myself. I’m not used to being spooked by something as simple as a storm. Besides, since we didn’t have any reception up in the mountains, this is probably Carly debating with a non-responsive me about whether to go for one hotel or another, then getting pissed I’m not replying even though I told her how intermittent my signal is here, before eventually booking herself.
It’s all a nonsense drama, but I pull it out anyway - at this point, I could do with the distraction. Even if I have seriously mixed thoughts about our European trip right now, and I don’t know quite how I’m going to explain to her that I think I might have accidentally gone and gotten my heart broken during this crazy plan.
I click my screen on and wait for it to start behaving - phones don’t like altitude, apparently - and then freeze as the messages start coming in.
Thirty-eight from my parents.
Twelve missed calls.
What the hell? What the fuck has happened?!
I unlock the phone and immediately go to the messages, my heart in my throat.
Then I skim through them, and everything inside me seizes up.
“Hanna?” Derek glances over at me, before looking back at the road. “What’s wrong? You’ve gone pale as a sheet.”
It takes me a good minute before I manage to get anything out, my mouth opening and closing.
“They know.” I say hoarsely.
“What?”
“My parents. They know about this.”
The car skids, just for a moment, and then Derek curses and throws both his hands back on the wheel.
I jump, but nothing he can do right now could affect me worse than what I’ve just found out.
“How?!” He asks, but I’m already too absorbed looking for the answer.
I don’t really want to read through the messages - it’s painful to hear their shock and disappointment and anger and alarm - but it does tell me what happened. And when I see it, I immediately turn red-hot angry.
“Someone went to talk to them!” I say, my voice loud and ringing in my ears, but I can’t help it. I seem to be hearing everything from a distance. “Someone went round to their house and spoke to them, because—because apparently—apparently they need to be checked. And they didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on.”
“Oh fuck.” Derek mutters, slamming his hands against the wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck.” I repeat, my head still swimming. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? What do I tell them? I didn’t even know this happened—did you know this happened? That your parents would—would—”
I take a couple of deep gasping breaths, not sure if I’m more upset or angry at the moment. It feels like the last few days have taken me through just about every possible emotion.
Derek is silent for a moment, and when he finally answers, it’s quiet.
“If I’d thought about it…maybe. But I wasn’t expecting—it’s so…soon. And—”
“If you say it wasn’t supposed to happen this early I’m going to fucking kill you, Derek. It’s one thing when it came to meeting your parents - and another for that stupid Court Dinner - but my family?! That’s not a fuck-up I can deal with, damn you.”
He doesn’t say anything. His eyes close briefly, before he returns them to the road, his gaze probably just as hard and frustrated as mine.
“I’m sorry, Hanna.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t.
It’s not his fault - not really. He could have thought about it, but hell, I’ve been studying this whole thing and I didn’t think of it either. But it’s easier to be angry with him, and I’m fucking scared right now. I have no idea what I’m going to say to my parents, and I’m regretting ever agreeing to this whole stupid idea. If I’d thought they’d ever find out…
My phone buzzes again, and I glance down wide-eyed as another call comes through. My stomach flips, but I can’t answer it. Not here, now, like this.
But they also know it’s ringing now.
I swallow
, then cancel the call and shoot them a quick text. There’s nothing I can say by text to make any of it better - so I just say I’m fine and safe, because they always want to know that, and I’m sorry about the whole fuck-up, I’ve had no reception until now and I’ll Skype them as soon as I get back to Salda.
Then I turn my phone off. I’m not sure I can deal with the deluge of texts and calls that are about to come through. I can always say the battery died.
Yeah, great Hanna. Another lie.
The tension in the car ratchets up for those last couple of hours, and neither of us can think of anything to say to each other. I’m both itching to get back and call my parents and dreading it, and emotionally that’s slightly wrecking me.
When we finally do get back, I thank Derek for driving before getting out and rushing inside before he can say anything or follow me. The rain slams into me as I run towards the entrance to the castle - and then head straight to my room.
You would think that sudden onslaught of wet and cold might jog me enough that I come out of the lost, mental haze I’m in. But it doesn’t. It just makes me wet and cold as well. It’s the first bad weather that I’ve seen in Aldora, and the timing seems oddly appropriate for how fucked up everything else is.
I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to say the whole journey back, and I still have nothing.
Except, maybe, the truth.
I don’t lie to my parents, not about anything. I don’t necessarily tell them everything that I get up to, but I don’t lie. I’ve never really needed to. They’ve trusted me, and they’ve been there for me when I’ve screwed up, and they’ve never judged me for it. They’ve also respected my decisions and my ability to make them, so I’ve always been able to talk to them about what I was going to do before I did it, which is something not many people my age seem able to do.
It’s something I’ve always been grateful for. And now I wonder whether I’ve thrown it all back in their faces.
This was the first thing I didn’t think I could talk to them about before I decided to do it. Because, as patient and generous and kind as they are…there was no way they weren’t going to hear “I’m thinking about getting engaged to a foreign Prince” and not freak out. They’re not made of stone. I knew very well what they’d think of this plan…and, somehow, I wanted to do it anyway. Even though I knew they’d be right.
And they were right. They were so fucking right.
Even though they never knew, and therefore never said anything - everything they told me in my head…that was right.
I see Simeon walking towards my room from the other direction, and his expression perks up - in the typical reserved Aldoran way - as he sees me.
“Hey, Hanna.” If it weren’t for everything else, the progress I’ve made there would make me smile - casual greeting, my name, check and check. “I heard you were back, and thought I’d come—”
“Sorry, Simeon. I really don’t have time to talk now.”
“What’s wrong—”
I walk into my room and shut the door before he can finish his sentence. Simeon is a nice guy, and I immediately feel bad about it, but it can’t compare to how bad I feel about everything with my parents right now. And I just can’t deal with the questions.
I go to the other end and draw the curtains, then strip off my suddenly wet clothes, dry myself and my glasses - then grab something dry from my wardrobe.
Then I take a few deep breaths, pull out my laptop and start it up. I turn my phone on in the same moment and sit on the bed, just waiting and listening to the rain smashing against the walls outside while my stomach swirls with butterflies.
I don’t look at the messages they sent while I was in the car - instead I just text ‘I’m on Skype. Are you free?’ and wait.
It doesn’t take long - my computer starts ringing only two minutes later and I take a deep breath before answering the call.
My parents’ faces appear on the screen only a moment later - both of them frowning and tense and obviously concerned.
“Hey.” I say, stupidly, still having no idea how to do this. “I’m sorry I only just got your messages - I was in the mountains and we didn’t have reception. I said that might happen—”
“I told you that was it.” Mom mutters to Dad.
He ignores her to focus on me, the normal easy warmth in his eyes replaced by pure concern. “What on earth is going on, Hanna? You wouldn’t believe what we’ve heard, it’s, just…completely impossible!”
“They said you were engaged.” Mom adds, as they talk over each other in their hurry to get it all out.
“Well, you see…” I start, then swallow. “It’s, ahh, it’s not quite like that.”
They stare at me for a moment - and then it hits them, as I knew it would. Anything other than a complete denial followed by my own outrage and…yeah…
“What?!” Mom’s concern turns to disbelief.
“Wait, you mean you actually are—” Dad adds in, and I try to explain, knowing I’m doing a terrible job of this.
“Not really. Not exactly. It’s not like that.” I say quickly.
“Don’t you tell me that you went away on this European trip of yours - the one we’ve been so excited you’re finally doing - and now you’re engaged to some foreign…man.” My dad splutters.
“You have more sense than that - what happened, Hanna?” Mom adds, somewhere between angry and disappointed and just plain confused.
It’s all totally overwhelming.
“I—” I start, but my Dad isn’t done.
“It’s every parents’ fear about a trip like that - an exciting vacation to Europe, great, but you wouldn’t believe the warnings we got about the men over there, the number of people who told us you’d come back pregnant or heart-broken or worse. And we didn’t believe a word—”
“No, our daughter wasn’t like that.” Mom says, and my stomach twists.
“I’m not pregnant—” I manage to get in. I don’t say a word about heart-broken. I do not want to go there right now.
“Oh, well thank goodness for that.” Mom throws her arms up. “Great. You’re just…what? What exactly are you, Hanna?”
“We want you to be able to make mistakes, Hanna, but engaged to…to…who even is this guy, anyway?” Dad asks before I can answer, and I have to take some deep breaths to be able to think straight.
They’re not giving me a single chance to actually answer, and I half-wonder whether they even want to know. But I remind myself that they’ve been sitting on this information for at least a day now, wondering what the hell has happened to their daughter, and everything that’s exploding out at me is probably something that’s been circling in their minds on an endless loop.
It makes it at least a little bit better.
“And how dare he?!” My Mom adds, suddenly turning to outrage now that she’s got a target for her anger that isn’t me. “Proposing to you without the slightest thought for us - for your life or family back in America? What does he think you’re going to do, just pack up and disappear from everything you know and love?”
“You really haven’t thought this through, Hanna. We need to talk about this.” Dad adds, and I just look at him in confusion for a moment.
Talk about it? I haven’t thought it through?
And it suddenly occurs to me what’s behind at least half of their frantic arguments. They’re actually shit-scared that I was really planning to leave America - that I was stupid enough to want to throw away my whole life and stay here with some random foreign guy that I only met a few weeks ago—
Isn’t that exactly what you thought about doing, Hanna?
The little voice nags at me as they continue working themselves into a frenzy of worry and concern and disbelief.
Weren’t you just thinking how much you wanted Derek to ask you to stay?
The idea completely paralyzes me.
How totally, completely fucking stupid.
It’s been an amazing summer - a
n unbelievable summer. I’ve had some of the best sex I’ve ever known. I’ve seen some of the most magical places that I never would have thought were real. I’ve got to know a whole new culture and people, and it’s been incredible. I’ve spent hours with only one person I can really talk to…and I feel like I know him almost as well as myself now.
It’s all been the kind of experience you kill for. A summer fling without comparison.
But this is why it was never going to be anything more. Because eventually, I need to go home. And while I’ve been mourning the loss of Derek and Aldora and everything I was starting to have here…my parents were terrified their daughter wasn’t going to come home. And that makes me feel almost sick to my stomach.
I can’t just disappear after a few weeks in a foreign country and some crazy lust with a ridiculously hot guy. I can’t throw away everything that matters to me - my friends, my family, my degree.
And what’s terrifying is the idea that actually yes, maybe I am one of those girls. I can’t just dismiss what they’ve been worried about as something I’d never do. Because…if he’d asked…
I push that thought away.
You wouldn’t have stayed. I tell myself firmly. You have a little more sense than that.
But it’s suddenly obvious to me how easy it probably is to get swept up in the fantasy of another land, another place, another life. Especially a fantasy carried by a sexy-as-hell, European man. A Prince.
Fuck. I feel even worse about the whole thing, knowing that it might have almost been true. Maybe this started off as something fake and false that I could explain away - but for a moment, more than a moment, I wanted it to be real. And I can’t bring myself to pretend otherwise - not to my parents.
“I’m sorry.” I say, interrupting whatever argument they’re in the middle of making. “I’m sorry, you’re right, and no - I’m not running off with a foreign Prince. I promise.”
I think it’s how quiet my voice sounds when compared to theirs that actually gets them to shut up for a moment.
My Dad frowns at me for a moment. “He’s actually a Prince?”