Nota good idea. Nona may forget I’m Fabiana and use my real name, throwing the cat right amongst the royal pigeons.
“The road south is flooded, so we have to stay the night in a little town called San Fiorenzo, but I’m hoping to get to the city tomorrow.”
“Oh, I know that place. It’s such a pretty little town,nestled in the mountains with its beautiful views. Your papa used to order those delicious pies from a bakery there, remember? It really is the perfect place for a romantic interlude.”
“Nona! Seriously,” I hiss, immediately taking her off FaceTime and lifting the receiver to my ear.
“Can’t an old lady imagine romance?”
“I would have thought you'd had quite enough of that after you went dancing with Mr. Beckman,” I reply, switching the focus to her.
She bites. “Oh, Rudolf really is quite something. I never knew! Living in the house next door all these years. I didn’t think I liked him, but I didn’t really even know him. He's quite the Fred Astaire.”
“And you're going to tell me you’re his Ginger Rogers, I suppose?”
She chuckles. “Not until my ankle’s better,” she sing-songs.
“How is your ankle? When will you be discharged?”
“I'm already home. Fred Astaire picked me up earlier today.”
“Oh, that’s good.”
I'm not quite sure what to make of this new development in my grandmother's life. Rudolf has been nothing but a neighbor all these years, and now suddenly he’s the man my grandmother is…what? Dating?
An odd sensation twists in my belly. It’s always been Nona and me, us against the world. Now, Mr. Beckman seems to have eked his way into her affections.
“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I'm in perfectly good hands here. You enjoy your time with your prince—who allegedly has zero designs on you—and I'll see you when your project is finished.”
“But—” I protest on more than one count. The woman’s got romance on the brain.
“No buts, Val. I can manage with a sprained ankle with Rudolf at my side.”
“As long as you’re sure?”
“I’m sure, my darling girl.” She pauses for a beat before she says, “He wasn’t the one.”
Confused, I reply, “Who wasn’t the one? Mr. Beckman?”
“The prince. It wasn’t him. It was his father.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because it seems to me you’ve been holding it against him all these years. He didn’t have any part in it, Val.”
Her words take me by surprise as my new friend guilt claims my chest. “Where’s this suddenly coming from, Nona?”
“It’s something I’ve wanted to say to you for some time now.”
“And you think that when I’m stuck in a small town with the guy is the perfect time?”
“Now’s as good as any. I don’t want you holding something against a man who isn’t responsible for what happened to us.”
Her words sit heavily with me. She’s right. I’ve known for a long time. I’ve spent so long hating the royal family for what the king did all those years ago, I’d lost sight of where my true anger lay. It’s not with Max. How could it be? He could have only been eleven when it all happened.
I’ve been punishing him for something he had no part in, not only in my mind, but in my life as a journalist, as well. And it’s not been fair to him.I’venot been fair to him.
It hits me like ablow to the solar plexus.
