“Why not? What else do I have to do? I’m a prince, for fuck’s sake.”
Oh, well, okay.
I suppose that makes sense.
I look down at my tea, lifting the delicate saucer to my lips for a sip. It’s never too hot when Wind makes it; it’s always just right.
“What are your guys’ plans for fall break?” I ask, feeling this tenuous emotion inside of me tear like tissue paper. I’m so worried about Charlie, I feel sick. If I don’t actively work to not think about him, then he’s the only thing on my mind most days. “I want to be with my dad, but …” I’m almost afraid to finish that sentence, but I make myself lift my gaze, looking between Creed and Windsor and wondering how long they’ve been working on the sword fighting thing together. “I kind of …” Fuck, this is hard. “I’d like some company.”
“It’s hard, to watch someone you love suffer, isn’t it?” Windsor asks, and I remember that his dad passed away a long time ago. I’ve never asked why. It seemed too personal of a question. Maybe … I could ask in private sometime? “Come to my family’s estate in Napa. We’ll be celebrating … what is that grisly American holiday that celebrates genocide and racism, Thanksgiving is it? … yes, we’ll be celebrating Thanksgiving there. Mother will be attendance, if stuffy princesses are your sort of thing.”
My brows go up, and I blink several times to clear my surprise.
“You’re okay if I come up there with Charlie?”
“Okay? I’d love to have you.” Windsor pauses and sets his teacup down. His red hair is sweaty and sticking up all over the place. Creed is leaning on one elbow, resting his head in his palm, and stuffing a finger-sandwich into his mouth with the opposite hand as he watches me and Wind. “It’s on a vineyard, quite lovely. But we won’t have any wine on the premises, I can promise you that.”
“I think …” I start, exhaling sharply and putting my own teacup aside to keep the boys from seeing how badly my hands are shaking. “That alcohol isn’t as big of a worry now as it was. I think a vineyard would be nice. I’ll check with Dad.”
“We have our own polo field,” Windsor adds, glancing over at Creed. “We could put on a show. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“You’re addicted to winning, you know,” Creed whispers, eating another sandwich. I swear, that boy can put food away like nobody else but Zack. They could probably have an eating competition, and it’d be a close bet. The thing is, Zack probably weighs like fifty percent more than Creed. At least. He’s huge, my own big, sexy football playing teddy bear … “But sure, why not?” Creed sits up and narrows his eyes on his tea. “Fucking boiled plant water with milk and sugar in it. Forgive me if I’m not overly impressed.”
Windsor’s nostrils flare and his own hazel eyes narrow.
“Would you like me to rescind my invitation?” he whispers, his voice edging on dangerous. “Insult the queen’s beverage again, and I’ll be forced to defend the drink of my country.”
Creed looks up at him, and then tilts his head to one side.
“Question: is Lizzie Walton invited?” he asks, and then both boys turn to look at me. I pretend to be too busy sipping my tea to answer that. I want to know their opinions on the matter … “Oh come on, Marnye, don’t tell me her constant hounding of Tristan doesn’t piss you off.”
“I, well …” I’m in polite company, so I may as well … “Okay, yeah, it frustrates me. I can’t get a second alone with him. She’s literally always there.”
“We’ll make sure her invitation gets lost in the mail then,” Windsor says, standing up and then smiling at the pair of us. “Take your time finishing the tea. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” He starts toward his room and disappears inside, leaving the door cracked. I can hear the water when he turns it on, but I can’t see anything.
“Come back to my room with me,” Creed whispers, and the sound makes me shiver all over. Doubly so when he runs his finger down the back of my neck. It’s in that moment that Windsor happens to pause in a spot where I can see him undressing, dropping his clothes to the floor and revealing a lithe, muscular form that has my entire body going up in flames.
He sees me looking, smirks, and then walks over to shove the door closed.
“Okay,” I tell Creed, finding it suddenly hard to talk as I glance over at him. “Absolutely. Yes.”
A slow, sultry smirk curves over his mouth as he stands up and takes my hand. I make sure to reach out, grab his teacup and finish off his drink before we go. Don’t want to piss the prince off, now do we?
Creed and I head back to his room and end up late for class the next morning.
It’s worth it though, oh so worth it.
It’s only about a two hour drive from Cruz Bay to Napa Valley where the Royal Vineyard and Princess Winery is located. They produce almost thirty thousand bottles per year and have their own shop with specialty cheeses and smoked meats.
The drive itself is gorgeous, rolling hills of grapes on either side of us, trees lining the road, the sun shining up above. The Maserati drives like a dream, and Dad sings the Police for almost an hour before his voice gives out, and he stares out at the hills in quiet contemplation.
When we arrive at the gate, I punch in the code Windsor gave me, and take the winding dirt road up to the gorgeous chateau on the top of the hill. Wind jokingly told me via text oh, I don’t live in the main house—I live in the garden followed by several laughing emojis. In my mind, I somehow imagined like, this old brick shack with a fireplace. Small, but cozy. Just a few guest bedrooms that we’d all have to cram into … But then we pass behind the main house and find another that’s only slightly smaller, but just as nice waiting in the sunshine, olive trees clustered near the front door.
Windsor’s waiting on the porch with a box of those sparkling ciders that my dad likes so much.
First, of course, we’re frisked by security, and our luggage is hauled away for examination.
“Mr. Reed,” Wind greets, giving Charlie a gentle hug. “I’m glad you and your beautiful daughter could make it.”
“You’re a sweet boy, Windsor,” Dad says, and I raise my eyebrows. If he only knew … “Is your mother around? I’d love to not only thank her, but I did promise Jennifer I’d get her to sign this picture.” Dad reaches into his pocket, and I hate to see how much his hand shakes as he pulls out a photo of Princess Alexandra, one of the reigning queen’s granddaughters.
“She’s in the house. I’ll take you to meet her if you’d like.”
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask as we make our way to the back door of the chateau. It’s slightly ajar, and there’s a white cat sitting there, licking its leg and glaring at me. Windsor ignores it, stepping right over it and leaving it to sunbathe on the small brick patio.
“I told them all to show up a few days late, so we’d have some time together.” He winks at me over his shoulder, and then turns back around, leading us through a small mudroom type area with boots and coats and rustic looking beams that I can tell are a good hundred years old. You can’t fake that patina.
Wind takes us into a much more modern looking kitchen (it’s impossible to relay just how much I’d have freaked out if the place had had original cabinets) with an entire wall of windows on the opposite side of the room. Our view is taken up by a deck, a carefully tended garden, and rolling hills covered in grapevines.
It’s breathtaking.
“Haha-ue,” Windsor calls out, drawing the attention of the woman lounging out of the deck. He calls her haha-ue (it’s pronounced hah-hah-way), a very formal version of mother in Japanese. It’s something a noble or … well, royal might call their mom. He might not be taking advanced Japanese with me, but he definitely pays attention to my classes.
I feel my mouth curve into a smile as Windsor’s mother stands up, dressed in a loose-fitting gray sundress patterned with a sunflower print. She lifts the shades off her face, her red-orange hair curled carefully around her shoulders. Just off to the side of the deck, there’s a man in a red shirt and jeans, standing casually but unobtrusively.
Security, no doubt about it.
I think about that bodyguard Kathleen Cabot tried to hire for me during second year. What was his name? Kyle something? I should’ve accepted his help, and then maybe I wouldn’t have been nearly drowned.
“Don’t call me that; it sounds like you’re laughing at me.” Windsor’s mother pauses to smile at us, and I can see the skin around his eyes tightening slightly.
“Forgive her. She speaks ten languages, but Japanese is not one of them.” Wind sighs and holds out a hand to indicate his mother. “Princess Alexandra Mary Elizabeth Windsor, formerly Alexandra Duchess of Westminster. And yes, she was most certainly taking the piss when she named me.”
“Forgive my son,” Alexandra corrects as she holds out her hand to shake first Charlie’s, and then mine. “He forgets his station.”
“You never let me forget,” Windsor adds as Dad wrinkles up his brow.
“Taking the piss?” he asks, and Windsor and I both laugh. I’ve heard that phrase enough times now to know what it means.
“Like … telling a joke,” I explain, and Dad nods.
“Like I said, forgive my son and please, call me Alex.”
“Charlie,” Dad replies, and the four of us end up in the kitchen with a whole spread of beautiful hor d’oeuvres, including crackers, soft cheeses, olives, and plenty of fruit. There’s wine, too, but Dad doesn’t even look at it.
The princess seems nice enough, if a little disconnected. She checks her phone constantly, and I can tell she’s only mildly interested in our conversation. When Dad leaves to go lie down, the housekeeper shows him to his room, and Princess Alex disappears outside to talk on the phone.