My alarm startled me awake — and I use the term awake loosely, because I was lightyears from that — feeling like I’d been hit by a truck, dragged along for a few meters, and then politely asked to attend school anyway. My cheek throbbed — a deep, pulsing ache that flared every time I blinked. The bruise had bloomed overnight into something spectacular. Purple, red, swollen. A whole Picasso painting on my face. Just fantastic.
And because the universe hates me, I had to drive my sisters to school, by orders of our fearless leaders, aka Mom and Dad. Ugh. Both had their licenses, but getting them cars was still a work in progress.
Well — Charley had a car. For six months. A white Audi A5 Cabriolet she still claims she “settled for” because Dad wouldn’t buy her the matte‑white G‑Wagon she put on her Pinterest board like a delulu princess.
She proceeded to: curb‑rash all four wheels, destroy the suspension by driving off a curb because the GPS said “turn,” back into the stone gatepost, get two speeding tickets in a week, kill the engine with beach sand, and finally — the grand finale — drive straight into the country club fountain.
Caroline wasn’t any better. She took Mom’s SUV without asking and scraped the entire right side along the retaining wall of the driveway. One long, continuous, metal‑on‑stone scream.
So now both of them are in car‑timeout. Permanently. Especially since they keep asking for outlandish cars and huffing at what Dad considers “adequate.”
Which is how I ended up being their chauffeur, when ours took a day off and Mom and Dad were… busy. Yeah, right.
Kill me.
Charlotte and Caroline burst out of the house like caffeinated nightmares, climbing into the backseat with enough body spray and makeup fumes and whatever else girls marinated themselves in to fumigate the car.
“STAR-BIES!” Caroline squealed.
“Yes! I need my coffee fix,” Charley seconded.
“Why didn’t you take a travel mug from home? We have that fancy espresso maker mom bought, it makes you everything imaginable. We’re not stopping at Starbucks,” I muttered.
“Uh, yeah, well, Starbies isn’t boring homebrew, they have syrups dad doesn’t allow in the house and even add protein now, duh. Come on, Nate, they have a drive‑thru. And we’re DYING. You look half‑dead too — that’s not safe driving half‑comatose, is it?” Charlotte whined, already applying mascara in the rearview mirror, leaning over my center console from the backseat like we weren’t moving. I rolled my eyes and pushed her back. “Seatbelt! You too, Caro!”
“Yes, Dad,” she snapped, saluting with a handful of beauty tools. Girls.
“We’re gonna be late,” I said. “We hit one too many red lights and we’re toast.”
“But I need caffeine,” Caroline insisted.
“You need therapy,” I muttered.
“What?” she mumbled, her face contorted while applying makeup to her eyelids.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, wondering why females can’t apply eye makeup with their mouths closed. Mom did it too.
“Nate, you gotta drive by the yacht club after school. So don’t be late,” Caroline instructed.
“And to the boba tea shop before that,” Charlotte added.
“What for?!” I snapped.
Eyerolls. Synchronized.
“Duh, for boba tea, obviously!” Caroline huffed.
That was not what I meant, and I am damn sure my sister knew it. They both just had moments when they did anything and everything to play my last nerve like a violin.
“And why the yacht club?” I tried, against better judgment — but at least talking kept me awake.
“Today is Monday!” Charley informed me.
“I know that. What I don’t know is why you confuse me with our driver — who seriously picked the worst day to take a day off!”
“Monday is yoga day. Good grief, touch some grass, Nate.”
“Yeah, seriously. What planet are you from these days? We meet Mom there every Monday — hello?!”
“Exactly, so you won’t have to drive us home. Mom will.”
“Yeah, and SHE will definitely stop for coffee.”
“Totally!”
I said nothing after that. They tried a few more times, but I didn’t bite.
So instead, they bickered amongst themselves the entire drive — about hair, outfits, stolen lip gloss, how my driving was “aggressive,” how I was “ruining their vibe.” By the time I screeched into the school parking lot, I was ready to drop them off at the nearest adoption center. I didn’t even care if it was one for people or animals. Either worked for me.
“Have a fun daaaaay!” Charlotte chirped.
“Fix your face,” Caroline added sweetly, dropping concealer into my lap. I grabbed it and fired it into the glove box. ARGH.
I resisted the urge to drive away with the back doors still open. Yeah, because my sisters apparently didn’t know how to close car doors anymore. I slammed one and kicked the other shut.
My locker was overflowing again. Prom notes. Dozens. Pink, glittery, perfumed, folded into hearts, taped, wedged, stuffed — like a confetti cannon had exploded inside.
I shut the locker with my forehead.
I didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed. Maybe I should have stopped at Starbucks.
The moment I walked into first period, the room went silent. Then the comments started.
“Dude, what happened to your face?” “Bro, you get in a fight?” “Looks like you lost an argument.” “Did you go down the stairs on your face?” “Did your dad finally snap? Or was that Mom?”
I ignored all of it. Too tired to care.
The teacher started droning on about AP Biology and I fell asleep, ironically. The future med student found biology snooze‑worthy.
Not a cute, subtle nod‑off either. A full, head‑drooping, mouth‑slightly‑open, drooling, dead‑to‑the‑world sleep. The teacher called on me. I didn’t wake up. The class laughed. I jerked awake so violently I almost fell out of my chair. Perfect start to the day.
Second period, Art History. I didn’t fall asleep this time — I just stared out the window, completely gone. My eyes were open, but my brain was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm. Somewhere with sea breeze and freckles and a girl who said my name like it mattered.
Élodie.
I didn’t even hear the teacher until she snapped her fingers in front of my face.
“Mr. Cunningham. With us?”
The class laughed again. I wanted to crawl into a locker and die.
By lunch, I just wanted food. Just food. But a group of guys — the usual idiots — blocked my path.
“Hey Cunningham, nice bruise.” “Who hit you? Your nanny?” “Bet it was your girlfriend. Oh wait — you don’t have one. Maybe your boyfriend? The ladyboy your daddy bought for you so you are not so lonely?”
I tried to walk away. I really did. But one of them stepped in front of me and said:
“The golden boy with a busted face — iconic.”
And I snapped.
I slapped the dude’s tray out of his hands. Food everywhere. Gasps. Silence.
“PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE. NOW.”
I’d never been sent there in my life.
The principal called my parents. Dad showed up. Of course it was Dad. He walked in with that calm, doctor‑in‑a‑crisis expression that somehow made everything worse. Listened to the principal about what I was accused of.
“Nathaniel,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”
I followed him out, cheeks burning. When we reached the lobby — where my sisters stood gawking with everyone else — he held out his hand.
“Keys.”
“What? Dad — no. No. No. You can’t—”
“Keys.”
I slapped them into his palm. He turned and handed them to Charlotte.
“YOU’RE GIVING THEM TO HER?!” I exploded. “Have you SEEN her drive? My car is going to look like a crushed soda can!”
“Then perhaps you should behave in a way that allows you to keep your privileges,” Dad said calmly.
I wanted to scream.
In my head I was kissing my beautiful white BMW 4 Series Convertible goodbye, chrome accents gleaming in the morning sun. I had kept her spotless — not a single scratch. Knowing Charley’s interpretive‑dance driving style, that was about to become ancient history.
Things Can Always Get Worse
The rest of the week was a blur of teachers side‑eyeing me, classmates whispering, sisters being annoying, parents hovering, my cheek throbbing, my mood tanking. And then — the final straw.
A girl cornered me at my locker. A rich girl. A socialite. A legacy kid. Stephanie Brownstone.
“Nathan,” she said breathlessly, “I just want you to go to prom with me. We’re perfect and you know it. What is the hold up? I left you three notes. Can you not read?”
I had no bandwidth left.
“It’s Nathaniel. But fine,” I said. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Her eyes sparkled like she’d won the lottery. “Finally. My dress is ocean blue. Make sure we match.”
Yeah, that wouldn’t be hard. Blue, white, and tan were the standard “uniform” colors of Brindleton Bay because, you know, noblesse oblige — and nothing screamed coastal upscale more than those. Ask Ralph Lauren. Well, if he were still alive.
Prom night came way too fast. My parents fussed over me like I was going to the Oscars. I drove to pick up Stephanie. Her parents fussed even more. They posed us everywhere in every imaginable way. I started feeling like a supermodel.
“You’d think it was our wedding day,” I muttered under my breath. “And I don’t even know her birthday. And she knows even less about me.”
The drive out to the venue wasn’t long, thank God, I tried to make polite conversation but she barely responded, too busy fixing her makeup, taking Selfies and chatting with whomever.
At the venue, she latched onto my arm like a decorative accessory. Every time someone looked our way, she leaned in closer, laughed louder, touched my sleeve, my shoulder, my chest — nothing inappropriate, just… performative. Like she was trying to sell the idea of us.
I tried to be polite.
Tried to be a good date.
Tried not to look like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin.
During the slow dance, she pressed close — too close — swaying dramatically, sighing like she was in a music video. I kept my hands respectfully at her waist, stiff as a board, counting the seconds until the song ended.
“You’re so tense,” she whispered.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
When the song ended, she tugged my hand. “Let’s get some air.”
Outside, the night was cool, quiet, mercifully normal. I took a deep breath.
Then she tugged my sleeve again. “Let’s go to your car.”
“My… car?” I blinked. “Why?”
She gave me a look that said she expected me to already know. “Nathan, come on.”
“Nathaniel.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s senior prom. Last chance to have some real fun before college.”
I stared at her. “What does that even mean?”
She groaned dramatically. “Ugh, okay, listen. My loser-ex dumped me just a week before prom – inconsiderate asshole – and I’m not wasting my senior year going alone. You didn’t have a date, so why not just go together and make it fun? It’s prom — people expect us to show up, look good, and have a night worth talking about. I wanna do all the stuff you always hear about, get drunk, have sex in a crazy location, all the embarrassing fun shit. And you’re not half bad looking, plus you get something out of it too, me. And we do look good together. Plus, our families have been in the Bay for ages. It’s practical. Hey, you didn’t by chance book a hotel room for us or something?”
“Okay — nope, I did not,” I said slowly. “But if it’s all fake why all the… theatrics inside? The clinging? The pretending we’re something we’re not? Everyone knows we’re not dating. You don’t think they all clock that it’s just you checking off a senior prom to‑do list?”
She shrugged. “Who cares, it’s prom. People expect a certain vibe.”
“A vibe,” I repeated. “Right. And you think we are vibing?”
“Agh, who knows,” she added breezily, “maybe we hang out again. If neither of us finds anyone better, we’d at least look good together.”
I stared at her, stunned. “So that’s the plan? We’re… placeholders?”
“It’s practical,” she said, like that made it better.
I exhaled through my nose. “Right. Hey, Steph — you like magic?”
She blinked. “What?”
“Watch this. Now you see me …”
I unlocked my car, slid in, started the engine — the engine howled the second I floored it, like it was just as desperate to get away from this night as I was — and pushed down the accelerator while calling out of my rolled‑down window, “…and now you don’t! How’s that for memorable?”
0 to 60 away from her, from Prom and all that nonsense.
Leaving the whole stupid night behind.
Of course, Mom and Dad were still up and had a million questions. I didn’t feel like lying so I told them exactly what happened. Mom had choice words for Stephanie and Dad a lecture for me.
“You are lucky you didn’t get a speeding ticket for reckless driving…”
Yup. Really lucky.
The next few weeks drifted by in a haze. Finals were done, grades locked in, teachers collectively exhausted. We watched movies, played review games, wandered the halls pretending to study. Everyone was relaxed. Everyone was happy.
Everyone except me.
Graduation day arrived bright and warm, the kind of day that felt scripted. Bay Prep’s lawn was covered in white folding chairs, a stage draped in school colors, and a sea of families dressed like they were attending a yacht christening.
My family showed up in full force.
Mom and Dad, of course — glowing, proud, annoyingly affectionate. Caroline and Charley — bickering, giggling, taking pictures of everything. Grandma Belinda and her husband — both in their eighties, both dressed like royalty. Grandpa Chase and Grandma Hailey — former grunge rock legends who somehow made ripped denim look formal. And their lifelong best friends, Colton and Maddie — who treated the whole thing like a reunion tour.
It was… a lot. But it was also kind of perfect.
When my name was called, the cheering was deafening. My family didn’t clap — they erupted. Mom cried. Dad stood. Caroline whistled loud enough to scare birds out of nearby trees. Grandpa Chase yelled something that definitely wasn’t school‑appropriate.
Everyone cheered. Everyone clapped. Everyone pretended everything was normal.
It wasn’t. Not for me.
I walked across the stage, shook hands, smiled for the camera, and felt absolutely nothing. My chest was tight, my stomach hollow, my mind somewhere else entirely.
Then came the speech.
Valedictorian. Top of my class. Perfect GPA. The kid everyone expected to say something inspirational.
I gave the speech. People cried. People told me afterward that I was “so mature,” “so composed,” “so wise beyond my years.”
I was shaking the entire time.
But it didn’t matter anymore. High school was history. Thank God.
Afterward, my family swarmed me — hugs, photos, more hugs, more photos. Mom kissed my cheek. Dad squeezed my shoulder. My grandparents told me how proud they were. My sisters teased me until I laughed for real.
Then we all went out to eat — a huge table, too many chairs, too much food, too much noise. We laughed. We told stories. We celebrated like nothing bad had ever touched us.
For a few hours, I let myself enjoy it. Let myself feel like a normal kid with a normal family and a normal future.
Even if I knew none of that was true.
Packing
Summer vacation came like a mercy. No school. No whispers. No Stephanie. No Brownstones. No Bay Prep.
Just… quiet.
For the first time in months, the world wasn’t pressing its knee into my chest. No eyes on me. No rumors. No pressure.
Just silence.
I didn’t realize how starved I was for it until it hit me.
I started packing for our trip — shorts, shirts, sunscreen, chargers, the usual. I shoved my hand into the pocket of a pair of shorts and felt something crumpled.
Paper.
A tiny folded note.
My heart stopped.
Élodie’s handwriting. Her number. The one she’d given me on the dock. The one I promised myself I’d call the second I got home.
FUCK.
I thought of nothing but her, so how did I forget to call her?!?
The ink was slightly smudged from saltwater and time.
I never called her. Not once. I’d been so buried under accusations and whispers and fear that I forgot what it felt like to want something good.
Three months of chaos. Three months of drowning. Three months of thinking about her without realizing I was thinking about her.
My thumb hovered over the keypad.
I shouldn’t call. It had been too long. She probably forgot me. She probably thought I was an idiot. She probably thought I lied.
But I couldn’t not call.
So I dialed.
One ring. Two. Three.
I almost hung up.
Then—
“Allô?”
Her voice. Soft. Warm. A little breathy. Exactly how I remembered it.
“Élodie?” I croaked.
Silence. Not angry. Not cold. Just… stunned.
“It’s… me,” I said. “The guy with the blond curls from the dock. In Bellacorde. The one who—who you know, you showed me around. And we talked. You gave me your number. And—”
God, kill me.
“…Cameron?” she said softly.
Right. My middle name. Because I was nervous and stupid and trying to sound cooler than I was.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah. Cameron.”
“You never called,” she said quietly.
And that was it. That was the moment something inside me cracked open.
“I know,” I said, voice breaking. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wanted to. I swear I did. Things got… bad. Really busy, you know, graduation and all. I didn’t forget you. I didn’t. I just—everything fell apart and I didn’t—I… umm…”
She didn’t hang up.
So I kept going.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” I said. “For months. I didn’t even realize how much until I found your number again. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”
A soft inhale.
“I remember you,” she said. “I did not forget.”
My chest tightened.
“Look. I’m coming to Bellacorde,” I blurted. “Next week. If you’re not too busy… if you want… maybe we could see each other?”
A long pause.
Then, barely above a whisper:
“Yes. I would like zat.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’ll call you after we land, okay?”
“Okay,” she repeated — her accent wrapping around the word like a ribbon.
“Okay!”
She giggled — soft, shy, breathy.
“Okay, Cameron. I will see you next week. Oh—Cameron? Do you like lavender?”
“Ummm, yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Is a surprise.”
“What surprise?” I asked, because apparently my brain had decided to stop functioning. Not like I’d been smooth at any point in this entire conversation — why start now?
“If I tell, zen it’s no surprise.”
“Can I get a hint?”
“You want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Zen you have to come. Salut, Cameron.”
She hung up.
And I couldn’t stop grinning.
For the first time in months, I felt excited. Alive. Hopeful.
Because next week?
I’d see her again.
First Day Of Summer Vacation
I woke up in the best mood of my entire life.
Not a good mood. Not a decent mood. A phenomenal, ridiculous, borderline‑illegal mood.
I practically launched myself out of bed.
I showered grinning, brushed my teeth grinning, got dressed grinning
I bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Downstairs, the Cunningham household was in its usual pre‑departure chaos.
Suitcases and other crap in the hallway.
Mom was in the kitchen stabbing the espresso machine with pointy fingers as if poking sense into it.
Dad was scrolling emails with the expression of a man who regretted fatherhood.
Charlotte and Caroline were shrieking about stolen mascara, missing shoes, and who used whose shampoo.
And I was floating.
“GOOD morning everyone!” I announced, way too brightly.
Four heads snapped toward me like I’d just declared I was joining a cult.
Mom squinted. “Why are you… loud?”
“I’m not loud,” I said, grinning. “I’m just awake.”
Dad lowered his tablet. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Never better.”
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Are you – like – on drugs?”
“No.”
“Drunk?”
“Nope.”
Caroline sniffed me like a dog. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Mom crossed her arms. “What is going on?”
I shook my head. “Just happy, Mom.”
She kept staring, suspicious. I kept smiling like a lunatic.
She eventually sighed and changed tactics. “Are you really sure you’re okay turning eighteen on vacation? No real party? Just the five of us? Because Briony offered to host something at the palace since we’re going to Bellacorde anyway. And we can still push the vacation out a little and celebrate here, with everyone coming. Or in San Sequoia at grandma and grandpa’s.”
“Mom, seriously, this is great. Eighteen isn’t such a landmark to me anyway. That is for people who can’t wait to get away from their parents. I mean, look at me — I have the best family I could wish for. And two teen sisters—”
Both girls immediately threw food at me.
Dad shut it down instantly. “Absolutely not. Pick up those muffins THIS instant!”
Mom snapped, “We do NOT throw food in this house! Ladies, you know better!”
I whistled as I tapped the latte button on the espresso maker. It wasn’t a café au lait, not really, but if I closed my eyes I could almost pretend I was in Bellacorde again — sea breeze, warm stone, and the memory of her smile.
They all stared at me like I’d grown a second head.
“Did you take something from the medicine cabinet?” Mom carefully investigated.
“Nope, just high on life, sweet mother o’ mine,” I said, kissing her cheek.
Dad stared in disbelief.
So I kissed his cheek too.
He recoiled like I’d handed him a live crab.
Dad and I were close but after a certain age, men didn’t kiss.
I turned toward Caroline.
“Don’t,” she warned, index finger raised.
Charlotte pointed a spoon at me. “I will kill you if you try, weirdo.”
I shrugged, whistled my way to the fridge, poured milk into my coffee, grabbed a glass of orange juice, and took a long, dramatic sip.
“Ahhh. So refreshing.”
Everyone: complete confusion.
Me: floating.
Because in one week, I’d see her.
Which gave me one week to get myself in ship-shape and look so great that Elodie would take one look at me and forget I didn’t call her for three whole months.
We left for Sulani that morning. I spent the entire flight vibrating with energy. The second we landed, I became a menace. I jogged first thing in the morning. I jogged last thing before bed. I swam laps, snorkeled, paddle‑boarded, did push‑ups on the beach like a deranged fitness influencer.
More than once Mom nearly dragged me out of the sun by my ear.
“Nathaniel, you are going to FRY.”
“I’m building a base tan!”
“You are building melanoma,” she declared, already marching toward me with the determination of a woman who had wrestled toddlers, teenagers, and a sovereign prince into sunscreen before. “Stay out of the direct sun!”
“I’m fine— MOM—”
Too late.
She squirted icy sunscreen into her hands with the force of a fire extinguisher and lunged at me. I tried to dodge. I really did. But she was faster, meaner, and had Mom Strength on her side. She grabbed the back of my neck, hauled me toward her like I weighed nothing, and started rubbing sunscreen all over my shoulders, chest, face, arms — everywhere.
“Hold still!”
“I am still! You’re the one assaulting me!”
“You will thank me when you are forty and not shaped like a leather handbag!”
“Mom— MOM— it’s cold!”
“GOOD. Maybe it will shock some sense into you.”
My sisters filmed the entire thing for their group chats, cackling like hyenas.
Dad shook his head, muttering something about “teenagers” and “Oh Bri.”
I didn’t care.
I was on a mission.
And apparently, so was my mother.
My eighteenth birthday was perfect. No fanfares. No giant party. No cameras. Just us. The family, together, as we had been most our lives, just the five of us, and it was awesome. Just what I wanted.
We spent the day swimming, laughing, exploring the island, and annoying each other in the way only three teen siblings can on a Hawaiian vacation.
Charlotte stole my swim trunks while I was using the outdoor beach shower and sprinted down the sand cackling like a roadrunner on ecstasy.
Caroline shrieked bloody murder when I hid two live crabs in her designer purse — worth it — and both of them drove past me on a jet ski right after I bought nachos from a pier vendor, leaving me with a lap full of soggy, sandy tortilla mush.
At one point they even told a burly Samoan guy that I’d been flirting with his girlfriend just to watch me run for my life and dive off a pier like a panicked sea lion. He later gave them a thumbs‑up. He knew all along they were just messing with me and he was here for it. I’m still not over it.
And then came the sunscreen incident.
I grabbed what I thought was my sunscreen, slathered it on, and five minutes later discovered I was blue. Not a little blue — Smurf‑level, Avatar‑extra, neon‑glow‑in‑the‑dark BLUE. I lunged at my sisters, tripped over a beach chair, skidded across the sand like a dying seal, and slid straight into the ocean. The wave over the top of me, I legit thought I was drowning, but it washed the blue right off me.
Dad didn’t even look up from his book.
He just turned a page and said, deadpan, “And people complain about kids growing up too fast. I am not seeing it.”
Mom snorted so hard she choked on her iced tea.
I got my revenge, though.
While my sisters lounged by the pool taking aesthetic Insta‑selfies with their mocktails, I casually dropped blue food dye into each glass. Like half a bottle each.
They sipped.
They posed, duck lips and all.
They took selfies.
They took boomerangs.
They took videos.
Then Charlotte shrieked. “MY TEETH!”
Caroline screamed even louder. “MY TONGUE! WHAT DID YOU DO?!”
They bolted upright, sprinting in circles, flailing like they were being attacked by bees. Dad, startled out of his book, leapt to his feet, grabbed the nearest object as a weapon — a decorative pineapple statue — and shoved Mom behind him like he was protecting her from a home invasion.
Mom was laughing so hard she was snorting.
It took three days for the blue to fade.
Mostly.
Hehehe.
At dinner during the last night there, the restaurant staff brought out a cake made with tropical fruit and coconut cream while singing happy birthday in Hawaiian. They didn’t have eighteen candles, obviously, so they stuck five on top in a little cluster.
Charlotte immediately said it matched my mental age.
Caroline said five was generous.
Mom told them both to hush and smile for the picture.
I’d never felt so peaceful.
And I had my first cocktail.
It was great, but I didn’t last long after that.
Dad dragged me to my cabana, half‑asleep.
I slept almost till noon the next day.
Damn.
Bellacorde … Finally
And then it was time for Bellacorde.
The palace was its usual whirlwind of greetings, hugs, staff, luggage, and Briony fussing over me and everything I’d been through in the past few months. I made it through the welcome snacks, the settling‑in, the family gossip updates I didn’t need. Then I escaped to the gardens and called Élodie.
She answered on the first ring. “Cameron?” Breathless. My heart did a somersault.
“Hey. I’m here.”
“You come meet me? Same place as before? Can you find?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
I left right away, telling my family I was going for a walk, then practically jogged down to the docks.
She was already waiting. Hair in a loose braid, wearing a dress that made her look like an angel sighting, sun on her shoulders, that soft smile that made my chest feel too small.
“Bonjour, Cameron, bienvenue à Bellacorde,” she said, giggling when she heard my accent as I tried to greet her back – in French.
She led me to the boat and held out her hand. I stepped in. It was not graceful. I slipped, windmilled, nearly fell straight into the water. She grabbed my shirt and yanked me upright, our bodies colliding. We froze. Her face inches from mine. Her breath warm on my cheek. Her eyes wide and laughing.
I was going to kiss her. I was absolutely going to kiss her.
Then she turned and started the motor.
Missed opportunity. Probably for the best. My heart was doing parkour.
She drove the boat along the coastline and landed on a smaller pier.
“Zis is Verdemar,” she said. “Not Bellacorde anymore.”
“I’ve never been,” I admitted.
She smiled. “Zen today you see.”
We walked through narrow streets painted in blues and whites. Kids ran past us. Neighbors waved. Someone shouted her name from a balcony.
“Hey, where are we going?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
“Elodie…”
“A party.”
“Wait — whose? I don’t know anyone here. I can’t just crash someone’s party.”
She turned to me with a coquettish smile that absolutely destroyed me. “You know me,” she said, winking. “Come on.”
We reached a small house and she led me inside.
The house was loud, chaotic, full of French chatter I didn’t understand. People hugged her, kissed her cheeks, patted my shoulder like I’d joined a cult. Then Élodie appeared with a cake — white and purple — candles flickering. She placed it on a table, lifted her little sister, who lit them all proudly. Everyone sang happy birthday in French. Then Élodie blew out the candles.
I saw the big 18 on top.
And it hit me.
I was at her birthday party.
Someone handed me cake, someone else shoved a fork into my hand. I didn’t know what was happening, but the cake was incredible.
Later, we slipped outside into the warm night.
“Why didn’t you tell me it’s YOUR birthday?” I asked. “I don’t even have a gift.”
“You are here,” she said simply. “Zat is a gift. Did you like the cake?”
“Yes. What was that? It was the best birthday cake I ever tasted. Including my own. I just turned eighteen last week.”
“Oh! Congratulations. See? We celebrate togezer. I have no gift for you.”
“That cake was plenty. Where did you get it? My mom and sisters would kill for it.”
“I made it. Lavender and blueberry.”
“Wow. Nice. I can cook basics but nothing like that. I won’t even attempt it. Is this your home?”
“Yes. You like?”
“Yeah, it’s cute. Seriously. Very… green.”
“My favorite color. Light green. Like your eyes. And Verdemar color is green.”
I froze. A compliment from a pretty girl. Heaven. Or so I thought — but heaven was yet to come.
She leaned in and kissed me.
Soft. Warm. Perfect.
My heart stopped.
We stared at each other.
Then I grabbed her and kissed her again.
My heart was now beating in overdrive, all the way up in my ears.
A flash went off.
We jumped apart. A group of neighbors stood there, one holding a Polaroid camera, calling something in French, cheering, laughing. We both burst into embarrassed laughter.
She drove me back by boat. Not ready to say goodbye just yet, we lay on the sand, looking at the stars, talking about everything and nothing until her eyes grew heavy. I kissed her again — slow, soft, meaningful.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered.
She smiled. “Joyeux anniversaire, Cameron.”
And we parted ways.
My heart was gone. Completely gone. Man, I was crushing so hard.
We met again every single day, whenever she could get away.
The first time she showed me around Bellacorde. We tasted amazing lemon ice cream.
The next day she loaded me into the boat and we explored Verdemar, stopping at little stands, tasting local fare.
The day after she took me further, all the way to Dambele. I had never seen architecture like this. We haggled at the bazaar, tasted sugary sweet treats I couldn’t pronounce, and they only tasted bitter compared to the kisses we shared later.
I had the time of my life.
Then on Sunday morning she wanted to meet on the beach to watch the sunrise together and have breakfast, a picnic.
Okay — this is where I got myself into trouble, and a question I’d been rolling around in my head for a while finally got answered:
I was, in fact, a fully functioning male.
No — nothing happened between her and me.
Not that!
But my body absolutely betrayed me.
Because when she pulled her shirt off and stepped out of her shorts, standing there in a light blue bikini that matched her aqua eyes, my brain just… shut down. My eyes went cartoon‑wide, my jaw dropped, and I had to physically remind myself to close my mouth.
I took my shirt off too — and immediately realized my body was reacting in ways I did not want it to, and it was very noticable in my light blue swim shorts. I twisted away so fast I accidentally presented myself to three elderly ladies on a beach walk. One of them gasped. My face went turkey‑red. I slapped my shirt in front of myself like a shield.
Except I misjudged the angle and whacked myself in a very sensitive spot so hard I saw stars.
Elodie spread out a blanket and patted the spot beside her.
“Sit,” she said, smiling.
Somehow managed it, trying to act normal while my dignity lay somewhere back in the sand, dying, bleeding out.
Panic.
Instant, full‑body panic.
She smiled that smile that just kills me, then leaned in with something in her hand.
“Try,” she said softly.
She held out a small confection, and when she gently fed it to me — her fingers brushing my lips — close enough to smell her sunscreen, close enough to feel the warmth of her shoulder — that was it. My nervous system just… gave out. Completely. A full involuntary reaction. Zero warning. Zero control.
My body hit the panic button.
Hard.
I felt the heat rush through me, felt the unmistakable oh no oh no oh no moment, and I knew — knew — that I couldn’t stop what was about to happen to me anymore. And it happened. Right there in front of her. My eyes shut and that imaginary wave of sensual peak crashed over me, I moaned, couldn’t help it.
She asked if I liked it.
My eyes opened, still recovering from that experience, realizing she thought I was really into that candy.
I smiled.
I nodded.
I said something about it being amazing, though I had no idea what it tasted like. All the blood from my head had gone elsewhere when the candy hit my mouth. I bet it tasted amazing though.
She turned to grab something else from the basket, digging around in it, mumbling something in French, while I lifted my shirt from my lap and saw the mess. DAMMIT!
I looked at Elodie, now pulling everything out, piling it onto the blankets, still searching, not paying attention to me.
And that was my chance.
I launched myself off the blanket like a man escaping a crime scene and sprinted straight into the ocean — which was, of course, freezing.
When I turned back, she was staring at me like I’d lost my mind.
“Isn’t it cold?” she called.
My teeth were chattering, but I tried to look tough, splashing glacial tempered water on myself.
“Fine!” I called back.
But at least she would never know.
Breakfast Revelations
Day 6 began quietly.
The palace was warm with early sunlight, the long breakfast table already set. Staff moved softly in the background. The smell of coffee and warm pastries drifted through the air.
I shuffled in, mumbling a greeting, still half‑asleep. It had been another late night with Élodie. After our sunrise picnic, we swam when the day warmed up — splashing, racing, laughing until our sides hurt. She kissed me in the waves, and somehow it felt like the first time all over again.
We played, chased each other, then lay on the blanket smiling like idiots. She had to leave eventually, but we met up again that evening, and neither of us wanted to part until we could barely see straight.
So yes — I was half‑comatose at breakfast. Again.
Mom sat near the head of the table feeding baby Aurélie Sophie tiny spoonfuls of mashed banana. The baby kicked happily, smearing banana on her cheek. Mom laughed softly and wiped her face with that gentle, glowing mom‑touch. Briony sipped coffee beside her, hair in a loose braid, watching her daughter with that soft, new‑mother smile.
Charlotte and Caroline were on Mom’s other side sharing earbuds, laughing at something on a phone.
Luc sat at the head of the table reading the morning brief, posture perfect, expression serene — except for the occasional glance at me. The kind of glance that said I know something.
Dad wandered in last, hair still damp from his shower, fully committed to his “vacation but still Dad” aesthetic — polo shirt, shorts, and the expression of a man ready for anything except actual relaxation. He poured coffee, grabbed toast, and spread jam with the enthusiasm of someone painting a barn.
And me? I was trying to look normal. Trying not to look like a boy who’d spent the last five days falling hopelessly, stupidly, head‑over‑heels for a girl with aqua eyes and a laugh that lived in my chest.
I reached for a croissant — the kind so flaky the ones back home would taste like wet cardboard now — smeared butter on the edge, and bit in. Flakes everywhere. Whatever.
I grabbed some berries and my mind drifted back to last night — Élodie feeding me cherries from her garden, both of us laughing as we tried to spit the pits the farthest.
I pulled out my phone and looked at the selfie we took at the beach.
Yeah. I had it bad.
Luc noticed. Of course he did.
He didn’t say anything — just watched me over the rim of his cup with that quiet, knowing expression that made me want to crawl under the table. I looked up, caught him looking, and immediately put my phone down.
Then Dad spoke.
“So,” he said casually, still focused on his toast, “whatever happened to that girl?”
I turned fire‑engine red. I could feel it in my ears. He was next to me and must have peeked at my phone. Dammit.
The entire table froze.
Mom paused mid‑spoonful. The baby blinked up at her with banana on her chin. Briony’s coffee cup hovered in the air. Charlotte and Caroline yanked out their earbuds in perfect unison. Luc lowered his brief.
Even the baby stopped kicking.
I blinked. “What girl?”
Dad waved his toast vaguely. “You know. The girl you met when we were at Philippe’s last visit. The one you made us late for. The one Luc helped you with. What was her name again? Elana? Eloise? Something like that.”
Luc didn’t miss a beat. “Élodie,” he said smoothly.
Mom’s head snapped toward me so fast I thought she’d get whiplash. I know she and Dad really wanted me to have a girlfriend. They couldn’t understand that I didn’t. Both of my sisters were on boyfriend number two. Briony leaned forward, eyes wide. Charlotte mouthed OH MY GOD. Caroline’s jaw dropped.
All eyes on me.
I wanted to die.
Dad frowned. “Yeah, that. Élodie. Whatever happened with her? Did you ever call her?”
Luc set down his fork. “I am sure he has. I couldn’t help noticing a pattern of early departures and late returns.”
Mom gasped. Briony gasped. Charlotte slapped the table. Caroline choked on her juice.
“NATE!” Charlotte hissed. “You said you were into photography now! That’s why you kept running off!”
“OMG — we kinda just assumed you meant scenery! You were out there meeting chicks? DUUUUUDE, what!?” Caroline cackled.
Mom pressed a hand to her chest. “Nathaniel, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell us you met someone?”
“I— I didn’t— it wasn’t— we just—”
Then Briony turned on Luc. “Wait — YOU knew and said nothing?!”
Mom glared at Dad. “Yeah, same at you. Braddy! You knew Nate met a girl and didn’t think to mention it?”
Luc lifted his hands in surrender. “Not my place, mon cœur.”
Dad pointed his butter knife at Luc. “Yeah, that.”
Charlotte and Caroline turned on me like synchronized predators.
“So THAT is where you’ve been sneaking off to?” Charlotte demanded. “Scenery pics, my ass!”
“You have a GIRLFRIEND?!” Caroline shrieked.
“I don’t— she’s not— we’re not—” I stuttered.
Mom leaned forward, eyes shining. “Nathaniel… who is she? Tell us about her. If she is that special to you, we’d like to know more.”
All eyes on me again.
I wasn’t ready to share — but I didn’t want to hide her either. And with only one day left before we flew home, if I wanted any chance of staying longer, this was the best reason I could give them.
So I told them.
I swallowed hard, every pair of eyes at the table drilling into me.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “It’s… not a big deal. Really. I met her last time we were here. By accident. We talked a little. She was nice. We just …. clicked. She gave me a little tour, then she gave me her phone number.”
Charlotte snorted. Caroline elbowed her.
I kept going, trying to sound casual. “Well, I kinda forgot about it. I mean, about the number, not about her. I meant to call her sooner, but… life happened. I finally did call the night before Sulani. We caught up. We agreed to meet the day we land here and we did and I surprisingly ended up at her 18th birthday party. It was fun.”
Mom leaned forward, glowing. “And?”
“We’ve been meeting every day since, sometimes twice a day. And she showed me around a bit,” I said, shrugging like it was nothing. “Bellacorde. Verdemar. Dambele. Just… local stuff. It’s been … nice.”
That was it. That was all they were getting.
No beach. No cherries. No sunrise. No kissing in the waves. No lying on blankets smiling like idiots.
Just the safe, neutral version. I wasn’t giving them more until I found a good moment to tell her my name was actually Nathaniel, Cameron was just my middle name. I was afraid of her reaction, and while I knew the longer I dragged that around with me, the worse her reaction might be. But I wasn’t ready to risk it. Yet. If she didn’t hate my guts after that, I would introduce her to my family. Hey, at least we already knew she wasn’t into me for the wrong reasons. Let’s just hope she was into me enough to forgive again, like she had for the three months radio silence. Oh boy.
Dad nodded slowly. “So you two are… friends?”
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Friends. Just friends. I’m just… learning about the country. Cultural exchange.”
Charlotte mouthed Bullshit. Caroline kicked me under the table. Luc hid a smile behind his cup.
But the adults accepted it. Or pretended to.
And I lived to see another day.
Dad, unfortunately, wasn’t done.
“So… with barely a full day left, when are we going to meet her? Your mom and I always made it a point to know all our children’s friends.”
I nearly dropped my coffee cup.
Oh God. Not that. Play it cool, Nate.
“Uuuuuh… ummm…” It wasn’t even warm, but I was sweating like I’d run a marathon in a snowsuit.
Dad raised a brow at my obvious full malfunction. “What’s with you?”
I opened my mouth — nothing came out.
My brain had left the building. And all my beautiful excuses with it.
And then Luc stepped in, smooth as silk, saving my life.
“Well,” he said lightly, “our country is beautiful. And I would be a terrible host — and an even worse leader — if I did not offer a tour. So, how about we finish our meal and regroup in the lobby in thirty minutes? I will ensure nobody leaves without the best impression of Bellacorde.”
Chairs scraped. Voices rose. Everyone scattered instantly — the royal equivalent of oh, a distraction!
Mom wiped the baby’s face. Briony grabbed her phone. Charlotte and Caroline argued about what to wear. Dad stuffed the rest of his toast in his mouth and went to find his sunglasses.
Luc caught my eye and winked.
Saved.
Saved. And doomed.
Because the upside was that Luc saved me. The downside was that I couldn’t see Élodie — not for hours — because now I was stuck on the Tour de Bellacorde: Sovereign Edition, praying we didn’t run into her. The last thing I needed was her seeing me trailing behind the royal family like some lost intern.
I kept imagining it:
Her walking by. Seeing me with them. Realizing I wasn’t just Cameron, random boy from the mainland. Realizing I was… well, me.
With two legacies pressing down on me and connections to the royal house.
My stomach twisted.
So I stayed quiet, kept my head down, and followed the group through gardens, galleries, courtyards, and scenic overlooks while Luc narrated like a man born to charm tourists. Every time we turned a corner, I held my breath.
But luck — for once — was on my side.
We didn’t see her.
Not once.
Which was great, but also meant I missed her all day long.
And that was its own kind of torture.
By the time the sun dipped low and the tour finally ended, I felt like I’d lost the whole day. Like sand slipping through my fingers. Like I’d wasted the last hours I had with her.
I was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second I’d missed, when my phone buzzed at 10:42 p.m.
Are you awake?
I didn’t text back — I called her.
We had gotten back after ten PM, so I didn’t dare call or text Elodie, knowing she has so many side jobs and I never knew if she had to be up early or whatever. I mean, we’d known each other for exactly one full week. Only so much you can cover in such a short amount of time.
She answered instantly, voice soft and breathless. “Cameron… come to the harbor.”
That was all I needed.
I got dressed again and slipped out into the night.
The harbor was quiet, lanterns flickering along the docks, the water black and glassy. And there she was — standing beside her small boat, hair loose, wearing a hoodie over her dress, like she’d thrown it on in a hurry.
When she saw me, she smiled like she’d been holding her breath all day.
“You came,” she whispered.
“Of course I came.”
She stepped aside and gestured to the boat. “Midnight tour? Just us?”
I blinked. “This late? Is that safe?”
She laughed softly. “’ow do you zink I came over ‘ere?”
“Right. Duh. I am ready! Where are we going?”
“Nowhere, just away from everyone else …”
That sentence alone nearly killed me.
We climbed in, and she untied the rope with practiced ease. The engine hummed to life — quiet, low, like it knew this wasn’t a night for noise. She steered us out of the harbor, past the sleeping sailboats, past the lighthouse, into open water where the moon painted a silver path across the sea.
The wind was cool. The world was silent. It felt like Bellacorde itself was holding its breath.
She cut the engine.
We drifted.
Just the two of us, floating in the dark. The water occasionally splashing was the only sound.
“This is my favorite place,” she said softly. “When I am sad. Or ‘appy. Or zinking. Or… missing someone.”
My throat tightened. “Are you going to miss me?”
She didn’t answer with words. She just leaned her head on my shoulder, her hair brushing my jaw, warm and light in the cool night air. For a moment I didn’t breathe. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break whatever fragile, perfect thing had settled between us.
When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper, shaped against my collarbone.
“Tu vas tellement me manquer…”
I am going to miss you so much.
The way she said it — quiet, certain, like it was already hurting her — went straight through me. I closed my eyes, trying to memorize the weight of her against me, the smell of salt and her shampoo, the soft rocking of the boat, the stars above us reflected in the water below.
I didn’t want morning to come. I didn’t want this night to end. I didn’t want to leave Bellacorde, not when she was here, not when she was looking at me like that, not when she said my name like it meant something.
Not when she was going to miss me. Not when I already missed her, and I hadn’t even left yet.
“Tu vas… uh… tellement me manquer… uh… too.” I managed, trying to sound romantic in French and absolutely failing.
She giggled — soft, breathy, the kind of sound that made my chest ache — so I lifted her chin gently, guiding her face up to mine, and kissed her.
When I pulled back, my voice was barely there.
“I am going to miss you like crazy too, Élodie.”
We sat like that for a long time — the kind of long that feels like forever and not long enough. The kind of long that makes you forget the world exists outside this moment.
Then she stood, balancing easily on the deck, and held out her hand.
“Come,” she said. “I want to show you something.”
I took her hand, and she pulled me to the bow. The moonlight hit her hair, turning it silver. The sea breeze lifted the ends of her hoodie. She looked like a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from.
She pointed upward.
The stars were unreal — bright, sharp, endless. A sky you could fall into.
“Mon Papa used to say,” she whispered, “zat if you look at ze stars wiz someone you care about, ze memory stays wiz you forever. Even if you never see zem again.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t want this to be just a memory.”
She looked at me then — really looked — and her eyes were soft and sad and full of something I didn’t have a name for yet.
“Zen don’t let it be,” she said. “It’s in your ‘ands. You know I can’t come see you. I can’t even call you; one long‑distance call would use up all my minutes for ze monz. I don’t know your situation, and I don’t want to know, but it is probably better zan mine, you travel a lot. ‘ere, Sulani, ‘ere again. My siblings and I cannot do zat. No matter ‘ow much we work.”
“I will call you. Frequently. Promise. And I will be back. I swear.”
And that was it. The moment everything shifted. The moment I knew I’d spend the rest of my life chasing this feeling.
We kissed again, but it felt like another goodbye. We just sat together, hands intertwined, drifting under the stars, pretending morning wasn’t coming.
It was perfect. And it made the goodbye hurt even more.
Time to Say Goodbye
I woke up with sunlight in my eyes and panic in my chest.
Last day.
I grabbed my phone and called her before I could think. Like a reflex.
She answered on the second ring, breathless, like she’d been waiting.
“Bonjour, Cameron.”
That sweet voice. That accent. I’d only wanted to hear it — but now that I did, hearing wasn’t enough. I needed to see her.
“Can we meet?” I blurted. “Now?”
A soft laugh. “Of course. Our spot?”
“Yeah. Our spot.”
We had a spot. I’d never had a spot with anyone before. Maybe the family restaurant, but not like this.
I knew Mom and Dad would totally veto me leaving, so I didn’t even ask. Easier to ask forgiveness than permission. I threw on clothes, ran down the palace steps, and crossed the city in record time.
The harbor was quiet, the water still, the morning cool and bright.
She was already there.
Standing exactly where we first collided days ago, hair loose, wearing a simple dress, holding a small paper box tied with twine.
When she saw me, she smiled — that soft, heart‑punching smile — and everything inside me melted.
“You really came,” she said.
“Of course.”
“I just thought… since you are leaving today … you might change your mind.”
Ouch. Right. The leaving thing again. Argh.
I held out the hydrangea I’d stolen from the palace gardens — pale blue, delicate, perfect.
“For you,” I said, suddenly shy.
She took it gently, lifted it to her nose, inhaled. “It smells like summer.” Then she looked up at me, eyes bright. “Merci, Cameron.”
My heart stuttered. The way she said Cameron with her accent made me wish it really were my name. Then again, it also bothered me that it was just my middle name and I tried to imagine how my real name would sound.
Then she handed me the box.
“I made something for your family,” she said. “Ze cake you said zey would like. But… petite. Easier to carry and share. Like… how you call it… cupcakes, non?”
I laughed, even though my throat was tight. “Yeah. Cupcakes. Wow, thank you.”
We sat on the low stone wall by the water, our knees touching. We talked about nothing and everything — school, summer, the sea, the future neither of us wanted to mention.
Every few minutes, we fell quiet. Not awkward. Just… sad. Trying not to show it.
“Cameron, we need to take a photo,” she decided.
“Okay …”
“You take, you’re taller ….”
Smiling, she handed me her phone — unlocked — and I froze.
Our selfie from the beach a few days ago was her background.
Wow. She really liked me too. Like REALLY liked me.
We leaned in, lined up, she giggled when a breeze blew her long hair over my face just as I hit the button, then a seagull startled both of us for the second one, we were laughing so hard, then finally I kissed her and while kissing she raised my hand with her phone and clicked.
That photo was the best we had ever taken.
I wanted to spend the entire day kissing her. I wanted to grab her hand and run. I wanted to stay in Bellacorde forever and become a fisherman or a baker or anything that meant I didn’t have to leave her.
But I didn’t. Because I wasn’t a creep. Just a dreamer. And hopelessly in love.
We hugged — tight, long, memorizing.
“I am going to miss you so much, Cameron …” she now said, sweetly and sad.
I wanted to hear her say my real name like that, so I opened my mouth to tell her, and then my phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
29 missed calls.
“Oh crap.”
I called back. Dad answered on the first ring.
“NATHANIEL CAMERON CUNNINGHAM—” Dad shouted in my ear so loud I had to hold the phone out futher or would bust my eardrum. “GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE NOW. WE HAD TO REQUEST A NEW TAILS‑UP! WHERE ARE YOU!?”
I winced. “On my way!”
“I have to go,” I told her, trying not to get unmanly emotional.
“Your Papa sounds upset. But why did he call you Nathaniel?”
SHIT!
I pulled out my wallet thinking it would be best to have some form of proof it wasn’t a total lie.
She looked at me, at it, then at me.
“I was nervous when we met, and I … my brain malfunctioned and I … I … sorry. It wasn’t a lie, just … I … choked because I wasn’t prepared for a pretty girl to surprise me like you did. I don’t know, I guess I thought I sounded cooler to you as a Cameron?”
She nodded, handing me back the ID card. “I understand. I have embarrassing middle name, but I get why hide. My Maman hated her first name, so she always used middle name.”
“So, you forgive me again?”
“Maybe …”
“At least say you don’t hate me now.”
“I don’t ‘ate you, Ca… uh .. Nathaniel.”
There it was. The way she said my name with that French twist felt amazing and I wished I could have listened to her say it all along.
“Can I call you after we land?”
“Oui. Oh, but Nathaniel?”
“You can call me Nate, for short. Most do.” I offered.
“Nathaniel sounds prettier.”
I know my smile had to look deranged. It felt too big and deranged, but I couldn’t stop it.
“Promise me you will come back.”
“I promise. Soon. I am going to try to be back this summer, before college.”
My phone buzzed again.
We both frowned.
A text from mom – just an angry Emjoi and a clock.
“Go, go, go! Avant!”
I grabbed the cupcake box, kissed her one last time, and ran.
Up And Away
I boarded clutching the box like it was a priceless artifact. All the way from the palace to hear I had to listen to Mom and Dad take turns verbally reaming me for sneaking out and making everyone late.
I had never seen a faster departure — within twenty minutes we were airborne. The entire time I kept my face glued to the window, an icy fist around my heart, my stomach doing somersaults.
When the seatbelt sign turned off, Bellacorde had disappeared from view.
I felt… empty.
“What’s that?” Caroline pointed at the box.
“Cupcakes,” I said. “From Élodie. For everyone. Lavender blueberry.”
Charlotte took one, bit into it, and groaned. “OMG – what am I eating – and is there more?! Turn the plane around. Nate has to go marry that girl immediately.”
Caroline nodded through a mouthful. “Agreed. This is sooooo good!”
Mom laughed, wiping purple frosting off Dad’s lips. “Honestly? I kind of agree…and I am a bit of a snob if it comes to sweets, but these are worth adding an hour to my workout routine for. You might be forgiven for making us late.”
Dad shrugged. “Well, I am not much for sweet snacks, but these are delectable, which already makes her a better wife than my first one. At least she bakes. Molly was only good at making dinner reservations and other than that the only thing she excelled at was spending my money and costing my last nerve.”
Mom nudged him, laughing. “At least your taste improved with wife number two.”
“My taste was always excellent,” Dad said, kissing her temple. “I always wanted the best, but the best was just out of reach. Once it wasn’t, my life improved significantly.”
They kissed — warmly, affectionately.
Charlotte gagged. “Oh pleeeeease, not parent‑porn again.”
Mom threw her hands up. “We kissed! How is that— porn, you brat?!”
“Gross,” Caroline said. “You’re Mom and Dad. You’re not supposed to have… moments.”
I leaned back, finally smiling. “How do you think we all got here if they didn’t do that and it led to other moments? I’d rather know it was something they’d write about in books than something boring and scheduled and we just happened as collateral damage or expected side-effect.”
Both sisters screamed. “NATE! EW!”
Dad choked on his drink.
Mom’s cheeks turned red.
And for the first time since I left the harbor, I laughed.
Echoes Of Legacy 