We make it to the tarmac and shake everyone’s hands and smile for pictures. Then, finally, we’re taken to the capitol where we will meet more of the government and sit in meetings all day.
• • •
The meetings are awful, mostly powerful men posturing in front of other powerful men. Honestly, it’s a miracle they ever get anything done. I’m so tired here, the jet lag is brutal. Afterward, we’re taken to our hotel where I fall into bed and immediately pass out.
Fortunately, today we’re being taken to see some of the ruins in the jungles. I’ve always heard about the pyramids and I’m excited to see them. We get up early and have a quiet breakfast together before dressing inhiking pants and boots with t-shirts and a lot of sunscreen and bug spray.
Before I found out the truth of my parentage and my future, I thought hiking was sweaty and messy. Now, I’m in a full face of makeup with my hair up in a perfectly styled ponytail. We’re driven out to the ancient location and a guide talks about the history of the pyramids and the Aztec people. I love learning about all of their advancements in science and math long before anyone else. It’s fascinating.
When we get there the giant stone pyramid rises from the ground with a column of stairs on each side going all the way up. For a moment, I stand in awe that no machines or electronics were used to made this. People carried each stone and placed them where they’ve sat for countless years.
“Well shall we go in?” our guide asks.
With a broad smile on my face I nod and say, “Absolutely.”
• • •
If it was possible, I would have stayed at the pyramid all day, studying every nuance and detail. There’s so much to see and discover, I’d never find it all.
Being here makes me feel oddly close to my parents. I knew them as archeologists and I believe that to be true, even if they were also a crowned prince and his wife. I could see myself falling as deeply in love withhistories and cultures as they had. If they had lived would I have learned from them first hand? I like to think so. I hope they would have been proud of me and the choices I’ve made thus far.
Instead, I’m forced to attend another formal event.
My evening gown scratches against my sunburn. I’ve covered it as best as I can, but the day in the hot sun eventually got me. I’ve covered the bulk of my redness with heavy makeup and a dark green dress. My emerald tiara and earrings are in place, and I feel about as ready as I’ll ever be.
I both love and hate state dinners. On one hand, I feel out of place, dressed up like a prized pig at auction. But then on the other hand, I’m not considered super important, so I usually get placed with someone of a lower station who is so terrified they’re going to make a mistake that they end up telling me every little thing in their minds and it’s hysterical.
We sit at a long table all through dinner. I steal glances at my husband who’s as far away from me as he can get, sitting with the President. My dinner companion makes some slip about hating my uncle and I can’t help but laugh at the horrified look on their face when they remember my relation to the man.
The rest of the night progresses smoothly and tomorrow we leave for Canada.
I just have to hope that we get through the whole adventure and that this trip doesn’t leave me like the pyramids I saw today. In ruins.
Chapter 19
It’s Okay, I Won’t Let You Fall
Our plane lands in Ottawa and it’s the same as our previous stop. Taxi-stairs and carpet-smile and wave-shake hands.
Rinse and repeat.
I’m literally a show pony.
We’re dressed to the nines and being escorted into the city to have a formal dinner with the Prime Minister of Canada. This time I’m wearing a hunter green, long-sleeved dress that’s fitted to my hips before dropping to the floor in a long skirt that swirls around my legs. I wear my royal family sash across my body and Rhys’s family ribbon over my heart, and the emerald and diamond tiara on my head.
I can’t remember the title of the man escorting me into dinner as names and positions start to blur. As we near the dining room, we’re informed that we’ll move to opposite sides of the long dining room to take ourseats. The table arrangement is mixed partners for interesting conversation. I love that for me. Don’t these people know I’d rather be in a dark room with a big book downloaded to my e-reader? Obviously not.
When we reach the door, I expect my escort to drop his arm, allowing me to pass so I can take my seat. Instead, he stiffens and rigidly holds his arm to his side, locking my forearm against his body, capturing me and putting me at his mercy. I can’t rip my arm away without making an obvious move that would embarrass the room at large and possibly endanger us all.
The air in my lungs stalls as panic begins to set in.
In a hushed tone that suggests the opposite was the goal, my escort says, “I see you made it safely from Mexico.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says. “See that the same outcome is repeated here and, in the U.S.”
“What do you mean?”