Page 59 of Royal Pain
Chapter 20
Belinda
I stretch my good morning to the day. The clock reads seven thirty. I bet the bride and groom have been up for a while now, excited to be getting within a day of their nuptials. My sister Judi, and Mom and Dad’s plane arrived yesterday, thank God. They took the reins from me, which was only a temporary job. The rehearsal dinner’s going to be really lovely tonight. It’s their party, and it’s going to be awesome. The wedding party and the two immediate families dining at Tavern on the Green. I’d expect nothing less from my mother and father. She’s a master at the job and he’s great at not questioning her expenses.
Okay. Let’s see. Tonight the dinner, tomorrow the wedding, then one more day in between, and I’m off to Africa. It seems like much longer than it’s actually been since we were together. I rub the sleep from my eyes and curse myself for staying up so late organizing what I’m taking, while dreaming of my boyfriend. The apartment looks like a clothing store with stacks of t-shirts, pants, and sweaters.
Where’s my phone? I turned it off after talking with Zan yesterday. He called early knowing I was going to be with the family. By two in the morning I knew no one would be trying to get ahold of me. I just wanted uninterrupted sleep. But now I need to be reconnected to the world.
Where did I put it? When I throw back the covers the cell goes flying against the side table. Shit. It gets me upright and moving anyway. I reach for the phone and as soon as I power up I’m met with a wall of messages, pings, and news updates. But the headline on the BBC newsfeed grabs me first.
MOZIA HEIR KILLED IN TERRORIST BOMBING.
My hands shake. Tears fill my eyes as I read the story. Oh no! God no! His family! The queen! Zan! Oh God help them!
The whole world seems to have turned upside down. I’m not sure what to do first. I can’t call him now. It’s the middle of the night there. Wait. Maybe he messaged me. I take a seat at the foot of the bed and scroll through the messages from Soraya and Graham. Move past my own family’s. Then I see it. Z. Three am.
Will call you tomorrow when I can. I love you.
That’s it. Shit. I’m dying. What can I do? Fucking nothing! I’m here and he’s there, a world away. I can’t even hold his hand or stand close by in case he needs my touch. Wait. I’m going to send an email and a text telling him if he wants I can try to change my reservations to tomorrow night after the wedding.
Shit! That fucking wedding! Sorry brother, but you’d understand what I mean. Or maybe it would be better if I don’t go at all right now. Shit.
I’m assigned the exclusive story on the coronation, but what happens now? The tragedy supersedes everything. The queen might consider me an intrusion. They all might think that. I fire off a message. At first I go on in a too lengthy read. He’s not going to want that. I delete it.
I’m sure it’s chaos there and Zan and Kwai are needed to attend to matters of state and beyond that, matters of heart. The queen must be devastated. Her husband just died and now her beloved son.
I keep typing and deleting. For a writer it’s a hard lesson. I don’t know what to say or how to say it. Words are inadequate. Fat tears are blurring my vision. Wiping them away, I rethink what I feel and express it simply.
My heart is broken and saying how sorry I am inadequate. I love you, Zan. I’m storming heaven for your entire family’s comfort. If it’s better that I come another time, I completely understand. I won’t turn my cell off ever again.
Send.
Okay, that’s as good as I’ve got right now. I’m not going to reread it because it’s just going to sound cold or lacking the feeling I want him to know I’m experiencing. It doesn’t matter because he has much bigger things to concentrate on.
Oh God. Who will be king? Kwai? I can’t see that happening under any circumstances. He’s not able to lead a country, in my opinion. And in everybody’s that knows anything about governance. But Zan, who is able, doesn’t qualify either. No royal blood. I suppose the queen could technically rule, but there hasn’t been a queen in power since King Manza’s grandmother in the early part of the twentieth century. And that was only for four years after the king died but before her son was old enough to reign.
This could cause the people of Mozia to want change. There’s always been a faction who want a democratic system. This is how radical change happens in countries with monarchies. In the absence of a good choice of king, the people see their spot to make a move toward having more say in their government. Beyond the tragedy, this is going to become an even bigger story.
The ping of the cell still clutched in my hand startles me. He’s responding.
No! Don’t change plans. I need you here. Won’t be able to talk at length tonight. I’ll text when possible.
Alright. It must be a soul crushing experience for each of them. Brother, wife, mother, and Tarik’s children. Oh. Those precious babies who adored him so. The teenager who tried to emulate him. And Princess Monifa! My tears start again.
* * *
I’m zero percent interested in smiling or toasting, or having lively conversation with anyone really. But I put on the right face and pretend to join in the night’s celebration. I’d regret it if I wasn’t present for my brother’s wedding rehearsal and nuptials.
It is good to see my entire family gathered at a dinner table again. It’s been such a long time. My siblings and I were scattered to the wind after college. I never thought there would come a time when we didn’t spend every holiday and birthday together. Then life happened.
Now it takes a miracle to sync our schedules. Tonight especially I can’t help but think I need to change things. Prioritize. You never know when it’s your last time to see someone. Our tight family has been held together by love and held apart by our chosen careers. A doctor, a resort manager, a fashion designer, a psychologist, and a journalist.
And it’s not just our jobs that separates. It’s living in different states. Tony and Doug both ended up in Miami, Judi in Hawaii, and James closer to me in Rhode Island. Thank God his fiancée was born in New York. Manhattan. Her family’s here, so the wedding was planned accordingly. Now at this table the two families intermingle on the happy occasion.
Only my mother knows what I’m emotionally carrying tonight. I told her all about Zan and Africa. I’m sure she told my father. But as far as my brothers go I haven’t shared the depth of the relationship. Not that I need to, because the news will trickle down. Even if they know, I don’t think anyone else has listened to the news today. Rightfully so, they’ve had their minds on the wedding.
“I’d like to propose a toast,” Doug says rising.
