“We have a saying back home. You can put a pig in lipstick, but it’s still a pig.”
Priscila’s brow wrinkles. “Why would you put lipstick on a swine?”
“Indeed.” Adora nods and takes a sip of her water.
I’m enjoying their verbal sparring, but the daggers from Alby force me into motion. “You’ve been here before, sir. What do you suggest for breakfast?” I ask Mr. Scott.
A comfortable silence sweeps over us as we busy ourselves with the business of breakfast and traveling to the tour starting point.
I’VE BEEN HERE WITH my parents, but seeing it through Adora’s eyes makes it a fresh experience. Her delight is contagious. Even old man Scott seems to be charmed, much to his daughter’s chagrin.
“I always enjoy visiting these places with new tourists. I’ve started to take it for granted,” Scott says, smiling over Priscila’s head.
“I can’t believe the sheer size of this place,” Adora whispers as we exit the massive, gray stone structure. “And the security. I mean, it makes sense, but it’s not something I ever thought about. It was like going through an airport.”
“We take protecting her majesty very seriously,” Priscila says haughtily.
“As you should. She’s a national treasure.” The awe in Adora’s voice is genuine.
“I can’t imagine how you guys deal with switching up leaders constantly.” Scott shakes his head. “Each person brings a new style to get used to.”
Alby’s age and questionable health forced him to stay back, allowing me the freedom to bond with Scott on my own.
“We truly appreciate you taking the time to show us around.”
“I like to know who I’m doing business with. Merging our companies would be beneficial monetarily, but I want to know it won’t damage the reputation I’ve cultivated over the years. I don’t need to tell you, Alby has been known for less than scrupulous behavior in the past.”
“That was before my time with Alby Software, so I can’t speak to that, sir.”
He grunts. “What do you see the future for the company being under your control?”
“That would be a lot of assuming on my part, sir.”
“Humor me, please.”
I exhale. This is my chance to share my vision for our future with me at the helm. Maybe he has some inside information on what Alby plans to do once he retires.
“Well—”
“Daddy!”
I glance over, and my jaw drops at the sight of white ruffled feathers flapping as an orange beaked monstrosity with a strip of black lunges toward her. It bats at her legs and pecks. Priscila scrambles back, kicking out with her booted foot.
“Don’t hurt them. They belong to her majesty!” According to the tour guide, all silent, unmarked swans belong to the queen as part of an old tradition. I’ve never been more pleased about that random fact. Scott runs toward her, arms out. Its beak clamps down on Priscila’s olive-green jacket and shakes its head like a dog worrying a bone. Screeching, Priscila spins. Her father removes his jacket and shoos the swan, hell-bent on taking a chunk out of his daughter. I choke down the laughter threatening to burst from my throat. He bats at the bird’s head, repeatedly, and it backs off. They stand in defensive st
ances like two boxers about to brawl. Slowly, man and beast back away from one another.
Adora stumbles over to me and grips my arm. She buries her face into my chest, and her body shakes. “God doesn’t like ugly, but apparently neither does nature,” she whispers.
My lips twitch.
“Let’s retreat while we have the chance,” Scott calls as we hurry down the street. Priscila is a tear-streaked, torn clothing mess. Scott steers her to a local souvenir shop.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and sorted out.”
Twenty minutes and a bathroom stop later, Priscila is clad in a kitschy navy-blue T-shirt with London in the Panama jack print. Her face is clean and clear of the professional makeup, taking years from her. She’s more subdued as we’re led into St. George’s Chapel. I can feel the lingering spirits of the monarchs laid to rest in the chapel as we step inside. I crane my neck to peer up at the high vaulted ceilings. Adora gasps and places a hand over her heart.
“This is absolutely stunning,” she whispers.