The Prince and the Player

“I wouldn’t know,” Cal laughs. “I’m more of a ‘walk along the shore at sunset’ type.”

Her cheeks pink, and she looks down. It’s the softest I’ve seen Miss Benedict in the short time I’ve known her. I want to ask her about San Angelo, but the servers fill the room, setting gold-rimmed plates of dark green salads in front of each of us. Our champagne glasses are refilled, and I take a moment to do a little toast.

“To familiar places and new friends.”

We all touch our crystal together and dig into the bitter greens softened by the balsamic vinaigrette, feta, and cranberries. I catch Miss Benedict checking out the tall bodyguard passing outside the windows. Our eyes meet, and she gives me a little smile.

“I suppose you don’t even see them after a while.”

“Not true,” I say, returning her smile. “I’m actually very good friends with some of them. Comes with having them around everywhere.”

“Is it hard knowing they might stop someone from trying to kill you?”

“I don’t think about it that much. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She blushes bright red, which makes me laugh.

“I was only teasing you,” I say gently.

I reach out and cover her hand with mine. She starts to pull away, but at the same time, she checks herself and doesn’t. Strange.

My brother’s eyes are on our hands, and he breaks in. “Personally, I always feel better when ole Odd Job is behind the wheel.”

“Odd job?” she laughs, removing her hand from mine. “Isn’t that the guy from James Bond?”

“Are you still harassing poor Hajib?” Reggie says in mock disapproval. “You haven’t called him his proper name since you were boys.”

“He loves being called Odd Job,” Cal argues. “He never stopped us from saying it.”

“I’d like to see you correcting the future kings of Monagasco.” Our uncle quirks an eyebrow, and I can’t help remembering the days when my father was still alive.

We would come here in the late summers, and the three adults would congregate in the living room talking and laughing while Cal and I played chess or ran down to the shore to hunt for ghost crabs hiding in the dunes.

Our entrées are served—dried cod with tomato and spices—and a delicate pastry for dessert. The plates are removed, and Reggie stands and goes to the terrace doors, pulling them open. A warm breeze tipped with a hint of brine fills the air.

“That does it,” Cal cries, jumping up. “We’re taking a walk on the shore.”

He catches Zee’s hand and pulls her up. I chuckle and follow along, leaving my shoes on the smooth marble stones beside theirs and picking up a flashlight before following them down the long path to the water’s edge.

The estate is situated on a little cove protected by an outcropping of rocks, and as such, the beach is calmer than elsewhere, more like a lake. The moon is just rising over the crystal waters, and Cal rolls up his khakis. Zee is ankle-deep in the water kicking small sprays at him.

“Stop,” Cal says calmly, which only makes her do it more. “I’m going to dunk you if you don’t stop.”

Naturally, she does it again, and he makes a lunge. She screams and takes off running. I only laugh watching them, especially when Cal gives up after only a few steps.

“My stomach is too full to run,” he complains.

I switch on the light, and a handful of ghostly white crabs scurry away. Zee’s back at my side holding my arm and watching.

“I love chasing ghost crabs,” she whispers. “Look how big yours are!”

“That’s what she said,” Cal whispers from my other side.

I shine the light on one, and it freezes in place for a moment, watching us before scampering away. Zee has my sleeve in a death grip.

“I thought you said you liked chasing them?” I tease.

“Just as long as they run away from us.” She laughs, but it’s fast and nervous. It makes me laugh.