The Royal Governess_ -Excerpt
Chapter 1 My mother always told me, “Christina, never get into a car with a strange man.” Would that apply to boats too? As I studied the back of Milo’s head, nerves tightened in my stomach. Maybe I should have listened to Mom.
Milo, the man who’d picked us up at the airport, needed a shave and a haircut. Still, the sign in his hands had my name. Newhart. Was this where my panicked decision to escape Pittsburgh had led me? Not only had I signed on for this governess gig in a foreign country, I’d dragged my fourteen-year-old daughter with me. Actually, Lexi was the reason we were here.
Spray hit my face when the boat dove into another wave. Clutching my tote, I blinked furiously. Around us stretched dark water and foamy whitecaps. No land in sight. Fear raked my chest.
“Isn’t this great?” Lexi shouted, her dripping hair flying with each bounce.
Somehow I managed to nod. No way would I let my daughter know how terrified I was right now. How guilty I felt for uprooting her to this summer on a Mediterranean island––or so the ad had said.
If we ended up in a harem in Algiers, it would be all my fault. After all, I was the one who’d answered the online ad placed by King Marco Napolitano. But this was not what I’d pictured when I’d printed off the boarding passes for the flight to Naples, Italy. I only knew that he lived in a castle with his son Gregorio.
At the airport a morose man had stood at the end of the ramp holding the sign. Eyes gritty from the long trip, I’d rushed toward him. “Hi, I’m Christina Newhart and this is my daughter Lexi.”
My extended hand was ignored. He knifed a thumb into his chest “Milo. Where is the boy?” He scanned a note crumpled in his hand.
Oh, right. There was that. I tried to look concerned. “What boy?”
Muttering something under his breath, he shoved the paper back into a pocket. “Come.” Jerking his head toward the sign that said bagaglio, he took off, dumping the sign. We hurried to keep up. For a guy wearing run-down slippers and a few extra pounds, he could hustle. Grateful for my sensible tie-shoes, I set off after him.
But I would have appreciated a smile. A quick handshake. Some reassurance.
Stop it, Christina. No more snap judgments.
Lexi’s head swiveled as she took it all in. People babbled around us but no one seemed to be speaking English. I’d followed Milo to the carousel where my suitcase with its red tie had just plopped from the chute. Lexi’s bag wore a purple tie that matched her hair. Grabbing our luggage, we scurried after Milo, who was already disappearing through the glass door. A limo waited for us outside.
After a short ride from the airport, we ended up on a dock. Our baggage was stowed and the boat took off.
So here we were. Looking over my shoulder, I attempted a smile. Nodding as he flicked his cigarette ashes over the water, Milo looked comfortable in his cushioned seat. All was right with his world. Mine was feeling a little unsteady.
Shivering, my daughter looked around her. How hard would it be at fourteen to have your mother take you away from your friends for the summer? But Lexi needed that distance. Although she didn’t want it, she needed it. And I needed it too. “Are we almost there, Mr. Milo?”
“Soon.” Tossing his cigarette butt over the side, Milo lit up another.
I opened my mouth to fill him in on how many sea turtles died from eating debris discarded by humans. Maybe another time. My jaw snapped shut. Up ahead, a man in a knit cap handled the wheel. All kind of instruments blinked on that deck.
This would be a great story to tell my friends back in America. Reena and Maddie would find this hilarious. Well, if we survived.
Tying my scarf tighter around my neck, I turned up the collar of my trench coat. “Isn't this an adventure? Going out on our own?” I chirped to my daughter.
“Where are we?” Lexi’s dark eyeliner was running from the corners of her eyes. Was that from the crazy waves or was she crying? Arms folded across her chest, she shivered in her black jean jacket. Her excitement was wearing off.
“I think we’re in the Mediterranean Sea. Isn’t it great? Well, not in the sea, but on the sea.” Mercy, I hoped we wouldn’t end up in the sea.
I will not look down. I just will not.
Another watery bump. Another jolt to my stomach.
I looked away. Lexi had given me tons of trouble the past year. And I’d cried plenty––the hopeless tears of a single mother. At least I wouldn't have to go into Principal Weston's office one more time to hear what my daughter had been hiding in her locker. The embarrassment was twofold since I taught at the same school Lexi attended.
“When are we going to eat?” Lexi’s voice held a plaintive note. “I'm starving.”
“I'm sure Mr. Napolitano will have lunch for us. Or dinner.”
“What time is it here anyway?”
“Probably about nine. I think.”
She squinted up at the gray skies. “In the morning?”
“I think so. We moved ahead five or six hours crossing the Atlantic.”
Lexi turned away, flipping up the collar of her jacket.
The last month of school had been a frantic jumble. Paging through a professional magazine during my seventh hour prep period, I’d seen the ad for a governess for a high school junior on an island. My heart had lifted. I could pry my daughter away for the summer. Long ago I’d read about an actress who’d moved to Scotland with her daughter to get her away from peer pressure and bad decisions. The plan had worked. If we were away on our own, I’d have some parental control. At least, that was my plan.
When Mr. Napolitano wrote in response to my inquiry, his requirements had been demanding. And the royal stationery had been intimidating. He might be a king, but nothing was going to stop me. I kind of went overboard with my resume, but what’s a desperate mother to do? Lexi was slipping away. My only child. The girl who supposedly would comfort me in my old age.
Behind the boat, gray water churned before peeling back in a white-flecked wake we left far behind. Nothing appeared on the horizon to quiet my fears. Jamming my fingers into my pockets, I found some cellophane packets and pulled them out. “Look, sweetheart. Food.”
Biscuits. That’s what the flight attendant had called the cookies when she came down the aisle toward the end of the flight. Mr. Napolitano had generously booked us in business class. That had seemed promising. The flight attendants actually paid attention to people in that section, although two packets of biscuits weren’t exactly extravagant. Last night’s late dinner had consisted of freeze-dried chicken on flattened beds of lettuce with some sort of creamy dressing. I took a pass.
Lexi opened her packet and slid a biscuit out. I did the same and we began to munch. The cookies tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Spying something up ahead, I pointed. “Look.” On the edge of the horizon, a blueish gray image had materialized. Turning to Milo, I asked, “Is that the island?”
“Napolitano? Yes, yes.” He pulled out a phone.
My spirits lifted. The fog had dissipated, and a weak sun struggled to break through the clouds. Sunblock. I’d forgotten to bring sunblock but certainly there would be stores on the island. As the sun grew stronger, the water took on a pleasing aquamarine tint. My tense muscles eased.
Slipping the scarf from my head, I ran a hand over the hair I’d yanked into a ponytail before the delayed last leg of our three flights. After all, I wanted to make a good impression.
Although I’d searched online, I couldn't find much about King Marco Napolitano and his son Gregorio. They kept a low profile. The family was involved in making wine, but that had been on the fourth page of my search.
Oh, I couldn't wait to meet them. Now I was delighted by the shoreline. Fitting snugly together, pretty pastel buildings peeked from the dark green foliage. My earlier fears faded along with the morning fog. At the dock, men bustled about their boats. Shouting and laughter carried across the water along with the smell of fish. “Yuk,” Lexi muttered.
“Local color, Lexi. Isn’t it charming?” Just as I was searching the crowds along the pier, the boat veered to the right. I grabbed the railing with my left hand and Lexi’s arm with my right. Lips pursed, she shook me off.
The scenic village receded. Next to me, Lexi sighed. Turning back to Milo, I shouted, “Where are we going?” I wanted to go back to the wharf with the cute little cottages.
Apparently, Milo hadn’t heard me. “When will we be there?” I asked in a louder voice.
Studying his phone, he shook his head. “Soon.”
A man of few words. But at least we could see a shoreline.
Behind us the town grew smaller and smaller. The sun had strengthened, glancing off the water in sharp rays. Yes, I really should have brought sunblock.
And maybe a handgun. Not that I knew how to use one.
Before too long we approached a boathouse that looked as if it had been there for ages. Some kind of red and green crest adorned the weathered tan stucco.
“Look at that,” Lexi breathed beside me. “Just like in the movies.”
Right. In murder mysteries, someone was always getting killed in a boathouse.
Click here to keep reading The Royal Governess. https://books2read.com/u/mq1lYd
Milo, the man who’d picked us up at the airport, needed a shave and a haircut. Still, the sign in his hands had my name. Newhart. Was this where my panicked decision to escape Pittsburgh had led me? Not only had I signed on for this governess gig in a foreign country, I’d dragged my fourteen-year-old daughter with me. Actually, Lexi was the reason we were here.
Spray hit my face when the boat dove into another wave. Clutching my tote, I blinked furiously. Around us stretched dark water and foamy whitecaps. No land in sight. Fear raked my chest.
“Isn’t this great?” Lexi shouted, her dripping hair flying with each bounce.
Somehow I managed to nod. No way would I let my daughter know how terrified I was right now. How guilty I felt for uprooting her to this summer on a Mediterranean island––or so the ad had said.
If we ended up in a harem in Algiers, it would be all my fault. After all, I was the one who’d answered the online ad placed by King Marco Napolitano. But this was not what I’d pictured when I’d printed off the boarding passes for the flight to Naples, Italy. I only knew that he lived in a castle with his son Gregorio.
At the airport a morose man had stood at the end of the ramp holding the sign. Eyes gritty from the long trip, I’d rushed toward him. “Hi, I’m Christina Newhart and this is my daughter Lexi.”
My extended hand was ignored. He knifed a thumb into his chest “Milo. Where is the boy?” He scanned a note crumpled in his hand.
Oh, right. There was that. I tried to look concerned. “What boy?”
Muttering something under his breath, he shoved the paper back into a pocket. “Come.” Jerking his head toward the sign that said bagaglio, he took off, dumping the sign. We hurried to keep up. For a guy wearing run-down slippers and a few extra pounds, he could hustle. Grateful for my sensible tie-shoes, I set off after him.
But I would have appreciated a smile. A quick handshake. Some reassurance.
Stop it, Christina. No more snap judgments.
Lexi’s head swiveled as she took it all in. People babbled around us but no one seemed to be speaking English. I’d followed Milo to the carousel where my suitcase with its red tie had just plopped from the chute. Lexi’s bag wore a purple tie that matched her hair. Grabbing our luggage, we scurried after Milo, who was already disappearing through the glass door. A limo waited for us outside.
After a short ride from the airport, we ended up on a dock. Our baggage was stowed and the boat took off.
So here we were. Looking over my shoulder, I attempted a smile. Nodding as he flicked his cigarette ashes over the water, Milo looked comfortable in his cushioned seat. All was right with his world. Mine was feeling a little unsteady.
Shivering, my daughter looked around her. How hard would it be at fourteen to have your mother take you away from your friends for the summer? But Lexi needed that distance. Although she didn’t want it, she needed it. And I needed it too. “Are we almost there, Mr. Milo?”
“Soon.” Tossing his cigarette butt over the side, Milo lit up another.
I opened my mouth to fill him in on how many sea turtles died from eating debris discarded by humans. Maybe another time. My jaw snapped shut. Up ahead, a man in a knit cap handled the wheel. All kind of instruments blinked on that deck.
This would be a great story to tell my friends back in America. Reena and Maddie would find this hilarious. Well, if we survived.
Tying my scarf tighter around my neck, I turned up the collar of my trench coat. “Isn't this an adventure? Going out on our own?” I chirped to my daughter.
“Where are we?” Lexi’s dark eyeliner was running from the corners of her eyes. Was that from the crazy waves or was she crying? Arms folded across her chest, she shivered in her black jean jacket. Her excitement was wearing off.
“I think we’re in the Mediterranean Sea. Isn’t it great? Well, not in the sea, but on the sea.” Mercy, I hoped we wouldn’t end up in the sea.
I will not look down. I just will not.
Another watery bump. Another jolt to my stomach.
I looked away. Lexi had given me tons of trouble the past year. And I’d cried plenty––the hopeless tears of a single mother. At least I wouldn't have to go into Principal Weston's office one more time to hear what my daughter had been hiding in her locker. The embarrassment was twofold since I taught at the same school Lexi attended.
“When are we going to eat?” Lexi’s voice held a plaintive note. “I'm starving.”
“I'm sure Mr. Napolitano will have lunch for us. Or dinner.”
“What time is it here anyway?”
“Probably about nine. I think.”
She squinted up at the gray skies. “In the morning?”
“I think so. We moved ahead five or six hours crossing the Atlantic.”
Lexi turned away, flipping up the collar of her jacket.
The last month of school had been a frantic jumble. Paging through a professional magazine during my seventh hour prep period, I’d seen the ad for a governess for a high school junior on an island. My heart had lifted. I could pry my daughter away for the summer. Long ago I’d read about an actress who’d moved to Scotland with her daughter to get her away from peer pressure and bad decisions. The plan had worked. If we were away on our own, I’d have some parental control. At least, that was my plan.
When Mr. Napolitano wrote in response to my inquiry, his requirements had been demanding. And the royal stationery had been intimidating. He might be a king, but nothing was going to stop me. I kind of went overboard with my resume, but what’s a desperate mother to do? Lexi was slipping away. My only child. The girl who supposedly would comfort me in my old age.
Behind the boat, gray water churned before peeling back in a white-flecked wake we left far behind. Nothing appeared on the horizon to quiet my fears. Jamming my fingers into my pockets, I found some cellophane packets and pulled them out. “Look, sweetheart. Food.”
Biscuits. That’s what the flight attendant had called the cookies when she came down the aisle toward the end of the flight. Mr. Napolitano had generously booked us in business class. That had seemed promising. The flight attendants actually paid attention to people in that section, although two packets of biscuits weren’t exactly extravagant. Last night’s late dinner had consisted of freeze-dried chicken on flattened beds of lettuce with some sort of creamy dressing. I took a pass.
Lexi opened her packet and slid a biscuit out. I did the same and we began to munch. The cookies tasted of cinnamon and nutmeg.
Spying something up ahead, I pointed. “Look.” On the edge of the horizon, a blueish gray image had materialized. Turning to Milo, I asked, “Is that the island?”
“Napolitano? Yes, yes.” He pulled out a phone.
My spirits lifted. The fog had dissipated, and a weak sun struggled to break through the clouds. Sunblock. I’d forgotten to bring sunblock but certainly there would be stores on the island. As the sun grew stronger, the water took on a pleasing aquamarine tint. My tense muscles eased.
Slipping the scarf from my head, I ran a hand over the hair I’d yanked into a ponytail before the delayed last leg of our three flights. After all, I wanted to make a good impression.
Although I’d searched online, I couldn't find much about King Marco Napolitano and his son Gregorio. They kept a low profile. The family was involved in making wine, but that had been on the fourth page of my search.
Oh, I couldn't wait to meet them. Now I was delighted by the shoreline. Fitting snugly together, pretty pastel buildings peeked from the dark green foliage. My earlier fears faded along with the morning fog. At the dock, men bustled about their boats. Shouting and laughter carried across the water along with the smell of fish. “Yuk,” Lexi muttered.
“Local color, Lexi. Isn’t it charming?” Just as I was searching the crowds along the pier, the boat veered to the right. I grabbed the railing with my left hand and Lexi’s arm with my right. Lips pursed, she shook me off.
The scenic village receded. Next to me, Lexi sighed. Turning back to Milo, I shouted, “Where are we going?” I wanted to go back to the wharf with the cute little cottages.
Apparently, Milo hadn’t heard me. “When will we be there?” I asked in a louder voice.
Studying his phone, he shook his head. “Soon.”
A man of few words. But at least we could see a shoreline.
Behind us the town grew smaller and smaller. The sun had strengthened, glancing off the water in sharp rays. Yes, I really should have brought sunblock.
And maybe a handgun. Not that I knew how to use one.
Before too long we approached a boathouse that looked as if it had been there for ages. Some kind of red and green crest adorned the weathered tan stucco.
“Look at that,” Lexi breathed beside me. “Just like in the movies.”
Right. In murder mysteries, someone was always getting killed in a boathouse.
Click here to keep reading The Royal Governess. https://books2read.com/u/mq1lYd