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“Seriously?” My stomach churned. “Is there any way around it? It was just a misunderstanding. A dolphin stole my bikini bottom, then August, my friend, gave me his swim trunks, so I could cover up. When I went to get our things from the shore, the police were taking him away.”
He nodded sympathetically as we drove past the House of Wonders and Forodhani Gardens, where we were supposed to meet the group for dinner that evening.
“I know that dolphin,” the driver said. “We call him Mwizi, which means ‘thief’ in Swahili. He’s been causing trouble over the last year.”
“A thieving dolphin?” I could hardly believe my ears. “That’s unbelievable.”
He nodded again, this time with a hint of amusement. “Mwizi is famous around here. But the police are strict about indecency. It is one of the worst crimes on our island.”
We arrived at the police station, and I opened August’s wallet, searching for money to pay for the ride. The first thing I saw when I opened it was a photo of us from three years ago, cheek to cheek, on top of the Eiffel Tower. My throat tightened as I stared at the picture, memories flooding back. It was the day he told me he loved me.
“He still carries this picture,” I mumbled to myself.
“Did you say something?” the driver asked.
“I was just counting the money,” I lied, shaking thoughts of our romantic Paris trip out of my head and paying the driver.
“Thank you,” I said, getting out.
“Good luck,” he said. “Maybe because Mwizi was involved, your friend may be in jail for only a few months.” He shrugged and drove away.
A few months?
A few hours in jail was too much!
I stood in front of the police station, took a deep breath, then walked inside, determined to get August out. Today! At the front desk, an officer spoke to me in Swahili. I apologized and asked for English.
The officer called over a colleague who approached me with a polite smile. “How may I help you?”
“My fiancé was arrested,” I said, thinking that it would carry more weight than saying he was my friend. “I need to see him.”
“The man claiming to be the Prince of Verdana?” he asked skeptically.
“He is the Prince of Verdana!” I insisted, handing him August’s ID.
“This ID does not prove he’s a prince,” the officer replied, unimpressed as he handed the wallet back to me. “Show me his diplomatic papers.”
“Do you really think people usually carry their diplomatic papers when going swimming in the ocean?” I snapped. “He has them back at the hotel. I’m Princess Veronica of Kastonia, and I demand his release!”
He raised an eyebrow, studying me from head to toe. “Do you have an ID?”
I hesitated. “No, I don’t, but?—”
“Of course not,” he replied with a roll of the eyes.
“I demand to see him,” I said.
The officer hesitated, then led me down the hall to three holding cells, with August in the middle one, sitting on a bench, wrapped in a towel.
“Veronica!” he called out, standing quickly and inadvertently dropping the towel that was wrapped around him and exposing his naked body to me and the officer. I turned to look away as August reached for the towel to cover himself.
“You need to keep your clothes on!” the officer ordered, shaking his finger at August. “Repeat offender!”
“He wasn’t trying to flash you!” I told the officer sharply. “The towel accidentally fell off him, obviously. You will be sorry for treating him this way. He is the future king of Verdana!”
“And I’m King Henry!” the man in the first cell called out with a grin, almost falling over from his outburst. “Release me at once!”
“Please be quiet,” the officer told the man, then turned back to me. “Look, I have my orders, and there is nothing you can do about it.”
