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He sends back an image of himself with water dripping down his face, and I cackle like a crazy woman. He must have turned on the kitchen sink without checking for the tape around the sprayer. I used that prank a couple of times a while ago, then abandoned it, hoping he’d stop checking. What can I say? I play the long game.
I send some heart emojis back, then put on some music. Flipping past songs by BLACKPINK and Stray Kids, I stop on a single by a new group, Tripl3Threat. They aren’t my top K-pop group, yet, but they’re growing on me. They won my favorite survival show last spring—and it’s fun knowing I’m an original fan.
“Eva!” Someone touches my shoulder, and I swing around in surprise. Hans Ingolf stands before me in all his multicultural glory. He’s got his dad’s broad shoulders, and now that he’s dyed his hair blond, he looks a bit more German—from a distance. Up close, his mom’s Japanese features give him an exotic flair—like some of my favorite K-pop stars.
Hans and I went through school together—although he was a year ahead of me. When we were little, he was a scrawny little nerd with an accordion. Yeah, he plays in an oompah band—in fact, last year he took his dad’s band to Vegas. But somewhere in high school, he filled out. If I’m being perfectly honest, I’ve got a teeny tiny crush on him.
I smash the warm feelings down. I don’t have time for boys—I’m still in school. My parents met in college and look where it got them—eighteen years of a meh marriage and divorce as soon as their only child reached adulthood. Besides, I have a mission to see everything and enjoy Europe. I don’t need romance getting in my way.
But I like Hans, so I pause the song and pull a bud from my ear. “Hans! What are you doing in SeaTac?”
“Teo’s finally taking me to meet the family.” He winks outrageously, as if he and Teo Fletz are an item, then gives me a quick hug and lets go.
“You two finally made your bromance official? What’s your girlfriend going to say about that?”
Hans laughs, but his eyes dart away from my face. “We broke up ages ago. She wants to focus on her studies. I’m gone too often. You know how it goes.”
My heart rate picks up. Hans is single again? “Sorry to hear that.” Stop it, stupid heart. You don’t need Hans.
His shoulders hunch. “It is what it is. Long distance sucks. Being apart for the summer seemed doable, but with this term abroad and her summer work program, we wouldn’t have seen each other for seven months. We decided to take a break. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”
My pulse ticks up another few beats per minute. “Wait, you’re doing study abroad? And you said Teo? Are you going to Freiberg, too?”
“Guilty.” His lips twist into a smile, and his gaze comes back to me, puzzled. “Where are you off to?”
I lift both hands as if it should be obvious. It should be, shouldn’t it? I just asked if he was going there, too. Plus, he was standing right there when Teo and I talked about it at my uncle’s wedding earlier this month. He obviously hangs on every word I speak. “Freiberg. I’m doing a term at the Universität.”
“Cool. You can be my wingman.” He slides his roller case closer to mine. “Speaking of which, can you watch this while I—” He jerks a thumb toward the restrooms.
“Sure.” But he’s already gone.
The problem with growing up in a small town is you know everything about everyone. Crush notwithstanding, I remember Hans lugging that huge accordion around, picking his nose, and telling fart jokes. There aren’t many boys from Rotheberg I’d be interested in dating, which is one of many reasons I went to the huge University of Oregon. The student body is about ten times the size of my hometown, and I’ve had the chance to meet a much more diverse group of people. People who didn’t know me with braces and glasses. Or acne and greasy hair after track practice. I suspect Hans feels the same way about me.
I also wanted a chance to find my purpose. It took me two years to pick a major, and I ended up with theater arts because costume design and making props was more fun than anything else I’d tried. I added business as a second major at my dad’s insistence. He figured I could at least find a job if I had a business degree. But I don’t know what kind of job I want to find. I hope a few months on my own in Freiberg will help me figure it out.
Having Hans around might make the transition more comfortable, but I don’t want to get trapped in “small town Eva” mode. I came so I could expand my horizons and find out who Eva really is.
Of course, based on the way he dumped his luggage with me, Hans doesn’t see me as anything more than a useful friend. And while that hurts my ego a bit, maybe it’s for the best. Hans and I can go our separate ways, and I can figure out my life.
Or at least have some fun.
Chapter Two
TEO
Getting called in to see the Grand Duchess is like being sent to the principal’s office, but much worse. Even though I’m an adult, she will always exercise a huge influence over my life—unless I want to emigrate to another country. Freiberg is a constitutional monarchy with a democratically elected government, much like Luxembourg. But Her Royal Highness, Grand Duchess Karolina Vladislava Amalia Florentia von Freiberg is the head of state and wields a great deal of influence.
She’s also my aunt, which doesn’t make her any less terrifying.
I straighten my tie and pace down the long red carpet toward her throne. It’s a long, long room with high windows flanked by marble columns and a stage at the far end purposely designed to impress and intimidate. Deep red curtains hang on either side of the meter-high marble dais. A relatively simple chair of smooth, sinuous wood sits atop the platform, with steps leading up on three sides.
The throne room is usually reserved for ceremonial events like welcoming foreign heads of state. In fact, the last time it was used was when the Princess of Wales visited last spring. To be summoned here, I must be in deep trouble.
On the throne, Grand Duchess Karolina sits ramrod straight, gazing off to the right. Her blonde hair is piled on top of her head. My siblings and I have often joked about how many wigs she owns and that she must have dozens of them in exactly the same color. Or a master stylist who changes it every time she wears it. Today, it’s a simple, sleek roll, but she regularly sports braids, curls, or elaborate loops and wings, all piled up to show off her long neck and strong jaw. A red cape with ermine trim drapes elegantly over one shoulder of her tailored black suit.
I stop the prescribed three meters from the end—the color of the carpet changes slightly, showing a brighter red where few feet have trod, despite regular cleaning—and bow deeply. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Teodor.” She rises from her throne and flings off the priceless cape sending a whiff of mothballs through the room. An attendant scurries forward to stop the family heirloom from sliding to the floor, then retreats into the dim wings beyond the heavy drapes. “Call me Auntie.”
