“Don’t you touch anotha’ room in my house!” Magnus Flynn barked.
The younger Flynn scraped his hand down his face. Two days into his trip to visit his parents, and he desperately wanted to jump on the next flight back to Solana.
“I’ll touch whatever room I want! It’s my house now, too,” his mother hollered from the kitchen. Unlike his dad, a native Australian, his mother was all American.
Flynn’s father growled, and leaned back in his chair in the dining room. “She’s slowly movin’ through the whole house, changin’ everythin’. Every time I return from a business trip, she’s screwed up anotha’ room.”
“I hardly think reupholstering the couches and changing out the coffee table qualifies as ‘screwing up’ the living room.” He actually liked the new, taupe fabric. The darker brown his father had had before was ragged and nearly unusable.
Magnus glared at his son with dark green eyes. “They are my sofas.”
“Our sofas,” Hannah corrected, returning from the kitchen with a casserole dish full of Flynn’s favorite meal, lasagna. “You gave up your right to call them yours when I moved in.”
Their banter continued, and he drowned them out by diving into his first bite. Sweet and savory tomato sauce with extra cheese. The same comfort food his mother had made when he was a child after a rough day.
His mother nudged him. “Back me up here.”
“What?”
She rolled her hazel eyes, and brushed her honey-colored hair off her face. “You are so much like him.”
“You can hardly blame me for wanting to tune out your bickering. Nothing’s changed.”
His mother chuckled. “A lot has changed. Bickering is what we do best.” She winked at her husband. “Your father’s an acquired taste, one I’ve become addicted to, once I remembered why I got hooked on him in the first place.”
Magnus grumbled, but couldn’t hide a smirk.
Not even from Flynn, who normally couldn’t interpret people’s expressions.
“You’ll pay for tha’ one lata’.”
“You’re damn right.” A small pink tinge colored her cheeks, and she hid a smile behind her napkin.
This has to be a sexual thing.
Flynn pushed back his plate. “Can you reserve those comments for the times I’m not here?”
His dad downed the rest of his red wine, and cleared his throat. “So, the Queen Consort, yeah?” A glint caught his eye. “Tha’s exciting, i’n’t it?” His Australian accent always thickened when he was drinking. Otherwise, he was a very well-spoken man, enunciated everything, especially in front of clients.
“To the world, yeah.” Flynn took a few more bites. “But to me, I’ll be Alanna’s husband. That’s the only part I care about.”
Hannah lovingly rubbed his arm, her proud smile making his heart warm. “You’ll be a fabulous husband.”
“You think you’ll still be able to be yach’ captain as the queen’s consort? At leas’ once in a while.”
He shrugged. “I’m running a new sailing school for kids, so I’ll captain a lot of the boats that way. But, if you mean do sea trials and deliveries for your yacht brokerage, definitely not.”
His father scowled. “Well, I guess there’s a trade-off. You can’t have an official job, but you get to meet world leaders and influential people, and see incredible places.”
“You know that’s not what I’m in this for.”
“Of course, son. That’s no’ what I mean’.” He took a giant bite of lasagna. “But it’s still amazin’. I never woulda imagined a sea trial endin’ with an international chase, and drawin’ the eye of a bonafide queen.”
Flynn snorted. “Neither did I.”
Magnus’ smile disappeared, and he pointed a serious fork at his son. “But promise me one thing. You never do anythin’ so foolish ever again. You gave me enough panic attacks during that week to last a hundred lifetimes.”
Hannah’s smile turned sad. “He was really so worried about you. But in a way, I’m grateful. Without that whole escapade, I never would’ve come back here, and rekindled things with your father. We’re all very blessed.”
His father held his wife’s hand, and rubbed his thumb over her palm.
If Flynn hadn’t known otherwise from the romantic display his parents shared—of a perfect marriage—he never would’ve guessed these two had spent nearly the last thirty years spewing unadulterated hatred across an entire ocean at each other.
His life with Alanna had brought out more than just his own miracle.
“So,” his mother started, not releasing her husband’s hand as she filled her fork. “Have you two discussed children?”
He swallowed, and held his fork against the plate.
“I assume as a queen, she has an obligation to produce children, as heirs and whatnot, am I right?” she asked.
“Yes,” Flynn answered matter-of-factly, and took another bite.
“Well?” his mother nudged. “When do you plan on starting?”
Damn, I’m not even married yet, and that talk is starting already.
“We’ve all been otherwise occupied by restoring her country. The marina was in the worst shape, along with the amepphire mines, military outposts…the hospital overworked. Parliament had threatened to tear apart the monarchy all together, and it’s still in turmoil. Babies aren’t on anyone’s mind right now.”
“Solanian newspapers say otherwise.” Magnus raised his eyebrows.
“You mean tabloids.”
“I bet there are lots of bets goin’ on around the world about when she’ll first get pregnant, and the gender of your first child.”
“You better not be placing any bets. That’s a massive conflict of interest.”
His father chuckled. “I don’t have to.”
Flynn stared. “What do you mean?”
“Business is going well.” Magnus stared back, a simple smile on his normally rugged, unshaven face. Although, he’d shaved every morning while Flynn was back.
“Very well,” Hannah added.
He set down his fork. He’d never been any good at deciphering hidden meanings behind people’s expressions, and sometimes felt as though they were making fun of him. Or intentionally leaving him out of a joke. Flynn had improved a bit since childhood, at least at identifying when it was happening. “How well?”
His dad shrugged. “The wealthy always want to do business with the ultra-wealthy. As if it would rub off somehow.”
“You’re not ultra-wealthy.”
“He’s the father of the future Queen Consort of Solana,” his mother chimed in again. “Any kind of in they can attain to actual royalty, and they swarm. Magnus isn’t advertising that, and anytime a client brings it up, he’s very quick to shut it off. He’s even turned away business where they offered some kind of kickback for a connection to you.”
Flynn’s jaw dropped. His father had lost his smile now, and even appeared frustrated. “How long has this been going on?”
“Don’t worry about it, Gabriel.” He sighed. “I’m sure all that fuss will die eventually. Once word spreads I’m an iron vault, and they can’t gain anythin’ from me in that way, they’ll stop askin’.”
“What if it’s more than a kickback?”
Magnus tilted his head.
“What if it’s a threat? You know, like random calls with fake ransoms and extortion.”
His father propped his elbow on the table. “Like the kind I got when you went missin’?”
“What?” Hannah’s head shot up.
A deep, heavy sigh filled the table. “You were on the run afta’ the Philippines, and some whacka’ called, threatened me if I kept intervenin’ tryin’ to find you. I told him to rack off. Wasn’t the first threat in my life, and it won’t be the last. But I know how to handle those tossers.”
“Did you get his name?”
He smirked. “You think someone threatin’ me would be dill enough to give me his name?”
“If you get any other calls like that, let me know.”
Magnus scoffed, and loaded up his fork with more food. “What are you gonna do with it?”
“The Royal Guard has very good investigators.”
“I’m sure they do. And I’d want their full focus to be on you and your future wife. And any future children.” He clapped Flynn’s shoulder, and finished the rest of his dinner.
After his father cleared the dishes and went to work on something in the carport, Flynn helped his mother fold a load of laundry.
She’d taught him how as a child, among other self-care lessons, her unending patience a comfort in an otherwise difficult childhood.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked. “You’re focusing extra hard on that pair of shorts.”
“I don’t know how to be a good father.”
Hannah dropped the towel she was folding. Then waited. Patiently, for him to continue. Like she always did.
“What if I screw up?”
His mother giggled. “News flash. All parents screw up. At least a few times. You will, too. But you work through it. You were always good at that.”
“What if they’re born like me?”
Her smile vanished, and she turned toward him. “Then they’ll be perfect.”
“Mom, this kid will inherit a throne. That’s intimidating enough, but with all that extra hardship…the job requires interpreting what people don’t say. Hell, just talking without insulting someone. They’d be doomed. I can’t help them with that.”
“Sure you can.”
He shook his head, doubt saturating his mind.
“First of all, there is so much more help nowadays than when you were a child. More studies, better treatment…even overall awareness. More importantly, you have an advantage. You know what it’s like. You’ve lived it. You speak the language I could only study, and never really be fluent. You can interpret the function of their behavior better than anyone else. If they have ASD, I think that kid would have the best chance in the world. As long as you love them, they’ll be fine.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
His mother gave a single laugh. “Simple doesn’t mean easy. Every parent knows that. But hardship never stopped you before.”
True.
“And the best part,” she finished. “You won’t be alone. Alanna will be right beside you, too.”
He smiled, and couldn’t stop it from spreading.