Talia and I spend the next few hours walking around Fairchild, looking at the plants and kissing. It’s a cool place, and I get a lot of good ideas for my garden design, which I plan to show Talia. I tell her about it, and she says she’s really looking forward to seeing it.
She doesn’t imagine she sees Malvolia again. I’m hoping that now that I’ve told her I love her, maybe she’ll get over this guilt trip she’s on about it not being true love’s kiss that woke her, and she’ll stop thinking that Malvolia’s going to take her back to Euphrasia.
“It seemed so real,” she says. “She even brandished a spindle.”
“It’s all over now.”
“And then I was in her cottage.”
“Her cottage?”
“Yes, I told you about it before—a peasant’s cottage atop the highest hill in Euphrasia.”
“No, Talia.” I stroke her hand. “You were right here the whole time, at Fairchild. I saw you. It was a dream.”
“I hope so.”
After Fairchild, we come home and kiss some more and discuss what to do about the huge problem of her not being able to stay here after a week. We decide to think about it tomorrow. Dad’s working late, and Mom’s shopping with Meryl. So we get some pizza, then watch television.
It all falls apart when the eleven o’clock news comes on. The newscaster is saying something about a father searching for a missing daughter. She was last seen with an American youth.
Talia gasps. “Father!”
I look. It’s the king. He’s standing on a street corner. He wears a crown and his king clothes. He holds a painting of a beautiful blond girl.
Talia.
The headline onscreen says MISSING GIRL.
Talia stares, horrified, at the screen. Then she moves closer, as if she has forgotten the difference between television and reality.
“Father,” she says. It’s a whimper.
“Maybe it’s not that bad,” I say.
But I know it is. They show the king again, looking tortured worse than when he ate the tough peacock. “How long has the girl been missing?” asks the reporter.
“She is not a girl,” says the king. “She is a princess. The heir apparent to the Euphrasian throne.”
“Ah, a princess. I see.” The reporter smirks. “From Euphrasia.”
“They do not believe him,” Talia says. “They think him insane.”
“And she has been missing several days, a week,” the king says.
“Had you argued?” the reporter asks. “Could the princess have run away?”
They’re flashing a 1-800 number over the king’s head, to call with tips.
“Argued, yes,” says the king. “You could say that. But my Talia, she would never run away. She was sheltered, innocent in the ways of the world. She could not go out on her own. She would…she would…” He looks like he’s going to cry. “She was the light of my life! Of all our lives! No matter what. If she has been kidnapped, or worse, I do not know what I shall do.”
“Do you suspect foul play, then?” the reporter asks.
“I do not know,” says the king. “Perhaps. There was a boy….”
I groan. “He thinks I kidnapped you.”
The news goes to another story, a story about the sudden decline of a forest on the Belgian border, but Talia still stares at the television.
“It’s okay, Talia. We’ll fix it all.”
“Okay? It is most assuredly not okay. While I have been frolicking in America, my parents, who have lost everything, believe I am lost to them as well. I have frolicked, Jack! And drank and partied. And my parents are in such agony that my father—who has never seen a car or a bus, let alone a television camera—has somehow gotten out of Euphrasia and found this Belgian news station, all in the hope of finding me, his most beloved daughter. The light of his life.”
“Yeah.” It does sound pretty bad when she puts it that way.
“We must call.”
“What?” I’m thinking of what they said about foul play. I didn’t kidnap Talia, but sometimes things get messed up. What if they think I did? “I don’t—”
“We must call. My father is suffering.”
“Wait!” She’s leaving. She’s going to get on a plane, and I’ll never see her again. “I understand. You’re right. You have to call.”
“I am horribly selfish and thoughtless.” She tries to grab the phone from me.
“No, you’re not.” I hold it away from her. “You’re nice. You’re going to call now that you know he wants you back. But couldn’t we just wait until morning?”
“Morning?”
“It’s the middle of the night. It’s later there. Everyone’s probably asleep. That news show wasn’t live. It couldn’t have been. And I’m just a little worried that they’ll think I kidnapped you.”
“But you did not. I will tell them you did not.”
“But they might not believe you. They might think you have…” I try to remember the name of it, this thing I heard about on television, where victims bond with their captors. “…Stockholm syndrome.”
“Impossible. I have never even been to Sweden.”
“Still, your dad threw me in a dungeon once. What’s to say he wouldn’t…misunderstand again? Couldn’t we just wait until tomorrow when my dad’s home?”
It sounds crazy, but I’m thinking maybe Meryl was right. My parents have bailed me out a bunch of times when I’ve screwed up. No, they haven’t been perfect. Sometimes they’ve been total jerks. But they’re the only parents I have, and I don’t want to go through this alone.
“I promise,” I say, “I’m not trying to get you not to call them. I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s just…I want my dad here, too.”
Talia nods. “All right. Tomorrow, then.”