Stuck With The Four Hotties

It’s only about a two hour drive from Cruz Bay to Napa Valley where the Royal Vineyard and Princess Winery is located. They produce almost thirty thousand bottles per year and have their own shop with specialty cheeses and smoked meats.

The drive itself is gorgeous, rolling hills of grapes on either side of us, trees lining the road, the sun shining up above. The Maserati drives like a dream, and Dad sings the Police for almost an hour before his voice gives out, and he stares out at the hills in quiet contemplation.

When we arrive at the gate, I punch in the code Windsor gave me, and take the winding dirt road up to the gorgeous chateau on the top of the hill. Wind jokingly told me via text oh, I don’t live in the main house-I live in the garden followed by several laughing emojis. In my mind, I somehow imagined like, this old brick shack with a fireplace. Small, but cozy. Just a few guest bedrooms that we’d all have to cram into … But then we pass behind the main house and find another that’s only slightly smaller, but just as nice waiting in the sunshine, olive trees clustered near the front door.

Windsor’s waiting on the porch with a box of those sparkling ciders that

my dad likes so much.

First, of course, we’re frisked by security, and our luggage is hauled away for examination.

“Mr. Reed,” Wind greets, giving Charlie a gentle hug. “I’m glad you and your beautiful daughter could make it.”

“You’re a sweet boy, Windsor,” Dad says, and I raise my eyebrows. If he only knew … “Is your mother around? I’d love to not only thank her, but I did promise Jennifer I’d get her to sign this picture.” Dad reaches into his pocket, and I hate to see how much his hand shakes as he pulls out a photo of Princess Alexandra, one of the reigning queen’s granddaughters.

“She’s in the house. I’ll take you to meet her if you’d like.”

“Where’s everyone else?” I ask as we make our way to the back door of the chateau. It’s slightly ajar, and there’s a white cat sitting there, licking its leg and glaring at me. Windsor ignores it, stepping right over it and leaving it to sunbathe on the small brick patio.

“I told them all to show up a few days late, so we’d have some time together.” He winks at me over his shoulder, and then turns back around, leading us through a small mudroom type area with boots and coats and rustic looking beams that I can tell are a good hundred years old. You can’t fake that patina.

Wind takes us into a much more modern looking kitchen (it’s impossible

to relay just how much I’d have freaked out if the place had had original cabinets) with an entire wall of windows on the opposite side of the room. Our view is taken up by a deck, a carefully tended garden, and rolling hills covered in grapevines.

It’s breathtaking.

“Haha-ue,” Windsor calls out, drawing the attention of the woman lounging out of the deck. He calls her haha-ue (it’s pronounced hah-hah- way), a very formal version of mother in Japanese. It’s something a noble or

… well, royal might call their mom. He might not be taking advanced Japanese with me, but he definitely pays attention to my classes.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I feel my mouth curve into a smile as Windsor’s mother stands up, dressed in a loose-fitting gray sundress patterned with a sunflower print. She lifts the shades off her face, her red-orange hair curled carefully around her shoulders. Just off to the side of the deck, there’s a man in a red shirt and jeans, standing casually but unobtrusively.

Security, no doubt about it.

I think about that bodyguard Kathleen Cabot tried to hire for me during second year. What was his name? Kyle something? I should’ve accepted his

help, and then maybe I wouldn’t have been nearly drowned.

“Don’t call me that; it sounds like you’re laughing at me.” Windsor’s mother pauses to smile at us, and I can see the skin around his eyes tightening slightly.

“Forgive her. She speaks ten languages, but Japanese is not one of them.” Wind sighs and holds out a hand to indicate his mother. “Princess Alexandra Mary Elizabeth Windsor, formerly Alexandra Duchess of Westminster. And yes, she was most certainly taking the piss when she named me.”

“Forgive my son,” Alexandra corrects as she holds out her hand to shake first Charlie’s, and then mine. “He forgets his station.”

“You never let me forget,” Windsor adds as Dad wrinkles up his brow. “Taking the piss?” he asks, and Windsor and I both laugh. I’ve heard that

phrase enough times now to know what it means. “Like … telling a joke,” I explain, and Dad nods.

“Like I said, forgive my son and please, call me Alex.”

“Charlie,” Dad replies, and the four of us end up in the kitchen with a whole spread of beautiful hor d’oeuvres, including crackers, soft cheeses, olives, and plenty of fruit. There’s wine, too, but Dad doesn’t even look at it. The princess seems nice enough, if a little disconnected. She checks her phone constantly, and I can tell she’s only mildly interested in our conversation. When Dad leaves to go lie down, the housekeeper shows him

to his room, and Princess Alex disappears outside to talk on the phone.

Windsor stares at me from across the soapstone countertop and shrugs his shoulders, his hazel eyes carefully focused on mine.

“What do you think?” he asks, pouring himself a glass of wine and swirling the liquid around inside, so he can smell it.

“She seems …” I search for the right word, and when Wind passes over another glass, I decline. I think I’m going to stay a no-alcohol sort of girl. Pot is okay, though it doesn’t seem to be curing Charlie … The vegan food isn’t curing Charlie. The chemo isn’t curing Charlie. My hands start to shake, and I tuck them in my lap. “Nice, but distant.”

Wind nods, and takes a sip of his wine, standing up fully and gazing past me, out the wall of windows towa

rd the orange and yellow sunset.