Nigel had been right. There was nothing anyone could have done to save the Kosnovian monarchy. The parliament voted in the spring to end the reign of the House of Rostov.
My parents were given three months to vacate the palace.
They moved out just as the summer in Kosnovia began.
My father and mother were allowed to take their personal possessions and keep the family’s financial holdings that were not related to Kosnovian land or property.
They walked away with hundreds of millions of dollars that had been building in various bank accounts for over a hundred years.
The centuries’ worth of antique furnishings and priceless works of art were immediately taken into the government’s possession—as were several dozen automobiles, two yachts, and three private planes.
My father took it better than I’d thought he would (wouldn’t you if you had a hundred million dollars?). He would always hold the title and the crown, but it would be worn on an island in Greece rather than in the royal palace in Kosnovia.
“There are far worse places to live out your golden years than an expensive Greek villa next to George Clooney,” I said as my father and I sat on the patio sipping iced coffee and watching the sun creep across the western sky.
“I suppose you are right,” he said, mopping the sweat from his forehead with a napkin. My father looked like he was aging in reverse. The sun had baked his once pale skin to a golden brown. His eyes had a sparkle to them again. His walk had purpose.
He held up his glass. “I’ll take the summer sun and the warm waters of the Greek Isles over the gray and cold of Kosnovia any day.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” I said with a smile. “How is mother taking the change?”
He waved a hand at me. “Your mother hated Kosnovia and never let me forget it. Sometimes I wished I had taken a less-vocal bride all those years ago. Your grandmother was the same way. Yap, yap, yap.”
“That’s what happens when you kidnap and marry a woman you don’t know,” I said, glancing at him from over the top of my sunglasses.
He chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. She loves it here, so all is well. How are things with your lovely bride?”
“Ask her for yourself,” I said with a smile.
Rebecca came out of the villa wearing a one-piece red bathing suit that hugged her round belly and plump breasts. We had married in the spring in a small ceremony in the royal palace. There’d been little fanfare and no paparazzi involved. It had been a perfect, intimate wedding between two people who had quickly and intensely fallen in love.
My son was growing inside of her now. The little prince would arrive sometime around the end of summer. Rebecca wanted to call him Carl. I said that was something we’d have to discuss.
She came to stand beside me and took my hand.
“What are you two up to?” she asked, leaning down to give me a kiss.
“We were just talking about the weather,” I said with a smile. “And happy endings. Right, Father?”
“That’s right, my dear.” He held up his glass and smiled at my beautiful, pregnant wife. “Here’s to happy endings.”
“To happy endings,” I added. “All around.”
“To happy endings,” Rebecca said with a smile.
She rubbed her belly and gave me a warm smile.
“And to little miracles that do come true.”
THE END