“Yeah, I’ll do an online search.”
“May I ask who wrote the letter?”
Adelaide examined the signature. “It’s signed by Albert J. Kovacs, prime minister to the Principality of Montovia.”
“Certainly sounds official.”
“Yeah. There’s even an email address to reply to.” Adelaide sunk into her chair. “To be honest, I’m sort of in shock. It’s a lot to take in.”
Maya, still hovering and listening, placed a comforting hand on Adelaide’s shoulder.
“I can imagine.” Lela released a loud sigh. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
Adelaide nearly dropped her phone. “Do?”
“I mean, if it all pans out and is legit, will you go to Montovia? For a visit? To meet your father?”
“My father? The king?” For some reason the irony made Adelaide giggle. How was it possible she lived in a house that smelled like a dirty litter box, was barely able to cover her rent and buy food beyond ramen noodles . . . and yet she was possibly the daughter of a king? Like a modern-day Cinderella without the stepsisters. Her giggling grew louder until she couldn’t help but throw back her head and laugh uncontrollably. She was laughing so hard and hysterically that she had to give Lela a broken goodbye as she rushed across the hall to the bathroom to avoid an embarrassing accident. Cinderella—yeah, right!
Standing in front of the sink of the grimy little bathroom with peeling wallpaper and crumbling linoleum, her giggles turned into tears. She wasn’t even sure why. Was she crying for her poor deceased mother? Or her ailing royal father? Or for her confused and somewhat overwhelmed self? Maybe it was for all three. Oh, Lord, she prayed silently, please, help me figure this puzzle out.
CHAPTER
Three
By the next day, Adelaide had done enough research to know that her letter from Montovia was most likely legitimate. King Maximillian V was listed as the ruler of the principality, and Albert J. Kovacs was the prime minister serving under him. Informative emails between Kovacs and Adelaide passed back and forth across the ocean until, a few days later, she received a registered letter containing her temporary visa to Montovia, as well as a cashier’s check to cover all travel expenses.
“You have to go,” Maya told her as they both stared at the generous check. “It’s meant to be.”
“Meant to be?” Adelaide tossed her winter coat onto a peg by the door.
“Well, you said you prayed about it, right?”
“Yeah . . .” Adelaide sank down into her favorite well-worn chair.
“Well, it looks like God has flung the door wide open.”
Adelaide considered this. “What about school? My finals?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve delayed your education. And look what an opportunity you’re being given to travel.” Maya sat across from her. “Not to mention the chance to meet your birth father who just happens to rule a small country. Seriously, isn’t that like an education in itself?”
Adelaide set the check on the crate coffee table. “You’re probably right.”
“And I’ll bet your passport is still good. Weren’t you twenty when you and your mom took that trip to Canada?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Almost nine years ago. I have a little over a year before it expires.”
“See, it’s meant to be.”
Adelaide couldn’t argue. Oh, she could’ve, but why waste her breath? Besides that, Maya was right. Traveling and visiting a place like Montovia was a form of education. She picked up the check again and stared at the numbers. “This looks like more than enough to cover airfare.”
“And travel expenses,” Maya added.
“Okay.”
Adelaide’s flight was booked exactly one week after receiving her first mysterious Montovian letter . . . and just a few days after she received a disturbing email informing her that King Maximillian V was possibly on his deathbed. There was no time to waste. By now she knew he suffered a prolonged case of liver cancer, but Herr Kovacs had encouraged him to hold out long enough to lay eyes on his daughter. Herr Kovacs seemed to think it was helping, but the doctor’s prognosis was grim.
As Adelaide flew across the ocean in the darkness of night, she fervently prayed she’d get the opportunity to meet her father in person before it was too late. Based on Herr Kovacs’s email earlier in the day, the king was going downhill quickly. Time was of the essence.
Her plane arrived at Vienna International Airport just as dawn gently broke into the sullen gray sky. As Adelaide hovered near the passenger pick-up area, she checked her phone for a new message from Herr Kovacs and then noticed today’s date. Tomorrow would be the third anniversary of her mother’s passing. It was a night Adelaide didn’t care to remember and always brought memory of a painful phone call she had tried to wipe clean from her mind. Weary from the red-eye flight and staring down at that familiar date, she couldn’t stop it from all rushing back.
Her mother had gone out with one of those jerks who always seemed to pursue her so relentlessly. Sure, according to her mom, Terrance was different. He had a respectable job, a nice dog, and was easy on the eyes—but his alcohol level had been .40 when autopsies were performed on him and Adelaide’s mother in the days to follow. No other cars had been involved in the accident, and both the driver and passenger had died instantly when the sporty BMW left the road and crashed into a tree.
“Frau Smith?”
Adelaide looked up from her daze and blinked. The dark-haired young man addressing her didn’t match the picture she had in her head of the prime minister she’d been corresponding with, but he held a placard with her name printed on it. “Herr Kovacs? Sind sie das?” She nervously straightened the front of her long gray coat, hoping her high school German wasn’t too awful.
“Nein. Ich bin Anton Balazs. Herr Kovacs schickte mir.” His broad smile was encouraging, but he spoke too quickly. Other than “nein” for “no,” she couldn’t make out a word. She fumbled to discreetly locate her phone’s translation app, then realized it was useless.
“Mein Deutsch ist not gut.” She spoke slowly, embarrassed to confess her poor language skills.
“My apologies. Please, let’s converse in English,” he said, lowering the sign. “I’ll start again. I’m Anton Balazs. Herr Kovacs has sent me to meet you.” He extended his hand, then warmly grasped hers.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Herr Balazs. You speak English fluently?”
“Yes. German is our national language, but Montovian children start to learn English in primary school. It’s because Queen Anna Konig was British. That was nearly a century ago, but her insistence that English be required in the curriculum remained, even ahead of French and Hungarian.”
“Well, I commend you, Herr Balazs. Your English is excellent.”
“It helped that my mother was British, plus I attended Cambridge.” His dark brown eyes twinkled. “But please, dispose of herr. Just call me Anton.”
“Then you must call me Adelaide.”
“And I hope you forgive Albert—I mean, Herr Kovacs for not coming this morning. I call him Albert because he is my uncle. He was very concerned for the king’s health and insisted on remaining behind.”