A Sense of Wonder

Attending the debate had not been a spur of the moment decision. Francis had planned on attending all along, and only once hesitated in following through with it. That had been earlier that morning when Paulina announced that she wanted him to put together a small event for her. Had she given him a set city and time frame, he would have found himself forced to remain in Central California to see to the details, but thankfully for him, she didn’t say whether she preferred Fresno or Modesto, she didn’t say what time it ought to be scheduled. All she said was that she wanted an event for Saturday and that she would get back to him on the details, and since there were no specifics at present, he had nothing to go on, which allowed him to travel to Los Angeles without feeling as though he had neglected his duties.

The drive down took longer than he’d anticipated. The four and a half hour trip transformed into a seven hour odyssey, courtesy of a four car pile-up along the I-5 South, as well as the horrible weekday traffic that plagued Southern California. That traffic led to his missing the first half of the debate and it nearly kept him from the rest of it. The security personnel had been ordered not to allow anyone inside the lecture hall once the debate started. The event coordinators didn’t want to risk a noisy entrance or even worse, a protestor. There had been multiple instances in the past where protestors burst through the doors to interrupt a debate, and they wanted to avoid that at all cost. That was why they told their people not to allow anyone in. That was why the burly men guarding the main door kept telling Francis that there was nothing they could do, he was just going to have to wait, but thankfully for Francis, he was a Kennedy. He easily obtained the contact information of the debate coordinators and shortly thereafter, he was admitted into Moore Hall.

Once inside, he quietly made his way down the right aisle, stopping only when he found his empty seat next to Irmalinda Balcázar. He had called her earlier that day to remind her to save him a seat and not to tell Paulina, both of which she gladly did for him. Irmalinda was fond of Francis, as was her husband and the rest of the family. He was a welcomed addition to the Balcázars, and when Irmalinda saw him coming closer, she discreetly motioned for him to join them. There were a few people he had to inconvenience in order to get to his seat. Lecture halls never left much space between a person’s knees and the back of the chair in front of them, so he maneuvered himself throughout quite a few people before he was able to reach Irmalinda and Ricardo, but when he did, he was greeted warmly. Irmalinda hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek, Ricardo did the same.

With the greetings over with, they redirected their attention to the debate unfolding before them. Paulina and Thomas were locked in a heated discussion regarding what policy they would like to see pursued in the Middle East. Thomas felt bombs were necessary, that putting more troops on the ground was the only way to solve the issue. Paulina felt differently. She believed that a more diplomatic approach had to be taken, that dialogue had to be established, because the direction the government was taking in regards to the Middle East was clearly flawed. The country had been engaged in conflict in the region for over fifteen years and it had to stop. No more American soldiers had to be placed in harm’s way, no more lives had to be lost, and she drilled her points. She spoke passionately about the sufferings of the solders, because she had seen it firsthand. Perhaps not that of the Americans, but she would never forget the conversations she had when she accompanied Harry to his Walking the Wounded events. She saw the physical and mental scars that war left, and she didn’t want anyone else to be hurt. Her voice even hitched a little at one point. It was a very raw moment, but she smoothed it over as best she could – no tears welled in her eyes, no distress swept across her face. She simply cleared her throat and moved on.

And from his place in the audience, Francis stared at her in admiration. He always enjoyed watching her debate. There was just something about the manner in which she carried herself, something in the eloquence and passion with which she spoke that placed him in an almost trance like state. He could easily spend hours just sitting there while she debated. He had grown up in a fiercely political home, so debates were as fascinating to him as any football game or boxing match, and the fact that Paulina was the one debating made only that much better for him. He watched with pride as she verbally delivered blow after blow to Thomas, they had spent many nights strategizing into the late hours and it had paid off. She was dominating the debate and when they moved into the diplomatic segment, Francis felt that Paulina was just going to finish Thomas off, but then something unexpected happen, then Thomas brought up her former relationship with Prince Harry.

In that moment, Francis’ heart sank as he remembered the night in late November when Harry had shown up at Paulina’s home in Massachusetts. The Prince had attempted to mend things, but had only succeeded in distressing her. Harry had left the house with tears streaming down his cheeks, but Paulina was in a far worse state. When Francis entered her home, he found her collapsed on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. He tried to get to her to sit up, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand – she didn’t have the energy for anything other than wallowing in her misery. That was why Francis scooped her up into his arms and took over to the couch. He planned on setting her down there and fetching her some water, but when he tried to, she clung closer to him. She refused to be put down and so he sat down on the couch with her in his arms, and she spent the night crying as he held her. She cried so much that when morning came, her eyes were bloodshot and there were a few veins that had popped in her right eyes, causing the entire sclera to appear blood red. He had never seen her look so bad, not even after the accident did she look so awful, but there she was, looking as if her life had been stolen from her. It broke his heart seeing her like that, and what worse was that he didn’t know what to do or say. He’d always thought that whatever had happened between her and Harry had been over with, that it didn’t bother her anymore, but that night, she had spilled her heart to him. That night, he learned why she’d really broken up with him, he learned about the fight and subsequent miscarriage.

That was the night he swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep her from ever being that miserable again. And when he saw Thomas bring up Harry, he felt a strong urge to leap onto the stage and punch Thomas in that smug face of his, but before his mind could even imagine an ending to that scenario, Paulina sprang into action.

“Do forgive me,” she said, as poised as ever. “I was under the impression that this was a foreign policy debate – not a tabloid interview. If the former is true, then I will gladly continue to engage in debate, but if the latter, I have nothing further to say.”

At that, he sighed in relief. Crisis averted. She comported herself in a manner that made it clear that she wasn’t the least bit emotionally unsettled by the question. The cameramen had zoomed in on her face, hoping to see her eyes flicker with fear, to see her jaw clench, to see something that would indicate that Thomas had gotten to her, but she remained poised. Her features didn’t alter in the slightest, she didn’t stumble over her words as they had expected her to. Thomas had greatly underestimated her. He believed the mere mention of Harry would be enough to distress her. After all, that was what his advisors had said. They told him that if he brought up Harry and pressed the relationship, she would crack – but she didn’t. If anything, mentioning Harry worked in her favor. It lit something within her, because after Thomas brought up Harry, Paulina went after him with everything she had. She unleashed sensitive information that had been skillfully concealed by Henderson and Ayres. It was information that was supposed to have been kept under the table, not even the damn government had looked into it, but there she was, going after him for having flown out to Syria, going after him for having met with President al-Hassad. He attempted to steer the conversation away from that, he tried desperately to change the topic to development of nuclear weapons in Iran and North Korea, but despite having been successful in that, he knew the damage had already been done.

And as Francis looked upon the stage, he knew he’d made the right decision. She was worth taking a leave of absence from his position at the District Attorney’s Office, she was worth putting aside his own political aspirations. She was the sort of person that he would do anything for, and when the debate ended and the candidates exchanged uncomfortable embraces, Francis clapped enthusiastically for her. He needed to convey his support and approval, to make it obvious that distance would never really keep him from her. For once, he was noisier than her own mother, and he was actually in the middle of applauding when Paulina’s eyes landed on him. He could see the effect his presence had on her. Those dark brown eyes he knew so well took on new light, there was a glint that hadn’t been there before, and on her lips, the smile that she used for the campaign vanished, in its place was the one reserved strictly for him. His own face underwent a similar transformation, a massive grin erupted onto his face and his eyes were no longer tired from the seven hours spent driving, they were renewed, eager to see her smiling face.

He remained at her mother’s side until she managed to make her way towards them. Had it been possible, she would’ve avoided the press and ignored her supporters, she would’ve gone straight to him, but to do so would’ve been unpardonable. Her duty was to the campaign, that came before all else, including her own needs. So she saw to the press and her supporters, she thanked her staff members, and when she was finally able to, she maneuvered herself through the crowd, stopping only when she reached Francis.

“Pinche Francisco (fucking Francis)!” she exclaimed when she saw him. “You said you weren’t coming!”

“Did I?” he mused aloud. “Hmm, I suppose I did. Must’ve been lying.”

“You’re such a jerk!” she told him. Although the smile on her lips made it incredibly clear that he was far from that.

“Egh.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can live with that.”

“Well if you can, so can I.” And she went in for a hug, which was gladly given to her by Francis. He took her in his arms, holding her tight against him as she smiled into his chest. She would never admit it aloud, but she loved being held by him. He was so much taller than her, towering over her at 6’4”, and she loved it. She loved those few precious seconds when they hugged, and whenever they parted, she felt a strange longing to be in his arms again. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Aurelia.” He told her. “Even though I almost did, but that wouldn’t have been on me. The guards outside would’ve been to blame.”

“Did they not want to let you in?”

He shook his head. “Got here late, so the doors were closed and they were making a big thing about it, but it got sorted out and your parents saved my seat, so it was alright.”

“My parents,” she repeated and suddenly it dawned on her that she had completely ignored them. “Mama! Daddy!”

Paulina redirected her attention towards her parents. She hugged and kissed them, thanked them for having been in attendance. Her mother had been at her side earlier in the afternoon and when their time together ended, she was on driving duty, dropping her relatives off at their respective homes. Her father had been at work all day. He went in at seven in the morning and hadn’t left until three-thirty in the afternoon. He only had time to go home to get dressed for the debate and as soon as he did, he and his wife made the long traffic filled drive to downtown Los Angeles. He hadn’t even sat down for a proper dinner, Irmalinda had made him a quick potato and chorizo burrito that he could eat with one hand while he drove. Her parents were tired from their long days, but they had made it to the debate, they had applauded her, and they were incredibly proud of their little girl.

Like Francis, they had worried that she would be emotionally compromised by the mention of Harry. That she would tear up in front of the cameras, that her voice would crack, and most importantly, they feared that she would revert to the way she had been in the early days of the break up, but she had remained strong. She had proven to the world that Balcázars will not be destroyed, that even under pressure, their courage sees them through. That was why they hugged her and complimented her, why they told her that they were proud and that they were so close to the finish line, just another week and it would all be decided, just another week and her future would be set before them.

Needing to spend some personal time with her parents and Francis, Paulina invited them out to dinner. She didn’t have any more events scheduled for the day, there was only a meeting with Anne and Michael, but she told them to postpone it until the next morning. They could cover everything before they went to Elementary school for the rally, she would even wake up earlier to devote an entire hour just to them, which was a hell of a lot more than they usually had in the morning. Recognizing that their candidate needed a little time to unwind, they agreed to do so. With their approval, Paulina and her loved ones drove out to a little Italian place. It was a family owned restaurant that kept things simple, they served traditional Italian food served family style and on that night, it was the perfect place to eat and catch up at. They stayed there until almost nine o’clock, but then Irmalinda announced that it was time for her and Ricardo to go home. He needed to be in bed by ten-thirty so that he could be well rested for another day of work. Francis offered to personally drive Irmalinda home if she wanted to stay out later, but his offer was politely turned down.

“Why didn’t she want to stay out with us?” asked Francis as Paulina slid her debit card back into her wallet.

“Because of my dad,” replied Paulina. “He can’t sleep without her.”

“What?”

“He can’t sleep without her,” she repeated, smiling at the thought. “They’ve been married for over forty years so his bed’s no good if she’s not there. He says that he could get a good night’s sleep on concrete so long as she was there with him. I know it probably sounds silly, but I think it’s adorable. You should see him whenever she goes to Mexico on her own, he gets a little sulky. He swears that he’s fine and when he talks to her on the phone, he tells her everything’s great so that she doesn’t feel bad, but he needs her and she needs him. Because even though my mom teases him about it, I know that she’s the same way.”

Francis couldn’t help it, he laughed.

“Why you laughing?” she asked him.

“Because it’s fucking hilarious,” he told her. “Your dad just looks so serious all the time. He’s seriously one of the most intimidating men I’ve ever met, and now I find out that he can’t sleep without his wife and it’s just . . . it’s fucking sweet, but it’s also hilarious, because I would’ve never imagined your dad was such a softie.”

“How is this news to you?” she fought back a laugh. “I told you he’s a softie.”

“Yeah, but this takes it to a whole new level. It’s good though. Makes me like him even more.”

“As is only right.” Paulina declared. “Now since we’ve finished here, what do you say to drinks? Or are you driving back up tonight? Because if you’re thinking of doing that, I must protest.”

“Must you?”

“Mhm,” she said. “It’s dangerous driving at night.”

“Is it?”

“You might fall asleep, there could be drunk drivers, you might miss an exit – lots of bad things could happen,” she stated, very matter-of-factly. “So I think you’d be better off leaving in the morning. It’ll be safer.”

“There’s no arguing with that,” said Francis. “My safety is of the upmost importance.”

“It is.”

“Well since I’m not leaving until tomorrow, we could do definitely do drinks.” He grinned. “But do you mind if it’s somewhere private? Like some hole in the wall bar? I honestly don’t feel like being in a crowded space. I’ve had enough of that for today.”

“How about we pick up something and take it back to my room?” she proposed. “I’ve got some clothes you can sleep in. Not that you’ll need them, since I’m pretty sure you brought an overnight bag.”

He smiled in confirmation as they made their over to the parking lot to the right of the restaurant.

“What are you in the mood for?” she asked. “Wine? Scotch? Tequila?”

“None of that, actually.” He told her. “I feel like some beer.”

“Bohemia?” she asked, referring to a favorite beer of theirs.

“That sounds wicked good right about now.” He replied. “We’ll split a six pack.”

Nowadays they were more responsible with their drinking. Other than the 60 Minutes incident where they made a drinking game out of Henderson’s interview, they hadn’t gotten properly drunk since the campaign started. They knew that they could no longer sleep the hangover off or spend their day sprawled out on the couch. They had to be out there, actively campaigning, attending meetings, going to interviews. It was a hectic life, one that had no place for copious amounts of alcohol. So they resolved to drink sensibly that night, they went to a local liquor store and picked up a six pack of Bohemia along with a bottle of Boone’s, just for shits and giggles.

When they returned to the hotel there were a few reporters lingering in the lobby, hoping to get a statement. Normally, the reporters went home at the end of the night. They didn’t camp out to pester the candidates, that was beneath them, something only the tabloids did, but since the debate had been so eventful, their respective producers had demanded they get further statements regarding Syria and Henderson’s relationship with President al-Hassad. That was why one group was outside Henderson’s hotel and the other was outside of hers. She knew she had to be grateful that they were out there. It was an obvious sign that her offensive against Henderson had worked, but she couldn’t help but be a little annoyed by their presence. Didn’t they have anything better to do? Some of them had literally been following her around all day and it wasn’t even like she was the candidate that had fucked up. That was Thomas. They should’ve been at his hotel, trying to get answers, but they were in front of hers and as much as she wanted to take off in a sprint towards the elevator, she knew she had to humor them. So she had an impromptu press conference with them and uttered the lines that she and Fadilah had come up with. Paulina was by no means cautious with her statements. She didn’t care if she ruffled feathers or offended anyone. Henderson and Ayres could kiss her ass for all she cared. That was why she called for a full scale investigation against Henderson and Ayres. They had actively defied sanctions placed by the United States government as well as those of the United Nations, and that couldn’t be overlooked.

The reporters eagerly listened to her responses as their recording devices ensured that her words would be fully captured. They hoped to be able to speak with her for at least half an hour, that way they could obtain enough statements for a decent sized article, but not even twelve minutes into the impromptu press conference, Paulina announced that she would be taking no further questions. That statement was met with protests. The reporters implored her to reconsider, but the day had been long and she just wanted to get to her room. So she told them once more that she had no further comment and then followed Francis into the elevator.

“Is it wrong that I want to go over to Henderson’s?” he asked Paulina as they began their ascent to the fifth floor. “Because I feel that might be a little fucked up, but I can’t help it. I genuinely want to see what his lobby looks like right now, because if your ass was dealing with that many reporters, then he must be fucking swamped. Asshole must not have even been able to walk through there. He probably went through some back entrance to avoid them.”

“That’s if he even showed up at that hotel.”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Do you seriously think he took off somewhere else?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“Come to think of it, neither would I.” Francis slackened his tie as he spoke. “But he’s a grown man, he should have a little more self-respect than to hide like a child. Though on second thought, self-respect clearly isn’t a big thing for him. If it were, he wouldn’t have been kissing a war criminal’s ass.”

“He didn’t even just kiss it. He shoved his nose all the way in there.”

“That’s fucking nasty!”

“It’s true though!” she insisted. “That’s the only reason why their operations there could’ve kept going. I genuinely believe that Thomas gave al-Hassad some kind of bribe.”

“I have no doubt of that,” said Francis. “They had to give him some sort of assurance. How they managed to do so without raising suspicions is what I find intriguing, because I can’t help but wonder whether or not Henderson and Ayres took that hit from their books or whether that money was taken from offshore accounts so that it wouldn’t have to be declared on their taxes.”

“Normally, I’d be inclined towards the offshore accounts, it’s the cleanest way to go about doing that sort of thing, but their accountants are so talented that I seriously believe they could’ve taken the money directly from the company without the IRS knowing what it actually went towards.”

“If that’s the case, you need to ask Fadilah to look into that.” Francis advised.

“She already is,” said Paulina. “She has this full scale investigation going. I don’t know all the specifics of it, since we didn’t really have much time to talk today, but she’s been compiling information ever since Thomas secured the Republican nomination and she even had an ad put together about Syria.”

“When’s it airing?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” she answered. “We’re airing it on all the major networks, as well as on some cable channels. Not the cable news channels though, they’ll undoubtedly be discussing the ad and airing the clip so it doesn’t make sense to pay for airtime when they’re going to be analyzing it. But yeah, tomorrow it’s airing.”

“Have you seen it?”

She nodded. “It’s incredible. How Fadilah managed to find time to do that while simultaneously balancing all the campaign work is beyond me, but she did and the ad is amazing. Just wait until you see it. In fact, we’ll wake up early tomorrow to watch it.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He stifled a yawn.

“Francis Patrick Kennedy, don’t you dare fall asleep!” she exclaimed.

“Don’t call me that shit. You know I fucking hate it when you do.”

“That’s your name.”

“Doesn’t sound right when you say it though.” He told her. “It’s like me calling you Paulina.”

“Hmm, I suppose you have a point there. Although I’m pretty sure it bothers you a hell of a lot more than it does me, but anyway – Francisco, you better not fall asleep. We have a long night of shit talking ahead of us.”

“You should be reminding yourself of that. You’re always the first one to knock out.”

“Am not!”

“Are to!” he said. “There’s never been a night when you’ve stayed up later than me. Thea always curls up next to you and then you just randomly knock out.”

“Well that’s not happening tonight.”

“And you’re sure of this how?” he asked as the elevator doors opened.

“Because Thea’s not here,” she informed him as they stepped out.

“Awe.” He pouted as he followed her down the corridor. “Where’s my Thea?”

“With Luis and Daniella,” she answered. “I didn’t want to send her with them, but this last week has just been so fucking hectic. I’ve got at least three events crammed into every day and I don’t know . . . I guess I just felt guilty about leaving her with interns all day. She’s my little one and I didn’t want her cooped up in hotel rooms or on the bus anymore, and it fucking sucks not having her waiting for me at the end of the night, but at least I know that she’s being properly looked after and that she’s being given the affection she deserves. And it’s not like it’s for much longer, as soon as I wrap up campaigning, I’m gonna cuddle with her until the results are announced.”

“Well I guess I’ll have to wait until after the election to give Thea her present.”

“You got her something?” asked Paulina, suddenly stopping in front of her door.

“An Olaf.” He told her. “I remember the one she has is pretty roughed up, so I figured it was time for a new one.”

“She’s gonna love it!” She reached for her room key. “Thank you, Francisco. She’s gonna be so happy when she sees it. I swear that Olaf is the love of her life.”

“But of course,” he agreed. “Whenever you put on Frozen, she always barks when he comes on screen and starts wagging her tail. Seeing her that excited is the only thing that makes Frozen bearable.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It is.”

“Says the man who was belting out Reindeer Are Better than People.”

“What? When was this? I don’t remember that.”

“Really?” she opened the door, but didn’t step in. Instead she turned around to look at him. Her brow slightly arched as a playful smile adorned her lips. “So you don’t remember that afternoon that we went sailing with your nieces? Or the drive to Disneyland with my nieces and nephew? Because I distinctly remember you even doing the voices.”

“Oi!” he bellowed. “Keep that down. What are you trying to ruin me?”

“You swear it’s that bad!” she giggled. “It’s fucking Frozen, everyone has sung along to that.”

“Still, you should keep that quiet.”

“In the vault?” she asked.

“In the vault.” He confirmed.

“You are so lame.” She shook her head at him before turning and entering the room. “The vault’s meant for serious shit.”

“Egh,” he said as he locked the door behind him. “This is serious enough.”

“If you say so.” She walked further into the room. “Since that’s settled, can I interest you in some mango or strawberries? I have some in the fridge. Also have some yogurts.”

“Maybe later,” he told her. “Should I put the beer in there though?”

“Yeah. I mean, we’re gonna shower first so we can’t risk them getting warm.”

“Exactly.” He stepped towards the mini fridge, but when he did, he spotted something from the corner of his eyes. It was a fairly large altar that Paulina had put together the night before. It wasn’t as grand as hers usually were, but it was nice enough to make him forget all about putting the beers away. “I didn’t think you were gonna make one this year.”

“What was that?”

“Your altar,” he said. “You actually made it.”

“But of course,” she replied. “It’s tradition.”

“Didn’t think you were though.” He was standing directly in front of it, his eyes taking in the various photographs and objects that rested atop the ornately decorated rebozo. “Not with how busy things have . . .” he trailed off when he saw a picture of his dad smiling. It had been taken during his lunch in London with Paulina. “Fucking dad,” he said, his voice soft, full of emotion. “He was the worst at taking selfies, but he always wanted to hold the camera. Look at it, all awkward and shit. He looked good though. Didn’t he?” He didn’t expect or want her to reply, he was talking more for himself. “Always smiling with those big ass teeth.” He laughed. “I’m one to talk, I have his big ass teeth.”

“You do,” she agreed. “It’s a good thing though. Definitely a good thing.”

“My brothers used to tease me about it when I was little. Why? I don’t know, they’ve got those fucking chompers to, but when I was little that never clicked and I’d get so mad, and my dad would just laugh about it and say that those teeth were the marking of a true Kennedy, and since my brothers made fun of me, I figured that they didn’t have those teeth, so I told them they were half assed Kennedys. My mom smacked me a couple times for that, but dad always roared with laughter.” He closed his eyes, relishing in the memory of his father’s booming laugh. “Do you have any whiskey?” he asked. “I want to pour him a drink.”

“He already has one.”

“Does he?” he looked down and sure enough, there was a glass of whiskey, along with a bread bowl that had a can of clam chowder in the middle. “He has a full on feast going.”

“Even has lobster.” She picked up the plastic lobster. “Would’ve gotten the real thing but I didn’t want the room to be stinky.”

“Good call.” He smiled as he picked it up. “Isn’t the lobster from SpongeBob?”

“Still a lobster.”

“Pinche Aurelia!” He laughed heartily. “I wish dad were here. He’d have a good laugh.” He set down the lobster. “Hmm, now to see who is keeping him company. Ah – there’s Eva and Pál.” He said, referring to her Hungarian grandparents. “Always lovely to see them. I see you got Eva those tulips she loved so much and Pál has his cherries and bottle of Unicum.”

“I’ll never understand why he loved it so much.”

“It’s not good.”

“Not at all,” she agreed. “But he probably just liked it because it reminded him of the motherland.”

“Did he ever go back to visit it?”

“No,” she replied. “Never went back after they fled.”

“Why not?”

“My mom says it’s because he and my nagyanya (grandmother) never got over what they saw. I mean, they left in ’42 so things were bad over there, but from what I’ve heard, their families were at least comfortable. They collaborated with the Third Reich, had munitions factories, and I suppose that’s why they lost contact with that family. Understandably, of course. I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with them either. I remember my nagyanya’s brother showed up in Mexico while we were on vacation there, he thought it was going to be a triumphant family reunion. He didn’t even step inside the house. She told him that his presence greatly offended her.”

“That’s hardcore.”

She nodded.

“I feel bad for them, because they had to leave their home behind and even if they had wanted to, even if they had resolved their issues with that, they wouldn’t have had a home to go to, because the communist took over afterwards, but I guess it worked out for my grandparents. They did well for themselves in Mexico. Even though that hadn’t been their intended country. They were supposed to come here, but the fucking immigration officials were dicks, wouldn’t let them in or anyone else on the boat, so they went to Cuba, by chance, met a fellow Hungarian who was on vacation, he talked up Mexico, painted it like a dream and decided that it was better than going back to Hungary.”

“That’s so fucking random.”

“Right?” said Paulina. “Had it not been for that stranger, they would’ve been returned to Europe and my mom wouldn’t have been born and she wouldn’t have met my dad and I wouldn’t have been born. It trips me out how crucial certain moments in time are.” She paused a moment before saying, “Like what would’ve happened had I not been invited by Lord Fellowes to attend that event? I would’ve never met your dad. I would’ve never met you.”

“Life would’ve been much simpler.” Francis joked. “I wouldn’t be told off as much.”

“Your ass needs to be told off every once in a while.”

“Lies!” he exclaimed. “But I suppose life’s pretty alright with you in it.”

“Definitely pretty alright,” she flashed him a smile. “Now do you wanna shower first or should I?”

“You go. I’m still checking out the altar.” He knew there were two people missing, and when he moved his gaze to the right, he saw the old man that Paulina had taken her middle name from. “There’s Aureliano! Is that fucking tequila?”

“But of course,” she said, proudly. “Papa Aurelio loved his tequila from Penjamo. He was even buried with a bottle of it in his casket, said that way he’d be ready for heaven or hell.”

“Guess I know who my dad’s hanging out with in heaven then.” Francis laughed. “Him and Uncle Jack and Bobby must be hitting up Aurelio every once in a while.”

“Can you imagine the kind of shit they get into?”

“I have a feeling they’ve been scolded by the Archangels.”

“More than once, for sure.”

“At least a dozen times.”

“At least!” she laughed.

“It’s alright though, cuz they’re good shit.”

“The absolute best shit.”

“Mhm.” Francis sighed contentedly.

“And whenever my Papa Aurelio isn’t fucking shit up with your relatives, he’s busy with Thea.” Now, when she spoke of her she didn’t feel that her world came crashing down. She was able to remember her unborn child with fondness instead of agony, but the little one was only ever mentioned to Francis. That was a privilege he earned on the night he kept her from going off the deep end. “I like to think that he’s teaching her curse words in Spanish and that she loves going on walks with him and with my nagyapa and nagyanya through the endless countryside up there.” There was a softness to her features that only came out when she spoke of Thea, it was a mother’s love that did that to her. “Here I am talking about her and I still haven’t put her picture up. It was there last night, but I hid it when I left this morning. I didn’t want to risk anyone breaking in.” From the nightstand next to her bed, she grabbed the frame that housed a picture of her and her family from her graduation at Harvard, hidden behind that picture was Thea’s faded sonogram. “There.” She placed the creased and faded image in front of her grandfather’s framed photo. “Now it’s perfect.”

Francis instinctively wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in close. They stood there in silence for several minutes, just staring at the pictures, the food, the flowers – just taking it in. There were no tears shed, it wasn’t a time for sadness, it was a celebration of their lives and it was treated accordingly. Paulina reminisced about the good times she had spent with her grandparents and imagined how they must have been doting on her little Thea in heaven. They had always been so sweet and attentive to her, she imagined that they must be the same with her little one. For his part, Francis thought about one moment in particular. He thought about when he and his dad went out for lunch after Ted came back from being in London for a few days. As was the custom, Ted caught his son up on the business/political aspects of the trip. He told him who he’d met with, what had been said and settled upon, but then afterwards, as Ted was halfway done with his lobster salad, he told his son that he met a young woman that he wanted to introduce him to. He talked her up a great deal, told Francis that she’d graduated from Stanford and was currently at Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, he told her that she was funny and charming, and that she was easy on the eyes, a brunette just as his son liked them. Francis had shown interest. He respected his father’s opinion.

As such, he asked his dad to show him a picture and when he did, he was pleased to see the dark haired beauty smiling at him, but then a few days later, before Francis got around to calling her on the number his father provided him, the media broke the story that she was dating Prince Harry. Realizing that it was a lost cause, he deleted her number and forgot all about her. At least he did until he spotted her in that Washington restaurant. He didn’t expect things to turn out the way they had, but he was glad to be with her in that hotel room. She was (as corny as it would sound if he ever dared say it aloud) his brown-eyed girl. She was the reason so many of his relationships had failed throughout the last six years, but he was okay with that, he was fine, because as much as he cared about those women, as much as he genuinely enjoyed their company, he knew where his affections lay, he knew where he belonged and so far that hadn’t panned out like he would’ve wanted them to, but that was alright, because someday it would.

Someday it would progress into something more. Of that, he had no doubt. His heart was hers, had been for a long time, and he knew the same was true for her. Not that she’d ever told him, such declarations had never been made between them, but it was evident in her look, her smiles – in the way were whenever they were together. So for now he was content with how things were. He was happy just to be in that hotel room with her after such a long day.