The Art of Unopulence

05 | flustered

Sunday morning ushers itself in with a clear blue, cloudless sky and lazy winds that graze my skin. I've been looking forward to this day for two reasons. One, because Nathaniel is going to arrive at the house and two, because I get a break from running the five mile track.

Rolling out of bed, I skip towards the window and throw it open. I'm greeted by a salty breeze caressing my cheeks and the soft crooning of seagulls in the distance.

The house that we're staying in is modestly sized. It has three floors including the attic, each having a bedroom. I chose the bedroom in the attic because it had the best view of the sea and also provided easy access to the tiled roof.

Dad took the room on the ground floor, next to the pantry and left the master bedroom for Nathaniel. I scoffed when Dad told me that. A few days in the hot stuffy room downstairs would have been helpful in teaching the prince to adjust to plebeian life.

Nathaniel's file isn't very informative, at least not the one I've been given. It has a four year old picture of him, at the threshold of his teenage, in a three piece black and white suit taken with his family on one of their birthdays. I don't think much of his small frame and tight lipped and pinched face because honestly teenage boys tend to look odd when they first hit puberty.

The file says that he's trained in the basic skills of survival, is fluent in English, Latin, Mandarin, French and Arabic, and is a skilled pianist. Therefore his school extra curricula would include extra language learning and participation in the high school orchestra. He was to visit the school counsellor for an hour every week to hold up the ruse of PTSD because of loosing his father and seeing his mangled body post mortem.

I imagine him to be a well dressed know it all, with an air of confidence that would draw in people.

With a soft sigh, I push away all thoughts about Nathaniel and make my way to my closet to put together an outfit.

It's a Sunday, I have no training and I plan to head over to the beach to clear my head. I feel like that is a pretty solid incentive for me to dress up.

I'm painting my nails a light nude shade as I listen to a Simon Sinek podcast, when Dad stalks into my room. The old wooden floorboards creak under his weight as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and regards me with an icy glare.

"Oh, hi Dad," I smile impishly, "You didn't have to climb all the way up, you could have just asked me to come down."

Dad lets out a frustrated sigh, "I called your phone twice but you didn't pick up."

My face flushes slightly. I quickly put away my nail painting and hold my stretched fingers in front of me to dry as I stand up.

"What..." I start but Dad cuts me off midsentence.

"The boy arrived about half an hour ago. You'd know if you were more alert. I can't have you behaving so irresponsibly. Although you aren't a primary protector, you cannot afford to let your guard down while you're here." He says in a grave tone.