30. AMANDA

Watching my dad walk down the stairs of a private jet to the tarmac will go down as one of the strangest moments of my life.

My heart leaps at the sight of him, but I can’t hold back a giggle at seeing this giant in his Levi’s jeans and Wrangler shirt being seen off the plane by royal staff in formalwear. Even without his cowboy hat, he still sticks out like a sore thumb.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Dad!” I squeal, giving in to my urge to just run to him. It’s been far too long.

“Pumpkin!” he hollers, sweeping me up off the tarmac in those powerful arms. I grip my own around his bull neck and lay a wet kiss on his stubbly cheek.

“I missed you so much!” I say as he sets me back down. The tears are hot in my eyes.

“Not as much as I missed you. The cows have been askin’ about you.”

“Cows can’t talk,” I say, reciting my part of the ritual.

“But they sure can smell!” we shout together.

Yeah, I know, it’s lame as hell. But it’s ours.

I grip his hand and lead him to the limousine where Dante stands fidgeting. Marco, as always, stands ready in the background.

Dante is tall, but my dad is taller. And about fifty pounds heavier. The look on Dante’s face says he wasn’t quite ready for just how intimidating his father-in-law-to-be really is.

Dad offers him his best Clint Eastwood look as we reach the car.

“Isaac Sparks,” I say, “It’s my great pleasure to have you meet my fiancé, His Highness, Prince Dante, monarch of the principality of Morova.”

“Sir,” Dante says, reaching for Dad’s big, leathery hand. “It’s a privilege. I’ve been looking forward to this for some time.”

His smile turns into a grimace as Dad grips his hand and squeezes.

Dad turns to me, his face stone, his hand still clutching Dante’s.

“So am I supposed to bow to this clown, or what?” he drawls.

I look at him, then at Dante. Dante looks at me, and then at Dad. None of us says a word for three full seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marco take a tentative step forward.

Then the grin I knew was coming finally spreads across my father’s face, and Clint is immediately replaced by the goofy old cuss that is my dad. He claps a hand on Dante’s back, making him stumble just the tiniest bit.

“I’m just messin’ with you, kid!” Dad hoots. “But you stood your ground, I respect that. Call me Ike. I dunno why Amanda always introduces me by my given name. Only my ma ever called me Isaac, and even then it was only when she was givin’ me shit.”

Dante keeps the winning smile plastered to his face through it all, God bless him. My dad knows how to fill a room, even when the room is a private airstrip.

“Ike it is, then,” says Dante, surreptitiously stretching his hand in agony as Dad lets it go. “Did your flight go well?”

“Ho-lee sheepshit, did it ever,” Dad says. “That bird is nicer than the best hotel room I ever stayed in. There’s even cold Bud in the fridge!”

“Wait until you see the palace,” I say, laughing. “It’s going to blow your mind.”

* * *

The airstrip is only a handful of miles from the private hovercraft launch to Isola D’ora. Dad marvels at the scenery that flows past outside the limo’s windows: low, emerald green hills, thousand-year-old villas and cobblestone streets share the vista with gleaming modern buildings of granite and glass.

He lets out a low whistle. “This is really somethin.’ What do you folks grow around here? Oilseeds?”

Dante glances at me and I smile. It’s his show now.

“Actually, Ike, there is no agriculture in Morova,” he says. “Outside of a few vegetable growers, that is. The majority of food is imported from Italy.”

“Huh,” Dad grunts. “Then how’d you make your money?”

“The Trentini family’s banking interests go back centuries. The entirety of Morova is essentially a hub for the financial industry.”

I see Dad’s face darken. Shit, it should have occurred to me that this would be a sensitive subject.

“I ain’t exactly a fan of banks,” he grumbles.

“Neither am I,” Dante says earnestly. “That’s why I’ve invested so much of the family fortune in sustainable resources, international aid and leading-edge technology research.”

I smile. Dante’s a pro at this. I never should have doubted his ability to handle things.

“My father once told me that gold on its own means nothing,” he says. “You can’t eat it or drink it, and it can’t keep you warm. It’s our duty as Trentinis to turn that gold into something substantial that can have a real impact on people.”

Dad’s overgrown eyebrows go up.

“Sounds like a smart man,” he says. “Amanda tells me you lost your parents young. That’s rough.”

“You and she lost her mother at a young age, as well. I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you both.”

Turn the conversation back to make it about the other person. Machiavelli would be proud. I know I am.

“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure,” Dad says. “But we made out okay. Didn’t we, pumpkin?”

I grab his big meaty mitt. “We sure did.”

“Ike, if I may,” Dante says. “Your daughter is a woman of singular character. Her honest and genuine nature has been a breath of fresh air in the palace, especially since so many of the people there seem to have inherited their ancestors’ ability keep their heads firmly up their own asses.”

Dad snorts a laugh.

“I have you to thank for that,” Dante continues. “Amanda has utterly captured my heart, and I deeply appreciate your blessing on our marriage. I also beg your forgiveness for speeding the wedding along so quickly.”

“He always talk like that?” Dad asks, looking at me.

“Most of the time,” I chuckle.

“Probably doesn’t cuss, either,” he says, laying a hand on Dante’s shoulder. “Look, son, I appreciate what you’re sayin.’ But you don’t have to use big words to convince me you’re good enough for my daughter. I trust her. If she says you’re the one, that’s all I need.”

Dante glances at me, then back at Dad.

“Well,” he shrugs. “Fuck the both of you, then.”

Dad’s eyes go wide. So do mine.

“Just messin’ with you,” Dante says with a grin.

The limo rings out with laughter as it pulls onto the deck of the hovercraft that will ferry us over to the shores of an island that doesn’t know what’s about to hit it.