A Royal Lesson in Love

Present Day 

Jacinda Jordan squints hard at a tall, broad-shouldered man across a ballroom filled with silver tinsel and fake snow. Beside her, a vivacious woman, adorned with a glittery cougar mask, can't contain her excitement. She’s gushing about the enticing stranger – a foreigner with deep pockets, known for his love of cooking, languages, and postmodern art. 

“Folks say he’s looking for his ‘amiroella,’ the word for perfect love in Aquilonan. Are you familiar with it?” the loquacious lady chirps. 

“With love?” Jacinda smirks. “No. With the language? A bit, unfortunately,” says Jacinda, swirling her dry martini, lost in thought to a time when she still wore braces. 

****

Back Then 

The last time Jacinda Jordan was in love, she was thirteen, went by “Jacy,” or rather, “Spacey Jacy,” as her wonderful classmates insisted, and after eating lunch alone, would always be sure to brush her teeth after. A common, if slightly underwhelming, middle school state of existence. Until, of course, the prince. 

Before the prince, the only love was the one she had for languages. How many were really out there? Why couldn’t some words be directly translated into others? For fun, she’d try to combine existing words to describe human behaviors (e.g. “Inbu” = insecure + bully). 

Seventh-grade Jacy didn’t need romantic love. She had ambitious career goals in the language field.  Each day, she dressed up in what she envisioned a United Nations translator to wear: comfortable brown loafers, a pencil skirt of blue or black, and a solidly colored shirt, sometimes with some ruffles on the sleeves for flair. Her dream language to study was Aquilonan, an off-shoot of Spanish. 

Then on November 1st, 2009, it seemed fate knocked her on her metal braces. That’s when Class 7D of Columbus Prepatory Middle School welcomed Will P. Winfredo, from the island nation of Aquilona, near Spain. Jacy didn’t notice him at first, not his striking, big green eyes against his olive skin, nor his dashing, braces-free smile. Her head was faced down in her notebook, scribbling out new word combos. And then he spoke.

“Placero de trovar con vostros,” he said, in that sing-songy tone that Jacy knew the Aquilonas were known for. 

“That means, ‘Nice to meet all,” said Will. “My family just moved and is aqui for bit. I’m happy to be America.” 

Several boys snickered. Some girls giggled too, but mostly because they were sneaking notes to each about how cute he looked. Jacy just stared, mouth slightly agape. 

“Children, be nice. Jacy, close your mouth. Will is still learning English, his third language. And Will, you buried the lead, as we say here,” said Mrs. Schoon. “Will is a member of the Aquilona royal family.” 

Some rosy pigment surfaced on the boy’s olive cheeks as he smiled. Jacy’s mouth opened again. 

“We’re honored to have you with us,” said Mrs. Schoon, bowing awkwardly. “Please take a seat.”

Will ran his fingers through his shiny black hair, as he made his way to the third row, two seats away from Jacy. For the rest of the afternoon, Jacy kept twirling her unkempt, wavy black hair, trying to control herself from glancing over at the new treasure. Their teacher spent the rest of the class’s time providing some history on Aquilona, with the help of Will. 

That day, Jacy found her mind wandering into new territory. What were some of Will’s favorite words? Did Will think dancing was a form of a love language? Did Will need to find a princess to marry and whisk away back to his homeland? 

****

Within a few weeks, Will had become the it boy. Third in the royal line, he didn’t walk around with the weight of his country’s throne on him, which helped almost everyone gravitate to his approachable nature. Jacy, however, still chose to admire him from her two desks away. She wanted to inquire about his language and culture but froze whenever she had a chance to actually speak to him. What if she tried speaking Aquilonan and ended up calling him a donkey face instead of a kind soul? Some tonal changes in the language made such things very possible.

Will would have forever thought Jacy a mute had Mrs. Schoon not intervened. While all the students, including some teachers, wanted to be like him, even copying some popular Aquilonan phrases (“chevo” for “cool idea” or  “demu trabi” for too much work”), Will still struggled with English grammar. 

Mrs. Schoon, not wanting to be seen as that teacher that failed royalty, thought a tutor might help. And what do you know – Jacy, with her consistently perfect grammar scores, was the ideal tutor she suggested. 

Jacy was flabbergasted when Mrs.Schoon proposed the idea. But a structured approach to conversing was just what she needed. So, she said yes. Finally, some serencho (a mix of serendipity and the Spanish word, “right,” which Jacy took to mean some happy occurrence that’s also a well-earned right.) 

The first meeting was at the school library. Jacy had it all planned out in her head. She’d get one of those cozy study rooms with blue, cushiony seats. On top of the wooden desk, she’d display a pile of books, with Acing Aquilonan in 90 Days peeking on top. He’d see it and be amazed the second she told him she was an advanced beginner, self-taught. Instead, Will showed up 30 minutes late. 

Jacy was busy putting on her sky blue puffy overcoat to leave when he burst in. 

“I’m a pavonotto’s tail,” said Will. 

“Ah!” shouted Jacy. Startled, she turned around and knocked over her Aquilonan textbook. Stumbling on her words, shoulders tense, she said, “You’re a what? A peacock’s tail?” 

“Oh! You know the saying? Nice!” said Will, picking up the textbook. 

“No, sorry, just – what? I just know the Aquilonan word for peacock,” said Jacy, as she felt her face warming. 

“It’s saying. Arriving late is like peacock’s tail – might be impressive to some, but likely leaves you standing solo in your feathers of regret. Excuse the late. Busy school, busy busy.” Will shook his head, laughing slightly. Jacy noticed a mischievous grin, but let it go. He was here now, and she had impressed him. Serencho, she thought. 

*****

Jacy and Will got into a steady rhythm of slow learning. Almost every time, Will would show up varying minutes of late. But he almost always brought some dessert, and usually from his home country. Any annoyance at tardiness would melt away with a bite of the new apology delicacy. 

Often, he would unwrap the treat slowly, break a piece off, and ask Jacy to taste it, offering to feed it to her. Is this love? Thought Jacy as she relished the latest flavor combo of a saffron and rosemary biscuit. My heart does skip whenever he opens the door. I think we’re falling for each other.

But, like the Aquilonan saying goes, “Anchlo succa mai dulce dissol amb tiemp”/“Even the sweetest sugar dissolves with time.”

****

“Panetto di quesi,” said Will, entering the same library room one snowy December evening. “It’s an island Christmas classic.” 

Jacy just raised an eyebrow, silent. 

This time, Will was only 10 minutes late. But this time, Jacy knew why. On Instant Messenger, one of her classmates wrote: Will just left janitor’s closet… followed seconds later by Marly Zane. It was the same Marly who helped champion the “Spacey Jacy” moniker. 

“I know why you’re late,” said Jacy, in a flat tone. “I know all about the closet.” 

“I’m sorry, Jacy,” said Will. “It just happened. Marly was helping me out with history. I’ve been struggling with that too. She asked me to go into the closet with her. I’ve just been really stressed with it all lately. My brothers are both top of their school, one is the star of his soccer team, the other just engaged, and then there’s me, the black goat.” 

“Sheep,” said Jacy. 

“Right. Thank you, my best tutor. I really, really want to get better, and I am. Look how I’m speaking! I just lose track of time doing, um, procrastinating, sometimes when I’m stressed.” 

Jacy couldn’t deny it. His speaking had improved greatly over the last few weeks. He still struggled somewhat on grammar tests, but nevertheless his grades were going up. Mrs. Schoon had even thanked her.

Jacy’s eyes stared hard at the floor. “Embacha,” she thought. It was the Alquilonan word for “very stupid, naive girl.” 

“You’re not embacha,” said Will. Uh-oh. Jacy realized she had actually said “embacha” out loud. 

“I’m just a very silly boy. Bonpli (please), let’s eat the Christmas treat and study, my best tutor.” 

Jacy sighed, considering her next steps. He still needed help and apologized. He might not be in love with her, but now, at least, the spell he cast was over. Languages were her love. She needed to refocus on that.

“Okay, vamos,” said Jacy, breaking off a piece of the cheesy bread Will had brought. “Let’s keep working.” 

****

At the start of the new year, Jacy felt like a new person. She finally had her braces off and was beginning to flourish at school. She had gained an air of respect as Will’s “best tutor.” It wasn’t sitting-together-at-lunch level; more like fist-bumping-in-the-hall level. But Jacy told herself that sufficed. 

Then, the essay came. It was a big, English term paper that would shape the future of Will’s GPA, and possibly, his time at the middle school. Jacy prepared sheets on grammar reviews, tips on thesis development, and mind-mapping techniques to help Will hone in on his writing topic. But, the day before they were supposed to meet, Will messaged her and said he got sick. 

“At least he told me ahead of time. That’s progress,” thought Jacy. 

She spent the rest of the evening working on her own paper, ready to help Will the second he recovered. 

****

A week later, Will was still out sick. Mrs. Schoon finally approached Jacy and asked if she could visit Will at his home to help catch up on work. 

“I’m sure he’s not contagious. He’s got the best doctors. But still needs his best tutor! Plus, you’ll get four free homework passes,” said Mrs. Schoon in an upbeat high-pitch. Jacy didn’t need the passes; she liked homework. But she realized she missed Will. 

****

The details of Jacy’s visit remain hazy to this day. She recalls a thorough background check, a heavily gated house with muted colors, accented by gold everywhere. There were also courteous house staff and no signs of the parents. Jacy was only permitted into the family den, where she found Will in a Batman hoodie, nestled into a very plush ivory sofa. 

“I’m so grateful to you, Jacy. And I’ve been working on my outline. Look!” said Will, with enough enthusiasm in his voice to show he might be recovering. 

“I’m so proud of you, Will,” she replied. Will beamed. 

“But the thing is, I might have to have surgery soon. It’s nothing serious, and I can’t say more, unfortunately. Parents orders.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?” Jacy genuinely wanted to know. Maybe she wasn’t over Will after all. And he, having invited her all the way there, might actually feel likewise. 

Then, Will laid out his request. 

Could Jacy help him finalize his paper? He had a good outline and would be readily available by phone. To top it off, he had a few too many missed assignments, especially from history (more than Jacy had realized), so didn’t think Mrs. Schoon would sympathize. 

“My royal responsibilities this year have taken a lot out of me. And contrary to what it may seem like, my parents aren’t very supportive. Bonpli, Jacinda “Jacy” Jordan, my one and only tutor.” 

It sounded almost like a marriage proposal – him saying her whole name, pleading with his big green eyes as he looked upward at her.

“I do,” said Jacy. “I mean, I do think I can help. Yes, show me what you got.” 

Right then, Will left from the sofa into Jacy’s arms. 

“Jacy, thank you! You know, you remind of my nanny. She always gave the best hugs!” said Will, rocking her gently in their warm embrace. 

*****

That January evening, 13 years ago, was the last time Jacinda ever saw Will. He did call like he promised, but just once and right near the paper’s deadline. He was stilling recovering, he said. Could Jacinda hand it in for him? He trusted her “edits.” 

 “I’ll pay you back, my one and only tutor, the next time I see you.” Confident it would be soon, she said yes. 

The next day in class, Jacinda had imagined Will telling her to close her eyes for the next dessert surprise that would turn out to be a kiss. Then, Mrs. Schoon crushed that dream. She revealed Will had been called away for his royal duties. He’d need to start military school after and wouldn’t be returning. Jacinda just remembers twirling her hair the whole period, as she crossed out all the Aquilonan vocabulary words she had in her book. For 13 years, she kept all that shame and hurt balled in, until she saw the peacock mask.

****

Back to the Present 

Jacinda has chosen to don a phoenix mask, complete with a sultry, sequenced red dress. At 27, she’s invoked the words of her favorite motivational podcaster, “Establish your presence the way you want it, lady boss!” She doesn’t let anyone call her Jacy. As the director of research at the non-profit she co-founded to help protect endangered languages, she’s definitely established her career. 

Sometimes securing funding is stressful, but she always manages to impress people in multiple languages, including Aquilonan (she even kept that vocabulary notebook she scratched years ago, as a reminder to not give up). She is, well — was — in her element tonight until the broad shouldered man comes out of the shadows, straight towards her. 

He’s wearing a dark purple, double-breasted velvet blazer over a black turtleneck. On his face, a brilliant peacock mask, complete with feathers. Jacinda’s knees start to buckle. In the 13 years since Will just left, she’s often had fantasies about what she’d say to him. But now, all she wants to do is run. She gulps down the last of her martini. 

“The martini tastes excellent tonight, no?” 

The man, looking a lot more muscular up close in his tight jacket, slowly removes his long-beaked masked to sip. Jacinda’s heart is racing now. 

Peacock...what was the word for it? ... but no, he’s more of a wolf, always was. What should I tell him?

“Pavonotto!” she blurts out. 

“Oh my! You know my language!” The man removes the whole mask, revealing a huge, warm smile, brown eyes, and curly blonde hair. 

“You’re not Will. How come you’re not Will?” 

“Will P. Winfredo?” asks the man. Jacinda nods. “And you know my cousin, too! How do you know my poor excuse of a cousin?” 

At that, Jacinda lets out a long sigh, relieved, then finishes off the rest of her martini. 

The two make polite introductions. Then, Giancarlo Winfredo, reveals the juicy stuff on their mutual nemesis, Will. Ever since Giancarlo knew, he’d been a brat, charming his way out of situations, stealing his crushes, then leaving them out to dry. He’d of course always start out friendly enough but then, once he got you in his grasp, brought you two pegs down again. 

“I’m so sorry you had the pleasure of knowing him. Did you know he got kicked out of an American school once because he got caught for trying to blackmail a girl?” 

“Was it Columbus Prepatory Middle School?” asks Jacinda. 

“The very one! Wow, I hope you weren’t that poor girl. Apparently, she sent him risqué photos of herself, then he threatened to expose them unless she helped him cheat.” 

“Definitely not me. Was it for history?” 

“Yes! How’d you figure?” asks Giancarlo. 

“Loca’tza,” she replies. It meant, “wild guess.”

“Well, he’s far from being the one who gets the invites to such lovely balls, I’ll say that. And now that we’ve bonded in our trauma, let’s not dwell on such embachos,” says Giancarlo. “Please tell me about your non-profit. I’ve got a big wallet and I’m plenty liquored up.”

“Con gusto di comcer dulce!” says Jacinda. With the pleasure of eating sweets!