Chapter Eleven

The ship's medical bay was brightly decorated, probably in an attempt to put Littles at ease, but it wasn't doing the trick for Taylor.

"Don't worry, little one," Ireneo said. "You'll be just fine. But it's been so long since you've seen a physician. We need to ensure you are healthy and able to play and have fun on your island adventure."

She nodded but remained silent as she sat on the exam table. The thin white paper beneath her crinkled a bit. Her eyes darted to the smiling animals—holding balloons and stuffies and candy—depicted on the wall ahead of her. Below them was a shelf that contained various sizes of diapers and pull-up style protective underwear.

That was the last thing she wanted to see.

She was already super nervous about wearing only her diaper.

But that's exactly the state of dress—or undress—she was in. All she had on was the big, thick disposable nappy. Remembering that reminded her that some of the crinkling she heard wasn't from the paper beneath her bottom.

While she felt so vulnerable and exposed, in a strange way, she also felt equally cared for. Even loved. It was a strange feeling, and she liked those aspects of the experience. The other aspects, though…well, she could do without them. She didn't dare tell Ireneo to stop, though. She was a Little under his care. She'd go along with what he felt was best, whether she liked it or not. She trusted him too much not to.

"While we wait," Ireneo said, "why don't we get to know one another better."

I'd say we know each other pretty well, Taylor thought with a wry smile. You're looking at me mostly naked. You've already seen everything that's currently covered, too.

Instead, though, she said, "Sure. What do you want to know?"

"You want me to go first?" he said with a cock of his head.

"Yes."

"Very well. Where did you grow up?"

"The City."

"New York?" he probed

"Yeah."

"May I ask about your family situation?"

She shifted again on the table, the paper and diaper rustling in unison. "Foster care. Most of my life. I was told my mom surrendered custody when I was three, but I don't have any memories of her. I never got adopted. So, I lived in a group home. That's why…" Her words trailed off.

"That's why what?" he pressed.

It was decision time. How much should she tell Ireneo? He'd demonstrated he truly cared about her. But he was rich and powerful. People probably wanted stuff from him all the time. He was a king, after all.

She wasn't looking for charity. Taylor was intent on solving her problems all on her own. There wasn't any problem a positive attitude and can-do spirit couldn't tackle. That's what she'd always told herself, at least.

As she looked into the king's eyes, though, she saw genuine concern. It was as if she couldn't not tell him.

"I have foster siblings who are still in the system. They're teens now. I was the oldest one in our group home.

"Anyway, they'll age out of the system soon. I'm trying to earn money to help them. I don't want them to just be turned onto the streets when they're eighteen like I was."

Ireneo nodded thoughtfully as he said, "I see. Does the city not have a program to help with such? A transition agency?"

Taylor smiled, though there wasn't much humor to it. "In theory, yes. But the system is so big and backlogged that…" Once again, her words trailed off.

"It's okay," Taylor added after another moment. "I'll help them one way or another. We're family. We'll get through it together."

"Yes, you will," Ireneo encouraged with a soft smile. "I have faith in you."

"Thank you," Taylor said as a genuine warmth spread through her. "Now my turn to learn about you."

"You may ask me anything."

"You're gorgeous," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "I don't want to be insensitive, but…"

He chuckled. "You're asking about my ethnicity."

"Yeah."

"Don't worry. It doesn't bother me at all. And I get that question a lot. My mother was British, from Kent. Right in Canterbury, actually. My father was Caribbean, though that doesn't always narrow it down. Our bloodlines are so mixed on the islands. In his case, a mixture of Indigenous populations who migrated from South American and Ghanaian.

"Throw that all together, and you have someone like me who some people think is Black, some think I'm Latin or South American or something, and others wonder about my green eyes and figure I'm English. The truth is, they're all right, I suppose."

Taylor smiled as she studied him a moment longer. "You don't really have an accent. Not one I can pinpoint, at least."

This drew a short laugh from him. "My mother moved to the island, but she was thoroughly British. Sounded like it, too. My father was quite occupied with leading our nation. So, most of my formidable years were spent with my mom. And her parents.

"But I was still born in Isla Solara. I went to college in the States, however, at Yale before doing my graduate degree in England at Oxford. I guess you would say my accent, like my heritage, is a hodgepodge."

Taylor was about to tell him how lovely both of those things were when the door clicked and swung open.

She froze in panic, forgetting all about the conversation. The doctor was coming in.

It was time for her exam.