Wednesday was our last full free day in Sydney. I suppose there was a bit of coming down from tremendous emotional highs that morning. Something like a hangover, that's what it felt like. Not that I wasn't still overwhelmed and thrilled to have shared intercourse with Piper, to find out that she was my daughter. No, that part still sent shivers of excitement through me and made me feel very much alive. But there was a general pullback, a rationalizing about how this new situation would change things for me and for Piper. We'd used the cover story that she was my niece in many places, in front of many people, some of whom we would encounter again in the coming months. How were we supposed to act now? Did we come right out and tell the truth? How were we supposed to handle questions about the original lie?

My body sore from intimacy and hiking the day before, I groaned as we rose from eating breakfast in the hotel cafe, then froze when I saw Marilyn walking towards us. Her face showed a modest smile, perhaps nervousness, as well. She rolled a heavy bag beside her, dressed conservatively but comfortably. "Hi, you two..." she said evenly while stopping a few feet from us.

"Good morning!" Piper offered brightly.

Marilyn smiled at the girl, then looked at me, "Well... I'm flying out in a few hours..."

I nodded, "Safe travels..."

She paused and clearly wanted to say something else.

I frowned, "What is it, Marilyn?"

"I just... It's nothing, Patrick. Don't worry about it. I'll see you back in LA, okay? When are you planning to fly home?"

"I've got to be in Monaco through Saturday. No flights booked yet. Was... was sort of hoping you might have another assignment queued up after the birthday shoot..."

Marilyn looked down a moment, then shrugged, "Nothing yet... Not sure when your next one will be..."

I narrowed my eyes, "Marilyn... what aren't you telling me?"

She shrugged, "Just... the company just hired a couple more photographers, Patrick... I... I think they're getting the next couple of shoots..."

"What?!" I was outraged. "Just like that? Greenies get my gigs?"

"Not your gigs, Patrick... they are... you know, soft shoots, nothing you would be sent to anyway. Just... kinda slow right now, and the shoots are beneath you, you know?"

"Beneath me... What's going on, Marilyn? Why haven't you told me about new hires?"

She shrugged but said nothing.

It dawned on me that the woman was playing a game of some sort. Just what she was doing, I wasn't sure, but this was her doing, I felt confident. "Why, Marilyn? Why am I being pushed out of things right now? We have plenty of hands right now if it's a slow period... This is personal, isn't it?"

She shook her head unconvincingly, "No, no! Of course not, Patrick. Just, you know, preparing for more work in the future, that's all..."

"So, what, I just sit on my hands and wait a few weeks for work?"

"It's coming, Patrick, I promise... Just have patience..."

I stepped closer and leaned in, nearly growling, "Is this just so that I'll be in LA more often? Is that what you're doing here? Keeping me home so that you can... what?" I looked at Piper and realized, again, this wasn't about me. "You want Piper closer right now, don't you? That's what you're doing?"

"What? No, Patrick, no! You're getting much too paranoid about this, I assure you!" Marilyn was not meeting my eyes and I was anything but assured. "Just roll with it, okay? I'll find you something as soon as I'm back in the office in a few days... I promise."

"Don't fuck with my career, Marilyn. Please. You know I depend on regular gigs to make a living..."

She tried to smile but just looked anguished instead, "Oh, I know! Just... roll with it, Patrick..." she repeated.

I nearly snapped at her with all the force of anger and accusations which were swimming in my head, but Piper's hand sliding into mine calmed me just enough to say instead, "Safe travels, Marilyn..."

She nodded briefly, then let her eyes linger just a second too long on Piper before she spun and wheeled her luggage off towards the hotel's lobby.

"What's going on, Daddy?" Piper asked quietly after Marilyn had left.

I shook my head, "Not wholly sure." It was true, those words, but my suspicions about Marilyn's obvious attraction to Piper left me sure that I'd still lied to my daughter. "Nothing to worry about for now. We've got a free day... what should we do?"

- - -

My body was thick and heavy, mostly, I hoped, from the miles spent hiking the previous day. Piper showed no signs of such fatigue as we strolled along the waterfront, eating hot dogs in the early afternoon. We'd decided to just wander, no particular intent or purpose. It soothed my anger and frustration to hold Piper's hand a while as we walked, even more so when we paused so that she could dance freely in front of a man playing a saxophone nearby. I tossed a few bills into his jar and leaned against a low brick wall, watching my daughter move effortlessly. More than a few eyes watched Piper, and some of those, I knew, were thinking less-than-innocent thoughts.

It surprised me how little that worried me then. Sure, I was concerned about someone trying to kidnap and rape her, that was a common, ever-present worry. But the fantasizing, the voyeurism, those no longer made me feel like I had to cover and rush her away from eyes trying to roll down her leggings and peek underneath. Piper enjoyed that attention, I knew, and after witnessing several of her more erotic performances, it was arousing to know that other people, even the ones watching her dance in public on a Wednesday afternoon in Sydney, were in some manner turned on to gaze at Piper and fantasize.

Several times, her dance moves bent her forward, letting Piper's lovely bottom round and stretch her leggings, the black fabric offering both shadow and curve, enticing and teasing and incredibly erotic. The urge to smell and touch her in those moments was quite strong, though, of course, I could do no such thing in public. I knew those watching her, at least some of them, were wishing they had the chance to do more than just look at Piper's lovely little ass. I grew hard watching her, and when she grinned knowingly at me a couple of times after pointing her butt right in my direction, I smiled back to acknowledge how much her dancing turned me on.

- - -

A commotion rose up in an instant as we walked down a side street where there were old theaters and working-class bars and cafes. It started with several shouts, then screams, somewhere behind our direction of movement but close. I felt, then understood, that people had started running, racing past us in just a few seconds. Instincts took over. I grabbed Piper's hand tight and my heavy legs were forgotten as we rushed along with the growing crowd, pushing past those too-slow to respond.

I heard more screams, then more. The herd of terrified people was a thunder of heavy steps and tense muscles. I held Piper so tight I was probably hurting her hand, but I didn't think about such things right then. I had no idea why we were running. All I knew was that we had to keep going.

A police vehicle raced up a sidestreet and turned into where we were rushing away from whatever was going on. Another followed, then another. We ran past where the first car had stopped rapidly in the middle of the intersection, the other two joining it. Cops were quickly directing those behind us to keep going. We did so without the need for prodding. I saw a large office building with a security guard holding the glass entrance open, some of those ahead of us ducking inside. I followed, pulling Piper with me. We entered the lobby and suddenly we were surrounded by dozens of people breathing heavily, sweating, fear and confusing on most faces. Then voices rose up as, in unison, all those inside tried to piece together what was going on.

Pretty quickly, it became clear that a group of some number of men with long knives had been seen attacking people near where we'd first started running. At least, that was one of the rumors. Other people were sure they held guns instead. One woman cried openly, describing a bloody young woman she'd passed by. Cell phones were next to many ears as people called loved ones, or office mates, or anyone they thought they should contact. I kept squeezing Piper's hand, sure I was showing fear and confusion, as well, and seeing it clearly on my daughter's face.

We stayed inside the building's lobby for over two hours. Through news updates and phone calls, we pieced together the story, at least as far as what was known at the time. It was four men, maybe five, wielding knives and machetes who had attacked a Muslim-owned grocery owner and those inside. Several injured. No one was sure if anyone had yet died. Three of the men were already in custody. The fourth, and possibly fifth, was still at large.

The building we were in was a financial services headquarters, and they took care of those inside by bringing water and snacks to those nervously awaiting word that things had been dealt with. Piper and I cuddled quietly along a back wall, saying little, the adrenaline fading out over the wait to cause us both to feel very sleepy. Piper drifted in and out towards the end before police came along to let us know it was safe to leave, though they had cordoned off an area almost a half-mile away from our safe haven, the original spot where the attacks had taken place.

We'd had enough fun for one day, to say the least, and headed back to our hotel immediately. Piper showered while I scanned the news for updates on the attack. Not much was yet known. No identities released. No motives. No word on the two missing attackers.

When Piper came out of the shower, naked and drying herself, she looked exhausted. I stripped down and showered quickly, then returned to the bed to find Piper already asleep. I curled up around her, kissing her gently, so thankful that we'd been spared tragedy that day. It was amazing how strongly one's emotions could shift in so short a time. It was hard not to imagine the horrible scenarios which might have played out had we been inside the grocery, a place we'd passed by only minutes before it was attacked. I thought of one distressing scene after another. Me being stabbed, Piper being hacked up. Despite my exhaustion, I couldn't make my brain shut down the what-if horrors.

After almost an hour trying to find sleep, I shuffled a bit in bed and turned over, my back to Piper's. Seconds later, I felt my daughter shift and her thin arm slid over my body, one leg cocking over my thigh. "Okay, Daddy?" she whispered softly.

Those words gave me permission to finally let go, I think. I felt my brain finally slowing and drifting from the terrible thoughts. "Yeah... I think so... I love you, Piper..."

"Love you, Daddy..."

- - -

Our early night meant that not setting an alarm was not a disaster. The flight schedule had us heading out of Sydney before eight the next morning on a plan that took us over thirty hours, connecting in Singapore and London. I realized how tight it made things given that we would have to be on site and on the job about six hours after we arrived in Monaco. Any delays along the way might make me miss the first day of the shoot.

We were both groggy and I was feeling out of sorts from the previous day's terrifying excitement. The news had slowly put together the identities of the attackers and a likely motive. Several hours into our travel, on the long leg from Singapore to London, Piper asked me what it meant that the Muslim business had been targeted because of religious intolerance.

"They don't like anyone unlike themselves, basically. It was five white men who believe that Muslims, and probably others, are less than human and evil and so, being the violent sorts, they decided to try to kill a few Muslims."

"But why?" she asked.

I shrugged, shifting my legs for the thousandth time in the cramped seating, keeping my voice low with an older woman sleeping in the aisle seat beside me, "It's irrational," I told her. "They get all worked up about things, like immigration or jobs or whatever, and they figure that a few less others might make them better off. It happens all over the world, these sorts of things, horrible and tragic and, unfortunately, seemingly unavoidable..."

Piper wrinkled her nose. "I just don't get thinking people should be killed like that..."

"Me either, Piper," I said to my daughter, "but there are an awful lot of ignorant or fearful or angry people out there who give shape to their hatred with violence."

"Like, uh, like in New York, like, the airplanes?"

"Exactly, same sort of thing, though that was a much bigger event involving many more people and more than a few motivations. Not just hatred in that one, but certainly, that was part of it."

Piper rose in her seat and looked around, then quietly said, "Do you think anyone will try to do that on our plane?"

I shook my head, not bothering to mention the slight possibilities of such a thing, "No, no. Don't worry about that. We're safe... Besides, since that attack, a lot of safety things have been done to protect planes. You and I have been through security lines enough to see what is in place to prevent another hijacking."

"Yeah, but," Piper paused, then continued, "it could happen, right?"

I shook my head again, "Don't worry, Love. Nothing's going to happen to us, okay? Get some sleep..."

I could see on her face that I'd not really done much to mollify her, but she quieted down and rested her head against my shoulder regardless.

Long flights were tough. Not just physically, being strapped into small, relatively-uncomfortable seats for hours, but emotionally, as well. It was all-too-easy to dwell, to linger, to let worries build into something bigger. It was easy to feel claustrophobic emotionally, as well. Some small thing could blow up in the long hours getting from point to point on a map, eating away and becoming something more concerning than it would have been anywhere else. There were no strolls to clear one's head. No hot showers or relaxing baths. No dancing or playing or fucking. Just long, dull hours spent with a few hundred equally-confined strangers who were also feeling the strain of being stuck in a small space with nowhere else to go.

I'd long practiced keeping those sorts of things at bay. I'd had to with so many long legs in my travels. But that flight, especially, from Singapore to London, took me right to the edge of panic. The attack the day before, the concerns about my career, about Marilyn, about being unable to soothe Piper's fears, made me desperate to get out, to get away, to do anything but sit and stare at my watch as the digital readout too-slowly updated to show progress. I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out a small pill bottle. I rarely used medications for such situations, but I desperately needed some help with several hours still left in our flight. I popped the relaxant with a swallow of water and put my arm around Piper again, trying to settle my mind and ignore the way my butt felt both pinched and heavy at the same time.

- - -

Monaco was not as glorious a place as it was made out to be. That's not true. I was not in the right mindset to enjoy the extravagant beauty of its buildings and people, the gorgeous landscape and seascape around the Principality, as we caught a cab from the airport in Nice, France to the hotel in Monte Carlo. The muscle relaxers I'd taken during the flight tended to mellow me out, but they didn't fully remove the layer of angst hanging around. Piper mostly slept on the leg from London to Nice, and even in the cab, she was dozing silently against me.

Monaco was a small place to be independent, bigger only than Vatican City in that regard, really just a fingernail, a dense port city squatting on a sliver of land on the Mediterranean Sea. Many high-rise buildings crammed together in the bowl-like center wrapped around the docks crowded with yachts and buildings built out over the edge of the water, carving out just a tiny piece of area inside southern France. It had a dense air of wealth and arrogance, a history unique even in the shifting narratives in Europe. It held itself apart from its neighbors. Better and more desirable than the others. Sure, there were loads of tourists there and we saw many of them strolling along as we neared our hotel, but they were generally rich tourists. Monaco was no working class destination. It was where the rich went to be amongst their peers. Where affluent and influential people came to impress those of similar standing. It was sort of the destination equivalent of an oversized diamond ring given as much to display monetary power as to profess love.

Or maybe I really was just in that sort of mindset. It was hard to know for sure if I was simply grumpy and a bit turned off by the obvious density of wealth on display in the place.

Our hotel was not one of the nicer ones in Monaco, which is to say it was expensive, gaudy, and more luxurious than ninety-five percent of those I'd stayed in over my years spent traveling the world, but somehow it still paled in comparison to others nearby. The room was no hotel room, more a lush apartment of sorts, much more than we needed. Much too tempting a place to curl up in the minutes after we arrived to sleep away the day.

But we had all of four hours to be at the first event I was to shoot, so I pushed through and showered quickly with Piper, having a carafe of some nice Moroccan coffee brought up to us. The caffeine helped a lot to wake me up, and by the time Piper and I were dressed and the gear shouldered, I was feeling just a bit better than before.

- - -

The birthday was to be held at the Prince's Palace of Monaco, the premier location in the tiny nation. It was the home of the Prince of Monaco, obviously, and used for official events for Monaco and its residents. Prince Albert's great-niece was turning fifteen that Friday, and the celebration was to take place over two days, starting with a formal mixer in the early afternoon for dignitaries and representatives from Italy, France, and other neighboring nations, and then moving on to a formal supper and dance that evening which would focus more on the girl herself.

It took some time for me and Piper to make our way through security checks and then wait for our contact. We were finally greeted by an aide to the Prince, the man chaperoning us into the Palace, then quickly stepping us through the various assignments. I jotted down notes and instructions rapidly before the man left us to wait on a balcony overlooking the interior courtyard where dozens of people were rushing rapidly around putting the finishing touches on the elaborate cocktail event starting in less than two hours. A twenty-piece orchestra was already gathering together along one side of the open space.

"Wow, they are rich!" Piper gasped after our chaperone had left us.

I worked on positioning my tripod for the first set of shots I'd take from the raised position. "Very. Nothing like getting your money handed down to you from your parents, eh?"

"I guess," Piper replied. "So, they don't work at all?"

I shrugged, "I dunno exactly what the Prince or his family do, honestly. I'm sure a lot of it is political stuff, handshaking, negotiating, that sort of thing."

Piper pursed her lips as she watched six people work to raise up a huge archway covered in what appeared to be live ivy, roses, and assorted golden decorations. "It's pretty and all... just... it seems, like, snotty, right?"

I chuckled, then replied, "Basically, yeah, but," I lowered my voice, "be careful about criticizing, okay? The Prince is our employer today, remember?"

"Oh, right!" Piper snorted. "I forgot... sorry."

"It's fine. Want to get set up?" I offered, nodding towards the other tripod.

"Yeah!"

- - -

The first hour of the event was rather dull from my point of view. Oh, sure, dozens of well-heeled folks in tuxedos and gowns were downing rare French wines and expensive liquors and having a rambunctious gathering for a Friday in the early afternoon. But as a photographer, the high perch offered little new to shoot after the first few minutes. I tried to get as many photos of unique groups chatting together, but the mingling and the distance combined to leave me simply snapping one shot after another and hoping I covered everything. It also left me with little to focus on of interest. My instructions were clear, though, and only after an hour had passed was I to move down into the gathering to snap more intimate closeups.

I passed the cases and unneeded equipment to a handler who stashed them out of sight as Piper and I carried handhelds down one sweeping staircase and out into the courtyard. Groups of people immediately fought for our attention, demanding we capture their rosy smiles and put-on airs for posterity. Piper dutifully kept her camera moving and over the next hour, the two of us shot hundreds of images of the partiers.

It was odd to think this was a celebration for a fifteen-year old. There was not a teenager in sight, and the youngest folks were clearly rich and powerful, sons and daughters of important people, and even they were easily in their late twenties. For a teen girl's party, the old farts sure were doing a lot of celebrating.

- - -

It was in the enormous ballroom that the teens first began to appear. The room was decorated much like the courtyard. Ivy, roses, and golden trimmings, candles and chandeliers both casting light broadly, gilded edges sparkling all around. The dark wood walls and polished marble floors were mostly covered, respectively, with large tapestries and imported rugs, giving the room a heavy feel despite the sparkles and lighter touches.

We'd been given an hour break to eat and rest, the Palace servants bringing us a roasted duck dish with Brussels sprouts, almonds, and a puree of something neither of us could quite identify but which we both consumed fully.

The birthday girl was not in sight when I went to the prepared foot-high stand where I was to start shooting the dinner before moving around to do more intimate features with each guest. The table itself seated at least fifty, with two smaller tables holding a few more dozen on either side. Most of the seats were already filled by the time Piper and I were in our spot.

A few teen girls were inside the room, generally mingling with each other and a few of the similarly-aged boys. I suspected these were peers of the Prince's great-niece, though I wondered if any of them were truly friends. I imagined it could be very lonely being so enormously rich and part of a powerful family. I wondered if it was isolating. Maybe the girl, not being a direct descendent of her powerful great-uncle, had avoided such things. Regardless, I had no doubt that many of the younger invitees had come only because their powerful fathers, uncles, and brothers were in attendance.

The room grew hushed and the lights were adjusted to add a soft orange glow. The Prince himself came in with a decided air of confidence and power. He was decked out in a power-tux with a small orange flower over his left breast. On his arm was a beautiful young woman, pale of skin, delicate features, and rich brown hair cast behind her in thick, broad, perfectly-woven braids which then flowed back over her shoulders. Her dress was a light orange, nearly matching the flower worn by her great-uncle, large layers spread out both around her bodice and down past her knees. Her makeup was light and delicate, matching her youthful features. The smile on her face contrasted noticeably from that of the Prince. Whereas his appeared official and measured, hers was excited and genuine. I got the immediate impression that the birthday girl was only rarely part of such regal moments, and likely never before had she been so directly involved as to hang off the powerful man's arm on her way inside.

Everyone stood while the two took their time smiling and nodding their way to their seats, the girl sitting to her great-uncle's right. He remained standing and waved the rest of the attendees to be seated. He spoke both in Italian and French and I understood not much more than a few words. I got the general sense of it, though. He was thanking those gathered and congratulating his great-niece on her birthday. The girl's name appeared to be Grace. It was then that I recalled the lineage of the Prince. His mother was Grace Kelly, a rather famous American actress who had become the Princess of Monaco by marrying Prince Albert's father.

Kelly was a beautiful woman. I'd studied her and her work while in college and knew a bit about her history. Her namesake, it seemed, was a fifteen-year old who looked little like the woman but whose beauty was not to be denied. Even with the over-done hair, the layers of makeup, the covering gown, it was clear that Grace was a beauty, as well. I couldn't help wondering naughty things about the girl. I was thankful that my groggy weariness lingered enough to keep me from being overly distracted.

By the time the welcoming speech was completed, servers began bringing first courses and drinks to those gathered. Piper and I snapped many shots before it was time to begin working our way around the diners. Before we'd moved two feet, the Prince looked my way and waved us over.

Piper whispered, "I'm super nervous! He's, like, a prince!"

"Me too," I told her quietly, "just remember, he takes a crap on the toilet just like we do."

My daughter giggled, then said, "Yeah, but I bet he pays someone else to wipe for him!"

I laughed and led us to where the man and his great-niece were seated. The Prince nodded and spoke in accented English, "This is the night my wonderful niece has become a woman, yes? You are capturing it for her?"

"Y-yes," I said, my mouth dry, "doing my best."

"Wonderful. Have you ever been in front of such a special moment? To capture forever the joy a young woman is living?"

I thought about the night Piper and I had watched Lena and her father together. I gulped. I most certainly was not about to describe that day. "Nothing like this, no..."

The Prince offered a measured smile and small nod. Rich people liked to be catered to, their egos no less than their stomachs and wallets. "I expected so. I wish several of the girl with me from over there, yes?" The Prince pointed to where he wanted me to go and I followed immediately.

There was something rather uncomfortable about the scene. Grace was celebrating her fifteenth birthday yet no one near her age sat anywhere near her. Her great-uncle was on her left side, and an even older man sat to her right. Across from her were two more older men I'd seen earlier that day. All of the other teens in the room sat at one of the smaller tables to either side. The only difference between the mixer that afternoon and the supper was that they apparently invited the girl to join them for dinner. It was all about the Prince and his peers once more.

Regardless of my disgust for such things, I was a professional and took the shots. Piper moved around a little, taking different angles. After some moments, the Prince summoned us back over and said, "That is enough for now. Go about seeing to my guests, yes?"

I nodded and took the excuse to move to opposite end of the table where I began to snap shots of the attendees. I noticed that Grace kept a plastered smile on throughout the meal. It was not the genuine one I'd seen when she first walked in. No, this was the perfected political smile which suggested she knew what was expected of her and she was not about to show the slightest hint of how bored she was sitting with the Prince and the other older men. I saw her glance a time or two towards Piper as if she wished someone, anyone, close to her age could pull her away from the pompous diners.

- - -

The dinner was winding down and the Prince excused himself and left the room. Almost immediately, Grace stood and made her way in our direction. It took some moments, the girl being stopped often by those seated along the way, but eventually, she reached us and I saw a sincere smile on her face again. She spoke excellent English with a slight French accent. "Hi, I'm Grace..."

"Hello, Grace, I'm Patrick, this is Piper, my... my daughter." I offered, "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks!"

"Enjoying yourself?"

Her second of hesitation gave away the truth, but the girl said, "Oh, yes, very much. The Prince spares no expense for my celebration."

"So I've seen. Really puts on a rather... lavish party."

Grace didn't respond, instead turning to Piper, "So... you work with your dad?"

"Yep. I'm his protege."

Grace smiled, "Very nice. Must be a lot of fun getting to go to places like this... are you Americans?"

Piper nodded, "Uh-huh."

"I've not been yet, but I'm planning to go over autumn break to stay with a cousin who owns homes in New York and Los Angeles."

"Oh! We live in Los Angeles!" Piper told the girl. "Maybe you could come visit us!"

Grace laughed, "Yeah, maybe." She glanced around as diners began to stand, stretch, and then vacate the ballroom. The dance would come later, and I knew from the walkthrough earlier that it would take place in the same room. Grace's eyes suggested she was checking for anyone listening in. For a moment, her smile faded and I saw the boredom and frustration in her expression just a second before she retook her mask.

I lowered my voice. "Where, uh... where are your friends, Grace?"

She met my eye and started to answer, first forcing a bigger smile onto her face, "Oh, ummm... they're around... somewhere... busy, I expect..."

"Don't you want to go see them?" Piper asked innocently.

"I will, I... I will... I just... You understand, right?" Grace's voice was clearly half volume from before. She didn't want to be overheard questioning the Prince's direction of the night.

"I'm sorry, Grace," I said in a whisper, "this party should be about you, not him..."

Grace let out a sigh, nodding, but not saying anything.

"Listen," I told her, "remember that people who hold power don't like letting it go. Everything... everything... is a tool for extending their power. This isn't personal. Not to him. It's an excuse to rally those he wishes to court himself, this party. But you can be better than that, right? I don't know you, Grace, and I have no idea what your life is like outside this night, but if you ever find yourself with power, think back on this night and think about others in a similar situation. Make sure power doesn't become an excuse to breed more power at the expense of those you love..."

Grace offered a small smile, "Thanks... I'll remember... I... I have to go..." she said, glancing back to where the Prince and his aide were striding in our general direction, stopping regularly to shake hands. I made a show of taking photos of the birthday girl and she wore her purpose like a champ, tilting her head, slightly pursing her lips, and looking beautiful despite her frustrations.

The girl turned away before the Prince got too close and left Piper and me to our downtime between dinner and the dance.

- - -

"It must suck," Piper said quietly while we ate from a platter of leftover cheeses and fruits which had been left for us by a servant, "having someone use your birthday for themselves. That's shitty."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Piper replied, "it is..."

"I agree, but I didn't know the word 'shitty' had entered your lexicon."

"What's lexy-con?"

"Vocabulary."

"Oh. I didn't know that. Mom used to say it sometimes. I just... I guess it just fits for that."

I chuckled quietly, "Suppose it does. Hopefully the dance goes better for her."

"So what's tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow we go out on a cruise."

"On a boat?"

"A yacht. A massive, soul-crushingly-expensive yacht. Just you, me, the Prince, Grace, and a few dozen of his closest sycophants."

"Sicko-fans?"

"Sycophants. Means people who suck up to him. The people at the mixer and dinner."

"Oh. So like a cruise ship though?"

"No, not like the ones we've talked about going on. It's a yacht. A really big but private boat. I'm sure it will be gaudy and ridiculous. We'll be photographing the trip. Not sure exactly the plan yet. I'm sure they'll stop off for food or at some private island or something. Whatever rich people do with their yachts, I suppose."

"Sounds awful for Grace if her friends aren't there."

"Agreed."

"Maybe we can be her friends."

"Maybe," I agreed, "though... remember... we work for the Prince himself. We're expected to work, not make friends."

"Yeah, but... don't you see that she's sad cause of all this?"

I nodded. "I've seen it. We just have to be careful, that's all I'm saying."

"I'm careful."

"I know," I told my daughter, "I trust you."

She grinned at me and I pecked her cheek, feeling myself stirring for the first time since before we'd left Sydney. I leaned close and whispered, "I'm gonna be absolutely exhausted by the time we get back to the hotel.... but maybe we can find a few minutes for us, huh?"

Piper giggled, "It's all wet down there, you know, so, uh... for sure."

I stirred more firmly in response.

- - -

The dance was as stiff and stuffy as the rest of the day. I thought dances, even regal ones, usually found easy laughter, a bit of romance, and playful moments between those taking part, at minimum. What Piper and I took photos of that night were moments of officials and dignitaries taking turns being polite and moving awkwardly for short periods before shuffling on to the next partner. Grace danced with many people over the evening, and none of them were even close to her age until the end when a couple of the teen boys from the dinner led her through basic moves with minimal contact before skirting away to dance with one of the other teen girls they'd been seated with for the night's meal.

I felt sorry for Grace. She stood out, not just because of her beauty and her gown, but because it was painfully obvious that she was hurt to find none of her friends attending the dance. I had no doubt it was not the fault of her friends. The Prince, or his subordinates, had planned the Friday events around the Prince himself, not the birthday girl. The head of the Monaco monarchy danced little but did a great deal of huddling with various members of the dance party, surely striking deals and exchanging favors during a time when his attention should have been on the young girl who was politely playing her role and trying not to show her disappointment for how the day had gone.

The aide to the Prince came along at some point and dismissed me for the night. The dance was winding down and the Prince and most of the other dignitaries had already left. I retrieved my cases and Piper and I packed up the gear. We waited for our cab to arrive and I felt the weariness sinking in.

"Hi," a light, tired voice said next to me. I looked over to see Grace beside us, no longer wearing the elegant gown and instead clothed only in a simple black dress which hung down to her ankles.

"Uh, hey," I replied.

She was smiling but it was a hollow expression. "Heading home?"

"Not yet, back to the hotel. We're working your day at sea tomorrow, as well."

"Ah, nice," she said, "at least there will be a familiar face or two with me... I'm stuck here for the night... by myself."

Piper frowned, "They won't let your friends stay with you here?"

Grace replied, face downturned, "It's... complicated... but no..."

We were all silent a moment, then Piper said, "Wanna hang out with us tonight?"

"What?" Grace and I said in unison.

"At the hotel. We've got lots of room. We could watch a movie or something..."

I glared at Piper a second then softened my expression, saying nothing.

"Um... I think I have to stay here..."

"Well... could you, like, ask?" Piper offered.

Grace glanced back, then reached into a small purse she had tucked under her arm. The girl pulled out a phone, then paused, looking at me, "Uh... is that alright, then?"

"Oh, uh," I thought quickly of all the moments of private things we would have to hide assuming the girl was even allowed to come to our room, "yeah, sure, but... you know... I dunno that your parents will be okay with that, like... we're total strangers and you're... you're royalty..."

Grace laughed, "Nah, I'm not royalty. Just related to The Prince. My parents aren't royalty either. Mom's a teacher, Dad does woodworking. We don't even live in Monaco, but outside Nice. We're pretty normal, really..."

Piper grinned, "You're too pretty to be normal."

Grace smiled awkwardly, as if unused to such compliments, "Thanks..." The girl unlocked her phone and hit a few buttons, placed the phone to her ear, and spoke French to whomever answered. The conversation lasted but seconds. "My guardian said it was okay."

I furrowed my brow, "That was fast... your guardian?"

"Maybe the word is chaperone, more accurately. The man who takes me to the rare events with my great-uncle."

"And he just let you head off with strangers?" I asked, incredulous. "Just like that?"

Grace shrugged, "I guess. He really just does it so that he can meet big shots around the Prince. He doesn't really keep much of an eye on me these days..."

I could hear the sadness in the tone of her voice and dropped the subject. "Alright, well," I looked at Piper, "we're just waiting on a cab, so... join us..."

"I'll go grab my things..."

"Can I go?" Piper asked excitedly.

"Sure," Grace shrugged.

Piper glanced at me for permission and I nodded. "Be quick, cab should be here shortly."

- - -

Grace's things turned out to be a small, well-worn suitcase and a ill-contained plastic basket holding makeup and assorted toiletries. My eyes darted quickly away when I noticed tampons and pads within. I didn't need Grace's nethers on my mind right then.

The girls quickly struck up a friendship on the short ride over. Piper told her about dancing, though she was careful not to describe the erotic nature of her hobby. Grace was excited to listen, even eyeing Piper as if trying to remember something, then asked what it was like to travel the world like Piper and I did. "I almost never get to go anywhere myself. Just around France, mostly, and to see my great-uncle every few years. We go to Italy often, which really isn't that far, not like you go to, Piper."

My daughter replied, "Me and Daddy have a lot of fun. Like yesterday, we were in Sydney, before that, umm, London, and Hamburg!"

"And where we live," I added from the front passenger seat, "in Los Angeles."

"So you go home in between?"

"Sometimes," Piper replied, "if there's time."

"That sounds just great," Grace told us. "I wish I could travel more... I want to see things and meet people. Different people," the teen added after seeing Piper about to ask about those she met at the Prince's party, "you know... cool people."

Piper changed the subject, asking about the girl's life and found out that Grace played soccer, futbol as she called it, and was quite good at it. Her dad frowned upon it, not being much of a supporter of girls playing sports, but her mom was fully in favor, enough to let the girl go to a camp earlier that summer near Paris. "That's real neat," Piper told her, "will you teach me how to play soccer?"

"Sure!" Grace said, "uh, I mean, I dunno when and all, but, sure!" The girl watched Piper a moment, then said, "Maybe you'll teach me to dance?"

My daughter nodded enthusiastically, "Oh, yes! That would be neat!"

Somehow the girls' energy kept me from fully feeling the exhaustion and jet lag for a while. The cab had us at our hotel quickly and the girls and I went up to our room which had a brilliant view of the harbor and small, dense city around us. Grace stepped out onto the balcony while Piper used the toilet, and I joined the teen, quietly looking out over the twinkling tights and reflections off water and yachts as an angry storm front moved in from the south, lighting flashing but doing nothing to diminish the city at night closer to us.

Grace looked back quickly, then said quietly, "I think I might have seen your daughter before tonight..."

"Uh... what?"

Grace's voice was thin, "Like... at this dance thing I went to... a few years ago. My uncle took me. My parents didn't know... It was... kinda weird..."

I felt a pit form in my stomach. "What sort of dance thing?"

Grace replied, "Like... girls... dancing... kinda... adult-like..."

I nodded without thought, "Possible..."

Grace jumped on my concession, "So Piper does that sort of dancing?"

"I... Um..."

Piper stepped across the threshold and, as I sputtered, she asked, "What sort of dancing are you two talking about?"

"I... I think I saw you once, Piper, like, your face is pretty familiar... You were at a dance... I think in Paris... Maybe two years ago?"

Piper smiled, "I did the Paris show, yeah! You were there?"

"I was!" Grace replied, "But... that means... you wore this really... um," the girl looked at me with clear confusion on how to describe the moment, "like, adult-y thing... kinda... revealing..."

Piper nodded, "Yep, the yellow and grey one? I loved that one. It got ripped last year, had to throw it away..."

Grace's mouth moved a couple of times, then she looked out over the water again, "It was weird, you know. I was, um, thirteen, I guess. But, how do I say... I was made uncomfortable."

"By me?" Piper asked.

"No, not you," replied Grace, "by... men... my uncle." She glanced at me again, then shook her head, "Sorry, I suppose I shouldn't talk about that right now..."

I knew that right now meant in front of me. I said, "I know and approve of Piper's dancing. It's kinda... edgy, I know. There are a lot of concerns, I confess. And not everyone watching has good intentions. They... sexualize the girls, to say the least."

"And you're okay with your daughter wearing stuff like that?"

"I've accepted that Piper wants to continue doing the events and that her body is her own. No one is allowed to touch her," except me, I thought, "but if she enjoys dancing erotically and displaying herself... it's her body."

Piper took my hand and grinned.

Grace shook her head again, "I just can't imagine. Though," she paused, licking her lips, "afterwards, I thought about what it might be like to be on stage like that, like you did, Piper. Is it... is it worth it?"

"Worth it?"

"You know, letting people see... things... while you dance..."

"Oh, sure. It doesn't bother me. They can look, they just can't touch. I love it so much!"

Grace nodded. "Part of me kinda wishes I could have tried it, at least once. I think that's what my uncle was trying to do, but after the competition, he was real angry and I just stayed away from him. I dunno what happened."

"You might have been too old to start," I offered evenly, "there are very few girls competing into their teens, and they probably are models who have been doing it some time."

"Yeah," Piper agreed, "I bet that's what happened."

I asked, "So he never spoke to you about competing or dancing? Just took you there and tried to sign you up?"

Grace replied, "Yeah, never said anything."

"Where's your uncle these days?"

She shrugged, "He lives in Germany, I think. I haven't seen him much since then."

"Did he ever... you know," I asked carefully, "do more than make you feel uncomfortable?"

The teen shook her head, "No, no, nothing like you suggest... Maybe looked at me sometimes in a way, but, no..."

I let out a breath, "That's good."

Piper glanced at me and we seemed to understand how careful we had to be about such things.

"So," I asked, changing the subject as the wind began to pick up a bit with the building front, "what's the cruise itinerary for tomorrow?"

"Breakfast on board after we're at sea, then I think we're going to Ile du Levant... it's... an island off France. After that, I think we'll just watch sunset and head back."

Piper looked troubled, "So... nothing about your birthday?"

Grace shook her head, "Less than today, I expect."

"That sucks," Piper growled.

Grace put an arm around my daughter's shoulders, "It's okay. I'm used to it when my great-uncle and his family are involved. Everything is politics and money. At least I get to go somewhere for the day, so... I'm looking forward to that..."

Both girls looked as exhausted as I felt, and the timing of that moment corresponded with the first relatively-close strike of lighting, still out over the water. "I dunno about you girls, but I could use a shower and probably some sleep. It's been a very long couple of days since Sydney."

"I'll join you!" Piper said happily, her smile flushing when she remembered our guest, "I mean, after you're done, Daddy!"

I nodded and accepted her admirable cover. "I'll be quick."

I didn't forget to bring a change of clothes in with me, too scared of Grace seeing or hearing anything more troubling than the nature of Piper's dancing.

- - -

Piper showered after me, and Grace mostly kept her head buried in her phone, so I left her to it, feeling a bit awkward to be alone with the teen. Piper returned quickly, wearing pajamas. She slid into bed and then asked, "Uh, so we can still share a bed, right, Daddy?"

"You and me, uh... yeah, I think that's okay, just," I lowered my voice, "we'll have to avoid anything intimate..."

"I know... I promise I'll be good. I really want to sex with you, though... It's all still wet down there..."

I groaned and glanced towards the bathroom door. The water spray was going strong. "Think you can orgasm quickly?" I whispered.

Piper's eyes gleamed, "Uh-huh!"

I pushed my daughter so that she was bent over the bed, keeping myself positioned so that I could still hear and see the bathroom, rolling Piper's pajama bottoms down to her mid-thigh, exposing her lovely young buttocks, her wet cleft hairless and slick between. I knelt quickly, eyes glancing towards the closed door, and urgently rushed my tongue along Piper's slickness. She tasted wonderful, my daughter's clean, little-girl flesh was soft and smooth, her little clit hard and responding immediately to my attention.

Piper was good with keeping her pleasure quiet, only the lightest of sighs and the wet sounds of my tongue sliding through her lower lips to be heard. The spraying water continued to offer cover for our moment of passion.

I stood and fished my cock out of the sweats I wore, stroking myself just a couple of times before pushing inside my daughter's tight little vagina. I groaned and caught myself immediately. Piper moved first, pushing down so that I was in as far as she could take me, still a couple of inches outside her velvety folds.

We rutted quickly, one hand on her waist, the other tucked around one thigh so that I could massage her nub, pulling her against me as I thrust into her and played with her pussy. I listened as I got closer to release, the water still spraying in the shower. I felt my balls tighten, my penis hard and swelling in my daughter. Piper groaned, closed-mouth, and I felt her vagina clenching as she rocked in orgasm, my own rushing out seconds later. It took a lot of willpower not to bellow in blissful pleasure as I filled my daughter, Piper's body taking my seed as it had in days before, my cum overflowing her, more than I thought I'd deliver. Each spurt pushed out the previous spurt, semen soon drooling down Piper's thighs.

I realized the water had been turned off, and our moment of mutual pleasure turned into a rapid shuffling of genitals and clothes and distance between us. We recovered in time, thankfully, so that Piper was under the covers and I was pretending to finish up something on my laptop. If Grace noticed the sheen of sweat on my forehead or Piper's flushed face, she didn't show it.

"So... where do I sleep?"

I hadn't really thought it over, honestly. The suite had three different couches, two of which supposedly had lush pull-out beds, and the other so soft and comfortable it was practically a bed itself. "Err... wherever you like?"

Grace eyed the options, "This one, I think." She flopped back on the couch nearest to the bed, separated by a stylish half-wall and ribboned golden curtains from where Piper and I would sleep.

"Perfect."

Piper had uncovered herself and was already rifling through the large wardrobe nearby to pull out blankets and pillows, taking several of each to Grace. I groaned quietly when I saw the obvious wet spot right in the middle-front of Piper's yellow pajamas. It was so obvious, in fact, that Grace would probably mistake it for urine instead of incestuous cum.

Once more, the teen showed no signs of noticing, and soon, the lights were off and the three of us were settled in to sleep. Piper curled up with me and was soon dozing. I took just a little longer to knock out, but my brain finally gave up at some point and let me find the rest I'd needed all day long.

Patrick, Male, 25

	- Narrator, professional photographer, father of Piper

	- 5'9, beige skin, 160lbs, muted-brown bangs

Piper, Female, 11

	- Child model, apprentice photographer, daughter of Veronica and Patrick

	- 4'8, tanned beige skin, 90lbs, blue-green eyes, straight raven-black hair

Marilyn, Female, mid-thirties

	- Supervisor of Patrick

	- 5'4, olive-beige skin, 115lbs, brown eyes, light-brown hair over neck

Grace, Female, 15

	- Great-niece of the Prince of Monaco

	- 5'3, pale-beige skin, 105lbs, blue-green eyes, chocolate-brown hair past shoulders