Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

13. G6

November 15, 1975

Château de Rambouillet

Paris, France

I beamed when a server delivered the guitar to the garden lounge. Crossing one leg over the other, I rested the instrument on my knee and gave it a soft strum. It was perfectly tuned.

"Now we just need a campfire," I said happily.

"That was a gift from Espagne," France muttered from his seat beside me.

I pulled it away and looked it over more critically. "Oh."

The year was 1975, and the United States' embarrassing withdrawal from Vietnam was finally over. I finally felt like I could show my face to the world again without shame.

It was also the year of the first "G6" summit, a gathering of the top democratic economies. The addition of Japan, Germany, and Italy to our usual trio made for an awkward atmosphere throughout the day's events and meetings. That evening, we Nations gathered for wine in the garden. The quiet and skittish Japan excused herself after one glass of wine. Italy was next, and I was surprised when Germany didn't follow.

"Poor Spain," England sighed. He was smoking a cigarette just outside the lounge area. "Her fall from power was nothing short of spectacular."

"Oh, yes," France agreed with a reminiscent smile. "You two used to bicker endlessly."

I chuckled, and France gestured to me during a long swig of wine. He was no doubt invoking my own war with Spain and all the pain it had caused him. I avoided his attention by reaching for my drink.

"As a matter of fact...you bicker with all the women in your life, Angleterre."

My eyes went to England as I thought of his escalating spats with Ireland.

"Well"—England smiled at me—"not all."

I raised my glass to him.

As I took a drink, my eyes fell on Germany, who sat directly across from me. He had been so quiet throughout the day that I had barely taken notice of him.

"What are your thoughts on Spain?" I asked him.

His eyes darted to me, and he cleared his throat before he spoke. "I have met with her on several occasions. We are cordial."

His formality was completely out of place in the present company. With an unimpressed grimace, France changed the subject, and England latched onto the controversial topic as he finished his cigarette. I blew out a sigh. At least France is tolerant of Germany's presence now.

Trying to lighten the mood, I pulled the guitar back into my lap and strummed some chords. I started quietly humming a song I had recently learned. My eyes followed England as he took the seat next to Germany. Their size difference was stark—England was much taller, and Germany was strangely...thin.

"...American..."

I straightened. "Hm?"

"You couldn't look more American if you tried," England repeated with a smirk.

I glanced down at my denim jeans and flannel shirt as I continued to pluck guitar strings. "Thank you," I chirped in delight.

France sighed. "Oui, always dressing like a peasant."

I shot him a playful glare. His designer suit matched the deep blue color of his eyes. "Rich coming from a man who used to wear skirts," I taunted.

"Robes," he corrected immediately. "Robes."