The Chronicles Of A Princess: The Childhood Years

Be Bold, Darling

Chapter Nine

Munich, Germany

June 15th, 1985

I can't believe I'm actually taking a vacation without Dad! I get to spend a whole week with Freddie in Munich! I don't know what he told my dad to get this idea approved, but it must have been a doozy. He never lets me go anywhere without him or another family member present. I have security traveling with me, but still.

It's been a whirlwind, let me tell you. When we got to Freddie's home, he showed me the bedroom he had decorated just for me. It's full of pictures of the two of us. He says we're going to have a bunch more to print out and put in frames from this trip.

After settling in, he takes me to the studio where all the Queen magic happens. I can't help but go from instrument to instrument with wide eyes. Dad never lets me play in his studio.

"What do you think, Bida?" Freddie asks me from his perch at the piano.

Running up and taking my spot next to him on the bench, I say, "I love it!"

"Would you like to hear something I've been working on?" he asks as if I would say no.

I nod and watch his long fingers begin playing. He doesn't sing, but the music itself is beautiful. It isn't a fast, upbeat song, but it's not sad either. It doesn't feel like a love song, but there are elements there. When he stops, he takes a deep breath.

"That was beautiful. What's it called?" I ask, taking the sheet music to read it over.

Clearing his throat, he says, "I call it 'My Bida'."

"You wrote it for me?" I ask in shock.

He nods. "Why the face? It's almost as if you don't know that I love you."

"I do know that, and I love you too," I tell him quickly. "But the only person that ever wrote me a song is my daddy. He sings 'You Are My Life' to me all the time."

"Yes, well, in a lot of ways, darling," he says while rubbing the back of his neck, looking a little nervous. "I feel as though you're the closest thing I'll ever get to having a daughter. Do you understand?"

My heart swells just hearing him say he thinks of me as his daughter. I can't even speak, so I wrap my arms around him and weep a little.

"Don't cry, Bida," he says, rubbing my back.

Shaking my head, I say, "I can't help it, Freddie. I've always wanted two parents."

He pulls me off of him and looks me in the eyes. "I'm sorry that you didn't get to have two, but you have me."

"I know. Thank you," I tell him while wiping my eyes.

Chuckling, he says, "No need to thank me, Bida. Or if you do, do it by being the best artist you can be. Do it by making me and your daddy proud."

"He doesn't want me to be an artist. Maybe he's right. I could never be as big as him," I say realistically.

Freddie groans dramatically. "Bida, I can't stand it when you put yourself down. You know that."

"I can't help it. People expect me to be exactly like him," I rant. "It feels like all eyes are on me all the time. I'm not perfect. It gets to be too much sometimes. Like I can't make a mistake without feeling like it's the end of the world."

"Do you think he or I have never made a mistake, precious?" he says, thinking on it for a moment. "Perhaps it's different when you never got to choose for the world to be watching you every second. What do I always tell you?"