Surely no one attending this last minute conference actually wanted to be there.
With two separate regions in two separate countries holding votes on seceding, however, most of Europe was in a tizzy and Spain quickly volunteered to host a meeting to discuss the issue of "strained intranational relations."
As Mexico rolled her suitcase up to the hotel registration desk and handed over her passport, she found herself yet again trying to figure out why the blasted EU nations had decided to invite North America.
'One minute they're yelling at America to stop interfering in their business,' she grumbled internally, 'the next they'll begging him to come help. And this time they're dragging the rest of us into it!' Biting back travel-induced irritation, Mexico waved away the aide Spain had sent to assist her. 'And for the love of all that is holy,' her mental ruminations continued, 'when will that fool stop treating me like a child?'
It was a trial most of Spain's former colonies suffered. While England, France, and other former imperial countries eventually (mostly) acknowledged the independence of their breakaway colonies, the continuously smiling Spaniard continued to dote and tease and smother every nation he had once ruled.
"Ah, good evening, petit."
Starting, Mexico turned away from the clerk encoding her key card.
"No," she snapped, eyes darting across the lobby to see if any other nations had appeared while her back was turned. "I'm not dealing with you tonight. Not after twelves hour of planes and airports. Not when it's almost midnight here. Come back in the morning." He didn't move. "Shouldn't you be off bothering Arthur?" she added in an icy voice. 'Just go away,' she silently begged.
France merely smiled and strolled up to lean on the desk next to her.
"I have all week to do that," he responded, purposely ignoring the rest of her (attempted) dismissal. A relaxed smile spreading across his face. "After all, it is the highlight week for amour."
"Amo . . . oh, blast." What terrible timing. She hadn't even thought . . . "Saint Valentine's Day is this week," Mexico sighed.
Spain was going to be unbearable. He had two modes during Valentine's:
1) Chase after [insert former colony here] proclaiming "Boss's love" (and trying to get a full return on said proclamation) and,
2) Shower Romano with flowers and food while begging him for affection.
"Now I really don't want to be here," she groaned.
"Ms. Reyes?" the clerk interrupted, his voice soft. He held out the small envelope with her keycard. "Room 308. Please let us know if we can make your stay any more comfortable."
Lips pressed together, she took the cards and started to turn away after offering a brief "Thank you."
"Ah, Ms. Reyes? This was left for you."
She turned back.
The clerk reaching under the desk then emerged, holding out a single flower, its long stem wrapped in a damp cloth.
Her breath caught in her through, Mexico turned back and took the flower. Its petals were bright pink with white edging, flecked and striped with yellow accents.
"There is a brief message accompanying the gift," the clerk added, extending a small white card. "We were also asked to leave a vase in your room should you wish to keep the flower."
Still stunned by the unexpected gift , Mexico released her suitcase and took the card in her other hand. It's message was simple:
I hope this Peruvian Lily brings you sweet dreams.
"It appears," France commented as he retrieved the suitcase now lying on the floor, "you have an admirerer. How exciting."