by Jillian Dodd
“So now what?”
“I think we talk about the Prince. He’s reckless. His bodyguard does whatever the Prince tells him to do, whether or not it’s in his best interest. I didn’t study up on the Palace Guard, but the fact that the gunmen were able to get inside the castle is pretty concerning, but then again, I drove in with the Prince, and no one checked me or my car for bombs or weapons. Once inside, I had free run of the place.”
“That is concerning,” Ari agrees. “We’re just going to have to stay close in order to protect him. I really thought any attempt on his life would happen during an outside event.”
“Do you think they planned to shoot him or kidnap him?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I can’t imagine what their escape plan would have been for a kidnapping,” I say.
“Maybe they knew it was a suicide mission. If a terror organization is behind this, that would make sense.”
“Or maybe they knew about the passageways and assumed, like I did, there was a secret one only the Prince would know about.”
“Why would they want to kidnap him though? That doesn’t make sense. I think they were there to kill.”
“I don’t know. Control him. Threaten him. Make him do what they want,” I suggest.
“Or maybe this was a dry run to see how far they could get. It’s not like the Montrovian Guard’s protocol is on the Internet like our Secret Service’s is.”
“A dry run for what exactly?” I ask.
“Maybe they were looking for a place to plant a bomb. The Queen’s Ball is the week’s big finale. Remember we talked about a bomb as a possible way to take out most of the Montrovian heirs to the throne?”
“I don’t know,” I disagree. “We were told the threat was specific to the Prince.”
Ellis joins us, bringing a decanter of water and a tray of sandwiches.
“What I wouldn’t give for a Jersey Mike’s right now,” Ari says.
“What is that?” Ellis asks.
“The most amazing sub sandwich you have ever tasted. I get the Giant, over a foot long full of turkey and provolone and done up Mike’s way with onions, lettuce, tomatoes, olive oil, red wine vinegar, and spices. It’s heaven on bread.”
Ellis points at the tray of petite, crustless finger sandwiches. “This will have to suffice for now.” He hands me a note then leaves the room.
There is just one sentence inside the note, which I read to Ari. “Intelligence chatter regarding crown. Keyword: Terra.”
“What’s Terra?” Ari asks.
“I don’t know what this is referring to, but Terra was the Roman Goddess of the Earth. In renditions of her, she is always beautiful and usually surrounded by a cornucopia, flowers, and fruit. Sometimes, she is depicted pregnant because she is also the guardian of fertility and motherhood. In planetary science, Terra is the third planet usually referred to as Earth. The male counterpart is Tellus. He was an Athenian statesman in Herodotus’s Histories, where he is said to be the happiest man ever because he had a good life and children who remembered him. Apparently, to the ancient Greeks this was the most honorable life. If I remember right, though, he died in a battle, but not before crushing his opposition.”
“How do you know all that?”
I shrug. “I like Greek and Roman history.”
Ari rolls his eyes at me.
“Her Greek counterpart is Gaia. Let me do a quick search and see what comes up.” I type in my phone. “Not much more than that other than the festival held in her honor was on April the fifteenth. Then pages and pages of info of pretty much the same. I’m not seeing it used in any other way.”
“Could it be the name of a terrorist organization?”
“Let me see. Hmm. There’s an old Spanish terrorist group that seems to have existed from the late seventies until the mid-eighties. They wanted their own state. They finally came to peace with the government and announced their dissolution. There’s been nothing about them since.”
“What if it has been revived?” Ari asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t see anything more about it or anything else.”
“Seems like a dead end. Oh, and it seems Peter and Allie are joining us in Montrovia. I’m putting them in separate bedrooms, just so you know.”
I laugh. “Uh, oh.”
“Speaking of that. Daniel got called back to the Embassy immediately upon news of the attack on the castle, but he did mention he planned to be at the casino tonight. We should be there, too.”
Peter and Allie arrive just after sundown. Peter has already booked dinner reservations at the Michelin-starred restaurant we vetoed the other night. Allie gives me air kisses and rushes to her room to freshen up and change for dinner. Their plane was delayed due to weather, and they are running behind schedule. Peter informs us that we mustn’t be late for our reservations, so I run up to my room to change into a cocktail dress.
Dinner works in our favor. Not only do we have an incredible meal, but Peter is joined in the bar afterwards by the Prince’s cousins. We meet the eldest of the sisters, Ophelia, as well as her boyfriend, Viktor. Ophelia is slender with a lean yoga body and short, dark hair that frames her petite face. She’s smart, sarcastic, and a leader—almost to the point of domineering. She’s dressed in a severely cut dark green suit, black pumps, and a large angular black hat. She has mastered the art of resting bitch face and looking bored. Her boyfriend, Viktor, is much more gregarious. He’s friendly, has an aristocratic air, impeccable manners, and can throw down quite a lot of alcohol. He seems fine with Ophelia wearing the pants in their relationship of six months. Viktor and Peter are well acquainted, having vacationed together with their families because of their fathers’ friendship.
Younger sister, Clarice, looks exactly like Ophelia would with long hair, but that’s where the similarities end. Clarice has more of a laid-back, hippie vibe. Her passion is travel, and she entertains us with stories of trips to exotic locales and her focus on charities that attempt to make the world a better place. Her boyfriend, Armend, who I find out she’s only been seeing for a few weeks, is quiet but controlling. She’s super laid back, and it surprises me when he looks at her and barks out an order—like My drink is empty—and she immediately scurries to remedy it. Plus, his predatory gaze gives me the creeps. My gut reaction is not to trust him, and my mind runs through scenarios. The kind of scenarios where he could be in on the plot to overthrow the monarchy. And it gets me wondering if that’s even the plan. What if the plan isn’t just to kill the Prince? What if it includes bossy, outspoken, and uncontrollable Ophelia? Or controlling an easy to manipulate Clarice? I imagine her and Armend married and him running the show.
After quite a few drinks at the bar, the group decides to head to The Casino. I’m back at the roulette table and am winning.
The Prince and Daniel show up late. When the Prince catches my eye, I glare at him, causing him to put his head down and retreat, going off to greet Peter.
Daniel doesn’t say anything, just takes up a position across the table from me, so I can’t help but look into those baby blues. When a woman starts flirting with him, it distracts me. It’s hard to pay attention to everyone around me—constantly scan the room for possible threats or clues—and keep playing, all while controlling my urge to rip the woman’s arm off Daniel’s chest.
Dang, I just lost a thousand euros.
By the time she’s bought him a drink and puts her hand in his hair, I’m down another two. I take my remaining chips from the table and bow out. Honestly, I’m ready to go home. All of a sudden, the excitement of today hits me, and I’m exhausted.
Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get out of here before I act irrationally and shoot a midnight dart into the woman, who must be nearly forty, to keep her away from Daniel.
Instead, I belly up to the bar.
Daniel leaves the woman, joins me, and orders us each a beer.
It makes me want to kiss him.
“I heard y
ou have a hot car,” he says by way of greeting.
“I have a lot of hot things.”
“Don’t I know it.” He sees me looking over at the group surrounding the Prince. “Are you going to forgive him? He feels terrible.”
“Ari said the Embassy came and got you. Do you know what happened? Who the men were?”
“Our government is researching their backgrounds. Were you scared?”
“Yes. Very,” I reply with what is expected. Honestly, I was more excited than scared.
“The shooters’ nationalities were a surprise,” he admits.
“How so?”
“One was German and the other Moroccan, but our government expects a terrorist organization will take credit.”
“Credit for what? They could have opened fire on the crowd touring the castle. It wasn’t terror. It felt like they were coming after the royal family. The Prince, specifically.”
“Another theory is that it was a test,” Daniel says, following what Ari and I had theorized. “That something bigger is to come.”
“That’s scary.”
“Don’t worry, Huntley. I’ll protect you.” God, he’s sweet. “Uh, oh. Enzo is making a beeline toward us.”
I don’t have a chance to reply before the Prince says to me, “You are understandably mad, but put yourself in my position.”
“Your position? You were freaking out. I got you out of there. If that’s how you treat your friends, I don’t want to be one of them.”
“Please, I’m sorry. They’re just trying to keep me safe.”
“Which means we should be on the same side, because that’s what I tried to do, too. Keep us both safe.”
“Please allow me to make it up to you,” the Prince pleads.
I roll my eyes, causing Daniel to say, “Come on, Huntley. It’s no fun when you’re mad. Come to the club with us.”
“You two have fun. I have other plans. If you’ll excuse me, my friends are here.”
I walk a few steps away to join the British lads, who recently arrived. Wesley gives me a kiss on the lips in greeting and places his hand on my ass.
From my position, I can also still hear Daniel and the Prince talking. Ari gives me a wink and joins them. He had been discreetly listening to our conversation about the gunmen.
“I don’t know what your people did to her today,” I hear Ari say to the Prince, piling on the guilt, “but she got home and just started bawling.”
Daniel returns to my side, pulling me away from my British love fest. “Ari told us that you cried when you got home.”
“It was kind of an emotional day,” I state flatly.
“Just go talk to him. Tell him you’re sorry. Make up.”
“Tell him I’m sorry? Are you freaking kidding me, Daniel? Did he not tell you how he panicked? How he was ready to go out into the hall where the gunfire was? Did he tell you they fired shots into the room we were in, and it was only due to my quick thinking that we got out of there?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“And you didn’t care to know. You two have fun at the club.”
I turn on my heels and walk away. I’m not sure what I look like on the outside—hopefully poised and self-assured, but I don’t feel that way on the inside. I feel like my being mad at Daniel and the Prince is very real. I’m pissed at them both.
And that scares me.
Rule number one is to never get emotionally attached, because that makes you—and them—vulnerable.
I wonder if I’m really cut out for this job. Being the best in the academy doesn’t mean anything in the real world. Could I be like the college football player who wins the Heisman but never has a successful professional career?
I go lock myself in a bathroom stall, taking a deep breath and cleansing myself of all negative thoughts.
A vision of my mother getting shot slips to the forefront of my mind.
It does that when I relax.
I had counseling at Blackwood to help me deal with the trauma of losing my parents, if such a thing is possible. My Uncle Sam told me that my parents got involved with some nasty people in their business dealings. He asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I answered simply: I wanted revenge. I wanted to hunt down the man and kill him myself. He confided in me that he had connections with the government and then offered me a place at Blackwood along with the promise of becoming skilled enough to take on my parents’ killer.
When I close my eyes again, I picture the assassin’s eyes, and I know that my first mission will be a success.
Because it has to be.
For my country.
For my parents.
But, mostly, for myself.
I return to the casino floor and walk straight over to Ari, who is in a group chatting with Daniel and the Prince.
“Don’t wait up for me,” I say, patting him on the back as I walk by.
Then I make my way over to an incredibly hot Italian guy whose father designs the suits he wears. He was flirting with me at the roulette table earlier and invited me to go dancing with him. I allow him to lead me out of The Casino and into a nearby club. Then I feign a headache and go home.
When I get there, I ask Ellis for intel on both of the Prince’s cousins as well as their boyfriends’ backgrounds. Then I scan my room for bugs and destroy them. I can’t deal with knowing someone is listening to me. They will probably be replaced soon, but for now, I don’t want them to hear the doubt in my head.
I’m in my bed, trying to sleep, when I hear a noise outside my terrace door. I grab the gun from my bedside table and proceed cautiously, flattening my back against the wall and then peeking out from behind the curtains.
Daniel is standing under the light.
I put the gun away and open the door. “What are you doing?”
“I was afraid you weren’t going to be here. You told Ari not to wait up. I figured you went home with that guy.”
“I was mad. My pathetic attempt to get back at you and the Prince for being jerks. I’m not going to sleep with some random guy.”
“Like the Prince?”
“I haven’t slept with the Prince.”
“What, he not as sexy as I am?” Daniel says, leaning against the doorjamb and dropping down an overnight bag.
“He’s just—I don’t know. I thought we were sort of becoming friends. The way they practically accused me of bringing gunmen with me was upsetting.”
“You almost sound like you’re falling for him.”
I don’t answer that question. I ask him what I really want to know. “Daniel, why did you come to Montrovia?”
He cups my face in his hands. “I have a good excuse.”
“What is it?”
“I was in Paris, spending a few days with my mother before going to Switzerland to shoot a watch commercial with the Swiss bikini team. When the Prince called and asked about you, I figured what the hell. I’d see an old friend. Party for a few days in this beautiful city.”
“And the real reason?” I ask softly.
“Because I wanted to see you,” he replies, looking sincere. “But I have to leave first thing in the morning.”
“That means we have all night,” I breathe out, my voice barely above a whisper.
“What’s left of it.”
“Then you better not waste a second.” I step out into the light.
He grins. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
The next thing I know, our lips collide, and he’s throwing me on the bed.
“So you wanted a slumber party?” I tease, kissing him.
He lies on top of me, holding his weight on his arms. “What I want is your hands all over me. Your body all over me. I want you under me. On top of me—”
“And I just want you in me.”
“I love how subtle you are,” he teases, stripping his shirt off me.
MISSION:DAY FIVE
I wake up to the sound of Daniel packing and getting dressed. He starts to put on a button-down, bu
t grins at me and stops, pulling it back off his arm and sitting on the bed. He pulls the covers down, wraps me in his shirt, and kisses my forehead.
“My shirts look better on you than they do on me. I’ll miss you,” he says gently.
“Have fun hanging out with the bikini team.”
“That was the plan.”
“And now?”
“I’m not sure,” he says softly as he kisses me. “I’ll be back for the race and the big ball. Don’t become a princess while I’m gone.”
I scoff at him.
“I don’t think you’d make a good princess, anyway,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
“I can’t imagine he’s as good in bed as I am.”
“Just because I slept with you—thinking I’d never see you again—doesn’t mean that I sleep around. I don’t go home with a different man every night.”
“But you have quite a bit of previous experience?”
“None of your business.”
“Do you want to know mine?”
“No, it’s been splashed all over the tabloids that my friend used to obsess over.”
“She obsessed over me? Maybe I should meet her.”
“She obsessed over the tabloids, Daniel.”
“Good. I’d rather have you obsess over me. You have to admit it was good.”
“The pizza was by far the best I’ve ever had.”
He pushes me against the headboard and gives me a smoking hot kiss.
“I’m not looking to get serious with anyone, Daniel. My life is—”
“Shh. Don’t ruin our night with excuses. Go back to sleep.”
“It seems you have an admirer,” Ari says, waking me up around noon with a very large bouquet of pink roses.
My heart does a little flip thinking they could be from Daniel.
I rub my eyes as Ari sets them on my desk and plucks an envelope out of the arrangement. He’s followed into the room by our housekeeper who places a large gift-wrapped box on my bed and then retreats. On top of it is a formal invitation with my name in a gorgeous gold calligraphy.
