[Spy Girl 01.0 - 02.0] Spy Girl Duet

by Jillian Dodd

  “He won’t. He said the Ball is bigger than one man.”

  “You need to get him to change his mind.”

  When I stop at the light, he gets out of the car and slips into the night.

  The Prince and I have a lovely dinner, then he challenges me to a game of chess, so we sit across from each other at a table in his private study and start the match.

  After a few moves, I take one of his pawns.

  “Merda,” he says, taking off his shirt and throwing it over to the couch.

  “You have a scrumptious chest, so I’m not complaining, but why did you just take your shirt off? Are you hot?”

  “Did I forget to mention that we’re playing strip chess?”

  “I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

  “Well, if there wasn’t, there is now.” He uses his rook to take my knight and then raises an eyebrow and smirks at me. All I have on is a dress and a pair of heels. I will be stripped in no time.

  “Do you want to sleep with me?” I ask him, rather than removing my dress.

  “I very much do.”

  “And do you envision this as how our first time happens? Stripping because of a chess game?” I bite my lower lip. I’m really nervous that he’s going to tell me to leave. That he’s sick of waiting—something he’s not used to.

  “I’m not sure,” he says tentatively.

  “Lorenzo, there’s nothing I’d like more than to shove all these chess pieces off the board and have you do me right here on the table, but—” I run my hand through my hair. I’m struggling with this in a way that has nothing to do with my mission. My feelings for him have crossed the line, so I go with it and tell him the truth. “It’s odd, really. I’m not at all against casual sex. I like it very much, and it’s something I enjoy participating in. It’s almost a sport in my mind. A game. But you—I don’t want you to be a game.” I look down. “If you want me to leave now, I understand.”

  He grasps my hand. “I don’t want you to leave, Huntley.”

  I look up into his eyes—eyes filled with love and caring that words have yet to confess—and know I’ll never be the kind of ruthless spy I’m supposed to be.

  MISSION:DAY EIGHT

  Our villa is crowded with people we met this week, and everyone is excited for the race today. Allie is in her element, acting as a hostess, which I appreciate. She’s really a sweet girl, and I can’t help but wish that we could stay friends.

  She and Peter join the Prince and me at a table, and Peter tells us about the work he’s going to be doing for his father.

  “One of the things our company does is go into war-torn areas and help the government rebuild. In the desert where sand, sun, and wind are plentiful, building concrete homes and harnessing sun and wind power is not only green, but cheap and efficient.”

  “So, how are you going to help with that?” I ask.

  “They built a few test towns years ago. We’re going back in to study their effectiveness.”

  “That sounds interesting,” Allie says, even though she looks bored.

  “It is,” he agrees and continues talking. I mimic Allie’s look of boredom, but I’m not at all. I hadn’t realized that his father was involved in something like this. “We could build pod cities like these all over the world. Turning it into a global environmental initiative.”

  “It sounds like the Terra Project that Clarice was talking about the other night,” I mention casually.

  He rolls his eyes. “Obviously, that’s where Clarice and I would disagree. This is a commercial project for us. We don’t agree with the whole bartering deal. We’re in this to make money. To sell our cities to the governments of the world.”

  “I like the idea of my country leaving a smaller environmental footprint, but I can’t imagine my capital city any way other than how it is now,” Lorenzo states, causing me to shake my head in agreement.

  “Cap is beautiful,” I add.

  “Honestly,” Peter says, “the whole thing seems stupid to me, too. We already have amazing cities in the world. It’s not like anyone is going to tear them down and rebuild. But my dad said I have to go if I want a cushy job, so it is what it is. I heard they don’t allow alcohol in the country he’s sending me to, so I’m not planning to stay long. If you ask me, that’s why they are so jumpy over there.”

  “Because some religions don’t believe in the consumption of alcohol?” I ask incredulously. Peter is a stupid, pompous ass who hasn’t got a clue about the real world. Although, I doubt he would care to know.

  “Lizzie, I didn’t know you would be here today,” the Prince says, suddenly looking up and looking nervous. I’m wondering if she’s some stalker girl he’s been sleeping with when he turns to me. “Huntley, I’d like to introduce you to Lady Elizabeth Palomar. She and I are old friends.”

  “I’ve known him since we were mere babes,” Elizabeth says, shaking my hand. “I heard he was here. I hope it’s okay that I came to your party.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” I say sincerely, but I’m wondering why she is here and if she’s a threat. “I’m glad you could join us.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Did you come back in town just for the race?” the Prince asks her.

  “Of course. If I missed the Queen’s Ball, my mother would probably disown me.”

  “Where are you living?” Allie asks.

  “She’s studying art in Paris,” the Prince answers for her.

  Lizzy smiles at him in a way that makes me wonder about their past. There’s an undercurrent of flirtation going on, and I’m not sure I like it, or her.

  The harbor, the grandstands, the hills, and the streets are full of people cheering for the race.

  We’re on the Prince’s boat, and that alone is a logistical nightmare for his security. There are men on wave runners guarding the yacht’s perimeter. There are men controlling access to the boat from the docks, and while they are not allowing anyone on the boat who wasn’t invited, there are boatloads of partiers anchored on both sides of us. Race-goers are screened for weapons before they enter the area, and the local police and National Guard are out in full force.

  Like the Queen’s Garden Party, I worry about threats from the air. There are two blimps and numerous helicopters circling the track. The hill to the castle is straight across from us. Most of it is open with people sitting on blankets having picnics, but there is an area at the top full of trees. I wonder if that area is being patrolled. It’s where I’d go if I was trying to take out the Prince.

  Lady Elizabeth and Allie have become fast friends. They walk to the railing where I’m standing and hand me a flute of champagne.

  “You looked stressed,” Allie says.

  “I’m fine. It’s just there are so many people here, and I’m worried about Lorenzo’s safety. There was talk of calling off the Queen’s Ball.”

  “Speaking of the Ball,” Allie gushes. “What are your dresses like? Mine is a pale yellow Dior.”

  “That will look wonderful on you,” Elizabeth says. “Mine is a floral, off the shoulder Pierre Galante. He’s a local designer. What about you, Huntley?”

  “Uh, my dress is red.”

  “Bold choice,” Elizabeth says. “Usually red is the color the Queen, herself, wears.”

  My eyes widen. “Does that mean no one else is supposed to wear that color? Lorenzo bought the dress. It was the one that ended the fashion show, remember that one, Allie?”

  Allie claps her hands. “Of course, I remember! It was to die for!”

  “But if he knows that’s the color his mother always wears, why would he do that?”

  “Maybe it’s intentional,” Elizabeth says. “I keep reading about the two of you. You’ve had a whirlwind romance from the sounds of it.”

  “It’s really kind of crazy that people could speculate the future of our relationship when we’ve known each other for a short time.”

  “He isn’t called the Playboy Prince for nothing, Hunt
ley,” Elizabeth says, resting her hand gently on my forearm. “During Race Week, his behavior is usually particularly scandalous. This year, it is not. Because of you. I’m glad he’s finally found someone who’s intelligent and sweet.” She lowers her voice. “And not a money grubbing hoebag.”

  I quickly change my mind about liking Elizabeth.

  I’m dressed and ready for the ball in a red gown that literally makes me feel like a princess. My hair is done in a pretty updo that sweeps back into a sleek, twisted knot with some complicated braiding holding back my bangs.

  “Are you ready?” I call out, before I open the French doors to the Prince’s study. I’ve been getting ready for hours. He probably showered, shaved, and dressed in fifteen minutes.

  “I am,” he replies, as I fling them open.

  He stands up from behind his desk, looking more handsome than ever with his hair slicked back and wearing the navy dress uniform of the Montrovian maritime forces. It has elaborate heavy gold braiding, thick red trim, and numerous royal and military medallions. When I’m hanging out with him, it’s sort of easy to forget that he’s a prince, but there’s no mistaking it tonight.

  “You look stunning,” he says, crossing the space between us and holding out his hand. I place my hand in his, and he spins me around in a dance move, then dips and kisses me.

  “You look amazing, too. I’ve never seen you all decked out like this. You actually look like a real prince.”

  This gets a chuckle out of him. “I have a surprise for you,” he says, leading me back to his desk and pointing to a box.

  I open it to find a pair of heels nestled in tissue. “They look like glass slippers!”

  “They are Swarovski crystals cut to look like diamonds set on a base more comfortable for dancing in than glass.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like this. And I have done a fair amount of shopping in this city.”

  “They were made just for you.”

  I kiss him.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.” I slip off the gorgeous, glitter-covered designer heels I had on, that now pale in comparison.

  When I sit down to put them on, he says, “Let me,” and slides them on my feet.

  I stand up and spin. “I think now I’m really ready!”

  “Not quite yet,” he says, leading me through the palace to a vault where a guard opens it and joins us inside. “Pick something to wear tonight.”

  Around me is so much sparkle I can barely think straight. Diamonds may be my kryptonite.

  “Oh, I couldn’t.”

  “Then I will choose for you.” He studies my dress, runs a finger across my cleavage, and kisses my neck. It’s hard not to fall completely under his spell.

  “This one,” he says, selecting an elegant diamond and ruby teardrop choker with matching bracelet and placing them on me. “Now, you are fit to be my date,” he teases.

  I run my hands under his jacket. “I think tonight, after the ball, I’d like to, uh, play chess again.”

  He smiles, knowing I’m not really referring to the game, but rather consummating our relationship.

  “I am up for that challenge,” he says, taking my hand in his and kissing it. “Let’s go make our grand entrance.”

  The ball is a whirlwind of introductions and dancing. The Prince is a good dancer who leads me around the dance floor in a way that makes me feel incredibly light on my feet—or, maybe it’s the shoes.

  I also never knew the waltz could be so utterly romantic.

  Partway through the evening, I excuse myself to freshen up and find Daniel waiting for me when I come out of the ladies room.

  “You need to dance with me,” he demands.

  “I can’t. I’m the Prince’s date. People will talk.”

  “It’s not like you’re married,” he argues.

  “No, but people act like we should be. Which is crazy. I just met him this week.”

  “You met me eight days ago. And you’re wearing red again. It’s driving me nuts. Have you slept with him?”

  “My answer to that question is the same as it’s been the other times you have asked. It’s none of your business.”

  “You went to his place late last night.”

  “And when I came back home, you were passed out on the couch. I haven’t had sex with him. Yet.”

  “Thus the jewels,” Daniel says, rolling his eyes. “He’s working hard to get you into bed.”

  “Or maybe I’m just lucky.”

  He holds my gaze for a beat. “Actually, Huntley, you haven’t gotten lucky yet tonight.” He pushes me back into the bathroom and locks the door behind us.

  “I thought you and the Prince were friends?”

  “We’re not that good of friends. Besides, the life of a princess would bore you.”

  “Every girl dreams of becoming a princess. Why wouldn’t I like it?”

  “Because I’m not the Prince.”

  I laugh.

  And that’s when he kisses me. It’s possessive, passionate, and full of heat.

  Body language and nonverbal clues are important in espionage. The body often can’t lie the way the tongue can. But even though Daniel is kissing me hotly, his body language is tentative. His hands are motionless at his sides. He isn’t sure how I will react, so he isn’t all in. No one likes to be rejected, especially someone with an ego like his.

  I slip my fingers into his dark hair and let my body do the talking, even though I know I shouldn’t.

  Which is what he was waiting for. He pushes me against the wall, delving his tongue deeply into my mouth while he’s shoving up the layers of my gown.

  My body is on fire with desire, and Daniel is ready to fulfill my need. His need. Our need.

  But then a vision of the Prince getting killed while I’m in the bathroom with the Vice President’s son flashes in my head.

  I reluctantly rip my lips away. “Daniel, wait. I can’t.”

  He doesn’t say a word, just angrily walks out the door—leaving me breathless and unfulfilled.

  I take a few moments to compose myself. Fix my lipstick. Check my hair. Anything not to think about why I stopped him. Because the answer scares me.

  When I meet the Prince at our dinner table, he says, “I saw Daniel follow you toward the ladies’ room. When he came back a few minutes ago, he seemed upset. Did you two have a row?”

  “No, it’s just that he wants, um—”

  “You? Again?” the Prince asks, bluntly.

  “Possibly. I’m sorry.” I let out a big sigh.

  The Prince takes my hand in his and kisses it. “No need to be sorry, my dear. You have the ability to put a man under your spell.”

  “Except that I gave you my love potion.”

  His face beams—apparently that was the answer he needed to hear—as he takes me into his arms and leads me out to the dance floor.

  I can’t help but get a little swept away by the grandeur of it all. The ornate ballroom. The live orchestra. The waltzing. The gowns. The jewels. When I was waiting in the Prince’s residence the other day, I saw a tabloid that mentioned my parents were killed when I was young. The headline said that the orphan was dating the Prince, like we are part of some fairytale.

  I don’t care much about what the papers say—I consider it mindless babble—but that headline struck me.

  I never thought of myself as an orphan. My parents died, and I went to live at Blackwood.

  The other night when Daniel slept in my bed, I confessed that the label bothered me.

  He hugged me. Held me. Kissed the top of my head. And even though I knew I should have kicked his muscular body out of my bed, I couldn’t.

  I know he’s mad at me now. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to lose control like that for even a second. I am on a mission.

  I am on a mission.

  And I have to succeed.

  The ball is over, the guests have left, and I’m extremely relieved we managed to get through it without another assass
ination attempt. The Prince has invited a few of us to stay, the guys planning to smoke cigars on this clear, starry night. The breeze is chilly, so a steward lights a fire in a built-in pit, then takes our drink order.

  We all huddle around the fire for warmth, the boys passing around a lighter to start their cigars.

  Allie asks me to run to the restroom with her. She’s quite tipsy and would probably get lost, so I agree to take her.

  The Prince gives me a sweet kiss, and mutters something about missing me while I’m gone. Daniel watches the Prince’s show of affection with a scowl. Ari and Peter are too busy trying to light their cigars to notice we’re leaving.

  I help Allie into the castle and down the hall. It’s taking a while because she’s drunker than I thought and keeps running into the wall. She giggles and says something about it jumping out in front of her.

  I finally grab her elbow and lead her.

  We’re a few steps from the entrance to the bathroom when she pukes all over her ball gown and the polished marble floor. Then she lays down in it and starts crying.

  I haven’t drunk more than a glass of champagne all night, but the smell makes me sick. I summon a guard, who summons a steward, who summons a janitor.

  I hear cheers from the guys outside, their cigars probably finally lit. I wish I was out there enjoying myself.

  I move Allie into the bathroom, leaning her against the wall near the toilet, where she gets sick again.

  I pat her arm. “I’m going to get Peter so he can take you home. You stay right here.”

  “Peter doesn’t love me like he should. I want you to bring Ari,” she says with a sob.

  Honestly, I doubt she wants either boy to see her like this, but I just nod in agreement.

  I go back down the hall, noticing the sound of my heels clicking on the marble.

  The guys must have quieted down.

  Which is odd.

  I step outside and have to blink to believe what I’m seeing. The boys aren’t smoking cigars.