Forever Bold

by Kathleen Brooks

  He pushed for that foothold through the bullying of neighbors, illegal actions, and moneylending that made the Mafia look like kind-hearted charities. Now that President Nikan had some countries in an economic stranglehold, he was trying to appear powerful yet benevolent. Hence, parading all the ambassadors in front of her and touting that he was hosting a princess for charity, even though it was a charity that he refused to listen to and a topic he completely ignored.

  “Can I just kill him?” Abby whispered next to her as she looked at Viktor Nikan.

  “I could do it and no one would know,” her husband, Dylan, whispered back.

  “I called dibs on killing him,” Abby whispered back.

  “I could do it from a thousand yards away.” Greer jumped into the conversation, making Ariana smile. They’d all become closer than Ari could ever imagine after spending the past month together.

  Dylan had quietly shown the victims that not all men were bad. After the first meeting, he saw that the women and children were fearful of him. Instead of stepping back, though, he sat and talked to them. Asked them what they feared from him. Helplessness was the main theme. So Dylan had asked them if they’d feel better knowing they could defend themselves. At every stop they made, Dylan, Abby, and Greer trained victims in rudimentary self-defense, and now the three of them had ideas to start their own charity to give free self-defense lessons to victims. Ariana had already talked to Sydney about offering that instruction at every Daughters of Elizabeth house around the country and soon throughout the world.

  “But if we kill him, the son will take over and he’s an unknown,” Ari pointed out. “The enemy you know and all that. What if the son is even worse? After all, he was raised by Nikan.”

  Ariana watched Deming Nikan, the thirty year old heir to the ruthless dictatorship, strut toward them. He was handsome for a villain. His dark hair, narrowed, dark-brown eyes, and severely cut tuxedo highlighted the menace she imagined he was embodied.

  “I’m so going to need a hot bath and a big drink after this to wash the cooties off of me,” Ariana said with a sigh as she watched the heir walking straight toward her. Tonight was going to be a trial in patience, especially since everything she did tonight to play nice made her feel dirty.

  He stopped in front of Ariana and reached for her hand. Greer stepped forward and cut him off. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Greer said with a fake smile that would make her Southern mama proud. “Greer Parker, personal security for Her Royal Highness.”

  The heir’s eyes moved past Greer and locked onto Ari’s. He gave her a little bow of his head. “However did you find such dedicated help?”

  “She didn’t force us to be here,” Abby said, not hiding her annoyance.

  Ari wanted to sigh as the diplomacy of the situation was quickly going downhill.

  “I’m Ariana Ali Rahman. Thank you for hosting me tonight,” Ari said in her best neutral, diplomatic voice. She didn’t offer him her hand, but she did finally acknowledge him.

  “I’m Vice President Deming Nikan. Welcome to my country.”

  “So, you’re not even hiding the fact that it’s your country and your citizens are practically enslaved?” Abby stared him down with no fear of retribution. She knew even if he tried something, her husband and her father would save her if she didn’t save herself first.

  “Excuse me?” Deming snapped, but Abby didn’t back down. Just returned his glare and Ariana really didn’t want to see if they’d throw Abby in jail, so Ari did what she was raised to do: she played princess.

  Ari slipped past Greer and laid her hand on Deming’s arm. “Would you be kind enough to introduce me to the ambassadors? There are many I don’t know here tonight.”

  “It would be my honor, Princess Ariana.”

  Ariana held back the flinch when Deming placed his hand over hers. This was part of the job she despised. However, if she wanted any hope of cooperation from Crusina to save the lives of the victims of trafficking and the myriad of human rights violations she saw on the limited visit President Nikan allowed her, she needed to play this game and play it well.

  Jameson Duke kept two paces behind the United States ambassador and his wife. The fine tailoring of his tuxedo hid his weapons as he stood watching the partygoers inside the Crusina Palace.

  He hated it here. The so-called president was a violent man whose actions went against everything democracy stood for. Anyone who dared to challenge him ended up dead by suicide, even if that suicide was a bullet to the back of the head.

  However, Jameson knew he had to work his way up the ladder. He was there until December and then he was being reassigned to New York City. He was used to traveling and long deployments. He’d gone against his parents’ wishes and joined the military instead of going to law school as they’d planned. Every Duke went to law school and then joined Duke and Duke before running for political office. It was something he heard about every time he talked to his parents. Yet Jameson had wanted to forge a different path for himself. Instead, he’d double-majored in international studies and political science before enlisting and joining Special Forces.

  After one terrifying mission in which Jameson had been wounded his mother had pulled her political strings and he’d been honorably discharged against his wishes. She’d wanted him to come work for her in Washington, but again, he had other plans. He’d joined the Diplomatic Security Services and started protecting overseas US embassies. After a year, he was moved up to personal protection and now he was being promoted at the end of the year and was coming back to the United States.

  “I can’t believe Rahmi is literally in bed with Crusina,” Ambassador Brollen whispered to his wife. Jameson looked to where the ambassador was glancing and saw a beautiful woman on the arm of Deming Nikan. She held herself like a ballet dancer with a combination of elegance and strength. Behind her, three bodyguards trailed with scowls on their faces.

  “You think she’s sleeping with him?” Mrs. Brollen asked.

  “Who knows? Crusina is screwing everyone so I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t literally screwing the princess as part of whatever deal they’re trying to put together. After all, she is the party princess.”

  Jameson kept his eyes on the princess as she made her way around the room. She was a little younger than he was, but no more than five years or so. She smiled politely, but it was the fake kind he’d seen at every state dinner he’d ever attended.

  Deming’s hand moved to the small of the young woman’s back as they talked to the French ambassador. Jameson watched as the hand moved slowly lower. It was clear that if he wasn’t screwing her, he wanted to. Not that Jameson could blame the asshole. The princess was breathtaking. But right when Jameson was sure Deming was going to slide his hand over her ass, the princess stepped away.

  The dark-haired woman with shockingly bright blue eyes stepped forward and whispered in Deming’s ear. When he turned to follow the princess around the room, Jameson saw his face had gone slightly pale. He’d love to know what the bodyguard had said to him.

  “Here they come. Smile. She’s half American, too, and her parents are friends with President Stratton so we have to put on a good show to help our career,” Ambassador Brollen whispered to his wife.

  Jameson stood a little straighter as they approached. He eyed the bodyguards, and while the dark-haired woman spoke in Rahmi to the princess, the other two didn’t seem to know what was being said.

  “Ambassador,” the princess said, stopping to talk to the Rahmi ambassador standing nearby. She kissed his cheek and then the female bodyguard with bright blue eyes gave the man a hug. The princess then turned to Deming and smiled politely. “Thank you for all the introductions, but I’d like to have a moment with my friend.”

  “Of course, Princess. I’ll save the opening dance for you.” Deming didn’t ask but told her before bowing and walking away.

  “How are your parents, Ari?” the Rahmi ambassador asked.

  “T
hey’re great, thank you. You know Abby, but this is her husband, Dylan Davies, and our friend Greer Parker.” Jameson watched in surprise as the princess introduced her help. Most of the time personal protection agents were invisible.

  “Is she ever going to come over? I want to get another drink, but I have to pay our respects first,” Mrs. Brollen muttered. Jameson watched as the princess talked happily about her friends and hometown in Kentucky before making sure the Rahmi ambassador would speak to the UN representative about her upcoming referendum.

  Jameson wondered what that would be. More parties? How to find better help? No taxing luxury goods? He tried to tell himself he was being petty, but being raised by his mother and her social circle and then meeting these foreign leaders and dignitaries had already jaded him. Mrs. Brollen was a prime example. She constantly yelled at the help, spent massive amounts of money on lunches at the embassy, and probably spent tax dollars on the diamonds she was wearing tonight.

  “Here she comes,” Ambassador Brollen said as he pasted on a fake smile.

  “You must be the American ambassador. I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Ariana Ali Rahman and these are my friends, Abby and Dylan Davies and Greer Parker.”

  “Lovely to meet you,” the ambassador shook the princess’s hand but ignored the bodyguards, including not introducing Jameson. The princess and her friends looked as if they were waiting to be introduced after meeting Mrs. Brollen, but no introduction was forthcoming.

  “Dylan Davies,” the tall man who had military practically stamped on him said as he stepped to the side of the princess and held out his hand to Jameson. American. Interesting. Mrs. Brollen looked horrified and that alone made Jameson like the man. “I was with Delta Force.”

  Jameson wasn’t surprised. The man looked as if he were still active with them. “Jameson Duke. I was with Special Forces.”

  “Nice. We have friends who were Special Forces,” the woman with blue eyes who had been introduced as Abby said, moving to come talk to him. The other woman with honey-brown hair similarly moved to stand next to him as well. The princess smiled at him over the Brollens’ heads, but shifted her attention back to the ambassador and his wife.

  “Abby Davies. I’m this guy’s wife.”

  “Delta Force?” Jameson joked.

  Abby snickered. “Delta Force is for wimps. I was CIA SOG.”

  The smile fell from Jameson’s face. “Damn. You’re the woman who passed the SOG training? There’re crazy stories about you out there.”

  Abby’s smile was full of mischief and he wished he could take them out for a beer and hear their stories.

  Dylan shook his head. “Don’t encourage her.”

  “Are you SOG, too?” Jameson asked the woman the princess had introduced as Greer.

  She laughed and shook her head. “Gosh no. I’m FBI Hostage Rescue. Greer Parker. It’s nice to talk to an American after so long. I feel as if I’m finally with family again. My uncles were Special Forces.”

  “Jameson Duke,” he said, shaking her hand. “I didn’t know there were women in Hostage Rescue.”

  “There is now,” Greer said with a sweet smile on her face.

  “Wow. I’m impressed. How did you get stuck on princess duty then?” Jameson asked and saw their smiles immediately fall into frowns.

  “We grew up with Ari. She’s our best friend and we took a leave from work to protect her on this important trip.” Greer didn’t look sweet anymore. She looked like a warrior.

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you more but the dancing is about to start and I have to meet three more ambassadors before Deming claims the opening dance. Hi, I’m Ariana Ali Rahman.”

  “Jameson Duke, ma’am,” Jameson said, bowing as was protocol.

  “Stay safe,” Dylan said, smacking Jameson’s shoulder before they walked away.

  “Can you believe how tacky she is?” Ambassador Brollen’s wife hissed as soon as the group walked away.

  “The help is supposed to be invisible. You don’t go around introducing them. And can you believe that spoiled brat of a girl was lecturing me on helping to stop human trafficking? As if I’m going to put my neck out for her little cause with President Nikan.”

  Jameson had to give the party princess props. Human trafficking wasn’t what he thought she was helping with. The music started and Deming brought the princess out onto the dance floor. Jameson watched as she glided across the floor. He followed his charges around the room as they ate, drank, and networked, but his eyes kept going back to Princess Ariana. She didn’t seem to be the party princess the press liked to post about.

  An hour later he was standing by the restroom door waiting for the ambassador when Ariana and her bodyguards stormed by. “I can’t stand another moment. Let’s go. I need a drink,” he heard Ariana tell her guards as they walked out the back entrance to the palace. And there was the party princess. Guess his previous impression had been right all along.

  3

  Keeneston, November . . .

  * * *

  Ariana collapsed back against the chair in the dining room. Thanksgiving dinner had been so good she’d eaten three platefuls and would have to roll herself upstairs to her room. The entire Ali Rahman and Mueez families sat around the table laughing and talking. Abby and Dylan had already been to the Davies dinner, and Ari’s parents had hosted a later dinner so they could attend both. Ari had been starving by the time the spread had been laid out. At one point, she thought she and her sister-in-law Sloane would get in a fork fight over the sweet potato casserole.

  Watching her eldest brother, Zain, and his wife, Mila, and daughter, Zaria, across the table from her was sweet. Her brother was wrapped around his daughter’s little finger and cooed at her for every bite she took.

  “Ma,” her brother Gabe said, interrupting Ari’s food coma. “We forgot to say what we are all thankful for.”

  “Oh dear. I was so hungry I forgot,” their mother laughed.

  “Sorry about that, but we really appreciate you holding dinner for us,” Abby told Ari’s mother. Abby actually let her emotions show for once and it was clear she felt bad about it.

  “Nonsense, we’re all family. And as our families grow, so will our table. That leads me into what I’m thankful for. I’m so very thankful for my family,” Dani said as she smiled at their family and the Mueez family. “Mo?”

  Ari watched her father stand up and hold up his glass. “I’m thankful I get to work with my friends and family every day.” Her father worked with Zain, Gabe, and sometimes her on the diplomatic front, but worked with Ahmed, whom her father thought of as a brother, everyday on the horse farm.

  Ahmed stood up next. “I’m thankful I haven’t had to murder my son-in-law. Yet.”

  “Dad,” Abby groaned and everyone else laughed. She stood up next. “I’m thankful for the time I was able to spend with Ari, Dylan, and Greer traveling the world. It meant a lot to us that you brought us along. I’m happy to report our free self-defense classes are continuing to grow at all the Daughters of Elizabeth locations.”

  Everyone clapped and Abby’s mom, Bridget, stood up. “I’m thankful for my wonderful family, a great son-in-law, and all the friendship our families share. Plus, I’m thankful Ahmed finally got Nemi her own cot to sleep on next to his side of the bed so he’s no longer stealing my pillow after giving his to the dog.”

  Kale stood up next and looked right at Ari and smiled. “I’m thankful that we’re friends again. And while we’ve stopped some of the juvenile pranks, I’m thankful we’ve upgraded to mature ones.”

  Ari smiled at him and shook her head. She was still waiting for payback for sticking him with Nikki.

  Dylan was next and turned in his chair and looked so lovingly at Abby, it almost made Ari jealous. She wished she had that, but she was happy her friend did. “I’m thankful for my wife and my family, even Ahmed. Who thinks he could kill me and because he’s a senior citizen, I’ll let
him continue to believe that.”

  A knife tore through the air and embedded itself in the chair right between Dylan’s legs. At least that’s where Ari guessed it landed since Dylan didn’t scream in pain. Instead, he smirked and in a flash, he sent his own knife slicing through the air and landing next to where Ahmed had his hand on the table.

  “Amateur. Which would you rather lose? Your hand or your balls?” Ahmed sent his son-in-law a wink.. No one else batted an eye. Knife tossing must be common practice for those two.

  “Ahmed and Dylan will fix your chair and table tomorrow,” Bridget promised. “Next?”

  Zain and Mila stood up and each placed a hand on Zaria. “We’re thankful for our daughter every single day,” Mila said. It had taken them a lot of time and stress to be blessed with Zaria, but the happiness and love between them made it worth it.

  “I’m thankful for my wife who is the best mother my daughter could have.” Zain leaned over and kissed Mila before sitting down.

  “Ari, you go next,” Gabe said casually as he watched her stand up.

  “Well,” Ari said, taking a deep breath. “I’m thankful for finding my passion. I’m thankful for my friends’ support and thankful for my family helping me find my own way but knowing you always had my back if I stumbled.”

  Ari toasted her friends and family and took a deep breath as she sat down. The party princess was long gone and she’d never felt surer of herself in her life and for that she was extremely thankful.

  The last guests at the table stood. Her brother Gabe slipped his arm around his wife’s waist. “You first, sweetheart.”

  Sloane nodded and turned to the table. “I’m thankful for making a difference as the counselor at Keeneston High School. I love my job and am thankful for it everyday. I’m also thankful to be a part of this wonderful family.”