by Jillian Dodd
“Wedding vows?” everyone in the room asks.
“On the eve of the engagement announcement, I didn’t just propose to Huntley,” Lorenzo explains. “We were married at sea, with no witnesses. It wasn’t legal but …”
“It meant everything,” Lizzie says, understanding.
Lorenzo nods. “We woke up to my mother’s announcement, and Huntley felt rightfully betrayed.” He turns to me. “I didn’t know that the vaccines would kill, but I do know that I am a doomed man. That I have the same issues as my father. That I will die in a few days. So, I have crafted a plan that I hope you will all agree to.”
“What kind of plan?” I ask him.
“I will announce my impending demise and make Admiral Lamonte king consort until my child”—he points at Lizzie’s still-flat belly—“is old enough to become king, which will be at the age of five. Lorenzo the Magnificent oft married his heirs to royalty from other countries, so this seems a fitting way to end my story. That is, if you and Daniel will allow it,” Lorenzo says to Lizzie. “You will marry Daniel and live in the palace, and your child will be loved not only by you, but also by all of Montrovia. And it will be your bloodline that will continue the monarchy of our beloved country.”
Daniel gets tears in his eyes, and Lizzie completely breaks down.
“Of course we will,” Lizzie cries while Daniel numbly nods his head in agreement.
“There are a few flaws in your plan,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Did you miss the part about how anyone who attended the opening ceremonies—including pregnant Lizzie, Daniel, and their baby—will be dead in a matter of days? The vaccine was never going to save you; it just would have only killed you all faster.”
“So, there’s no hope for us or our baby?” Daniel asks.
He and Lizzie share a heartbreaking glance.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” Lorenzo says to me, looking equally stricken.
He’s been so incredibly strong throughout all of this, and I have to admit, his idea for Lizzie and Daniel’s child to be raised as a royal is quite creative. I’m also very proud of the fact that not once has Lorenzo seemed to second-guess his choices or shrink from his duties, but he’s starting to ramble a bit.
Rather than trying to explain further, I take the needle in my hand, jab it into his arm, and press the plunger.
“Ouch! What did you just give me?” Lorenzo yells.
“What I’ve been trying to tell you is that you aren’t fighting a virus. That’s why there isn’t a cure. You were poisoned at the opening ceremonies and then again when you took the vaccine. Honestly, you’re lucky to still be alive after a getting a double dose. But, luckily for you and everyone else affected, there is an antidote. Which I managed to find and bring back here,” I say matter-of-factly. I narrow my eyes at him. “If you thought I was going to let you die after everything we’ve been through, you’re wrong. Do what you want with your country now, Lorenzo, but if I were you, I’d call off the giving of the vaccines, or there won’t be much left of it. My mission is now complete.”
I open a small case with a few of the antidotes and proceed to give shots to everyone else in the room.
“I did it,” I say quietly to the ceiling after giving Daniel his shot, hoping his mother somehow knows that I saved her son’s life.
T-MINUS:00:01:13
I glance at my watch as Mike Burnes and the crew I left in the hall rush into the room.
“We have just one minute left before the military commences the vaccines,” Mike says to Lorenzo. “You’ve got to issue the order to stop it. I’ll explain later.”
“Huntley already did,” he says, picking up the walkie-talkie and giving new orders.
I walk out of the room, then out of the hospital, and away from the chaos.
The sun is parting the clouds. Its beams brightly shine down, illuminating the capital city of Montrovia and the ocean beyond.
I still don’t know how my story will end, but I do know that the world as we know it won’t.
And that’s good enough for me.
As I’m walking toward the villa overlooking the Mediterranean in the glitzy Cap de Playa Antilles—better known as Cap—I think about Montrovia’s capital city. I remember what I read about it before my first mission. How it’s a playground for the ultra-rich, boasting a harbor large enough to handle the priciest of yachts, an elegant casino complex, luxurious hotels, world-class restaurants, exclusive designer shops, an ornate opera house, and streets littered with exotic cars. How the town is a magnet for glittering events, home to an elite polo team, tennis championships, and a Formula One race.
And how, for me, it’s become home.
I see reporters wandering about, obviously waiting to report on the first vaccines being given. I see recognition in some of their eyes and their heads turning, whispering to their photographers to get a picture of me.
I think about how my attire has been chronicled on the society pages and in the tabloids since I got here. I wonder briefly what they’ll think of me now.
Although who knows? Maybe I could set a new trend.
Huntley Von Allister was recently seen walking down Queen’s Boulevard in a look we can assume is taken from the military in our great country, sporting vintage fatigues with a couture blouse and military-style boots. Designers are racing to get camo back in stores.
I’m lost in ridiculous thoughts—possibly the result of a mild concussion and being shot with a tranquilizer—when a familiar Jaguar pulls up to the curb, a door pops open, and a voice I recognize says, “Get in.”
Once I’m inside, he says, “You did good, Huntley. Your mother would have been proud.”
“Thank you,” I reply as I pull a syringe out of my pocket and give myself the antidote.
“Where do you want to go?” Intrepid asks me.
“To my bed,” I tell him.
T-MINUS:00:00:08
Sophie Andersen stands behind a podium on an aircraft carrier in the Montrovian Strait and looks into the camera, knowing millions of people are going to be watching.
She’s never been the kind of girl who spends her time taking selfies or worries about if her cheeks are properly highlighted. She’s the kind of girl who usually has her nose stuck in a book, the need for learning driving her choices in life.
She’s also never been a fan of public speaking, mostly because she always likes being right, and she’s afraid someone will ask her something she can’t answer.
But, today, she feels strong.
Because, today, she knows all the answers.
And she’s going to honor her father.
She speaks with passion and conviction as she tells the world the truth. And her words are backed up by the scientific proof in the presentation left in the trunk by her father.
She explains how her father discovered the poisonous virus when trying to find a cure for autoimmune disorders. She tells the story of how her father was murdered. She explains that countries around the world must not give the vaccines to their people and lays out the evil plan to substantially decrease the population.
“It all boils down to this,” she says. “If you attended the opening ceremonies at the Olympics, you were poisoned and need the antidote to survive. If you are sick and have the rash but weren’t at the ceremonies, you won’t die. I promise. Your symptoms will lessen within a week.”
The press conference is then turned over to the acting president of the United States, who won congressional approval to take over for Ryan Spear.
He applauds Sophie’s heroic efforts to bring this out into the open and orders the military to pack up the vaccines and destroy them.
Sophie steps away from the podium and is met by a handsome young man in a finely cut suit.
“Your Highness,” she says to Prince Kresten of Denmark, “how did you get here?”
“As soon as Huntley called for help, I had to come.”
“What I meant was how did you get here so fast?”
�
�Oh,” he smiles. “I hitched a ride in a fighter jet. With a top speed of around fifteen hundred miles per hour, we were able to get here in about an hour.”
“Going that fast would make me sick,” she confesses.
“Made me sick, too,” he confides. “But I wanted to meet you and personally thank you for helping to save our world.”
She scoffs, “I didn’t really do anything. Huntley is the hero, not me.”
“Well, regardless, you played a big role in all this, and you should be proud.” He gives her a devilish grin. “And I thought you might like to come back home. To Denmark, where you belong.”
She smiles at him. “That I would love.”
“Good,” he says, tucking his arm around her. “Because I plan to throw a party at the palace in your honor.”
MISSION:COMPLETE
Intrepid and I go inside the villa. “I feel like bed isn’t a good idea,” he says, rubbing his hand across the scruff that has grown on his face during this intense time.
“When’s the last time you slept?” I ask.
“I don’t remember, but we need to celebrate or something. Not go to bed. We need to throw a party. After all, Huntley, how often do you get to save the world?”
“How many times have you saved it?” I ask, making my way to the stairs.
“A couple of times, I guess,” he says with a grin. “Okay, I get it. You’re exhausted.”
“And hungry. I’m going to have a grilled cheese sandwich brought to my room, and I’m going to eat it while I take a long, hot bath. Then, I’m sleeping for two days straight.”
I’ve finished my sandwich, and I am soaking in the bathtub, having myself a little pity party and reliving every special moment I shared with Lorenzo, when the door flies open.
“Everyone is here,” Daniel says, and then his eyes get big. “What the heck? You’re blue. And naked.”
“I’m not blue,” I say, covering my lady bits. “The water is.”
“Still,” he says, “I wouldn’t want to risk it. It reminds me of the rainbow ice cream I used to eat when I was a little kid that turned my poop blue.”
I nod my head toward the door, indicating that he needs to leave.
Instead, he hands me a towel. “You need to come downstairs. We’re having a party. You’re the honoree.”
“I’m not in the mood for a party, Daniel. I need sleep. But, before I do, I want to tell you something. Turn around, so I can get out.”
Surprisingly, he complies.
I dry off, and then he takes a fluffy white robe off the hook and holds it out toward me. I wrap myself in the robe, tell him he can turn back around, and then I sit on the edge of the tub.
“You saved us,” Daniel says softly, sitting down next to me. “Did you really drop from a helicopter onto the roof of the hospital?”
I let out a chuckle. “I slid down a rope.”
“From a military helicopter. There’s a lot you haven’t told me about your life. You’re CIA, right?”
I shake my head. “No, but my mother was. What started in Montrovia this week was supposed to have started six years ago. She had discovered the plot and was killed because of what she knew.”
“So, are you really Huntley Von Allister, or is that just your cover?”
“I thought it was just my cover in the beginning, but it turns out, Ares is actually my biological father. He and my mother were close friends. I was sent to a special school to continue the training given to me by her. I tried really hard not to lie to you, Daniel. I liked you right away. And sleeping with you that first night was definitely not part of my mission. In fact, I was afraid it would mess everything up.”
“What was your mission?”
“To protect Lorenzo.”
“Did you think it was dumb when I said I was going to protect you?” he asks seriously.
“No, it was sweet, Daniel. Do you think of me differently now?”
“Yeah,” he says, swatting my knee. “I think you’re a badass.”
I lower my head. “I had a little breakdown in Omaha and told your mother everything. Before she died, remember how she took my hand?”
Daniel’s eyes get misty as he nods.
“She passed me a note.”
“What did it say?”
I get up, walk into my room, and take the note out of my bag. Then, I go back into the bathroom and hand it to Daniel.
“Please save my son,” he says, reading it aloud. He stares at me, his eyes filling with tears. “When you left the country, I was mad at you.”
“I know, but I told you I was doing what your mother asked me to do.”
He pulls me into a tight hug. When I suck in a deep breath because my ribs on the left side of my body are quite sore, he quickly pulls his hands back, looking me over.
“You were in a fight?” he asks.
“I was in a few actually. I’m a little banged up.”
“And you did it for my mom?”
“I did it for both our moms. I did it for Montrovia.”
“And for Lorenzo,” he says. “He loves you very much, Huntley. He was just trying to do what was best for his country. All his advisors, all the proof—”
“I know.”
Daniel stands up, goes into my closet, and pulls out a dress. “Put this on. Your friends and family are downstairs, celebrating. And you, Huntley, are the guest of honor.”
The dress he has chosen is cute, but when I go into the closet to put it on, I don’t like the way it looks.
I don’t like the way I look.
And I should be feeling incredible.
I completed my mission. I saved the world.
And maybe it’s an after effect of being pumped up on adrenaline for such a long period of time, but I don’t feel like celebrating. All I feel like doing is crying.
I had my future all planned out when I left Blackwood Academy, excited to be on the first of what I hoped would be many missions. Now, I’m not really sure where I fit in.
Or maybe it’s that I don’t know what I’m going to do without Lorenzo in my life.
Because he should be here.
Not Daniel.
And I feel like my dream has officially died.
My closet is organized in color order by occasion. I’m drawn to the black day dress section, but the first two dresses I see are a gelato-patterned Dolce & Gabbana and a tea-length Marchesa that I’ve worn before.
Lorenzo pulled me as close as my hat would allow and said, “You know, every man at the Royal Ascot is going to be thinking the same thing I did when I first saw you in that dress.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious and wondering if my dress was appropriate for the occasion.
“That they would like to attempt to lick all that gelato straight off you,” he said with a sexy smirk.
I shake my head, getting the memories out. I grab both dresses and shove them to the back of the closet, hoping to never see them again. Or hear the memory of his voice saying, “You look delectable.”
Fortunately, I’m distracted by a sleeveless black crocodile-print leather Gucci shift with a tag mentioning that it’s straight off the runway. There are large GG gold metal buttons on the shoulders. And, with no waistline, I don’t have to worry about it hurting my ribs.
I carefully slip it on and then add a chunky black leather platform loafer with a square heel. I refuse to wear anything uncomfortable tonight. I look at myself in the full-length mirror, knowing I should probably at least put some powder on my face, but my heart’s just not in it.
“All right,” I say to Daniel. “This is as good as it gets.”
“You’re not touching up your makeup?” he asks, gently running his hand across my cheek. “Actually, I don’t think you should put any on. You don’t want those little cuts to get infected. How did you get all those little cuts?”
“I was thrown into a glass mirror.”
“Ouch,” he says. “Have I told you lately how a
mazing you are?”
“Daniel, I’m going to the party. You can stop sucking up.”
“I was actually serious about that,” he says sweetly. “When this all gets out, you’re going to be even more famous than me. I wonder if you get a gold medal when you save the world or, like, endorsements or something.”
“I really don’t want anyone to know, Daniel. Like, I really don’t.”
“Well, everyone downstairs knows. Your dad is crazy proud of you.”
“Let’s go get this over with,” I say, leading him out of the bedroom and down the hall.
As we go down the stairs, the group in the home’s main salon starts clapping for me.
Daniel lied.
This is not a big party.
It’s a simple gathering of friends and family—Ryan Spear, Mike Burnes, Blake, Ares, my grandfather, Ari and Allie, the Bessemers, Josh, Intrepid, The Bartender, Olivia and Terrance, and Belinda Smith.
Notably absent are Lizzie and Lorenzo.
“Where’s Lizzie?” I whisper to Daniel.
“She needed to spend some time with her family.”
“And how are the two of you?”
“We’re having a baby,” he says with a huge grin. “And, if it’s a girl, we’re going to name her Amanda.”
The little get-together does lift my spirits. If nothing else, through all of this, I have learned that it’s okay to love and to have emotional entanglements because that’s what makes life worth the risk.
It’s what makes life worth living.
I get hugs, congratulations, and am asked a million questions, mostly by my grandfather who wants a play-by-play of everything that happened after I left London.
I actually entertain them with a long-drawn-out version.
After that, the newly re-anointed president of the United States, Ryan Spear, and the director of the CIA, Mike Burnes, ask me what’s next—going so far as to offer me a job doing pretty much anything I want. My father beams with pride and makes me sound like a hero.
