by Jillian Dodd
“That’s crazy, Lorenzo. You could lose it. That ring should be in the vault!”
He slips the ring from Daniel off my finger, sets it on the coffee table, and replaces it with the Arcadian ring.
A ring never looked so perfect on anyone’s finger in all of history. And I know without a doubt that it was meant to be mine.
But …
“I still love you,” he says abruptly.
“I still love you,” I reply.
“That settles it.”
“Settles what?”
He doesn’t reply, just picks me up off the sofa and carries me into his bedroom.
MISSION:DAY THIRTEEN
“You’re the only real thing I have in my life,” I tell Lorenzo when he wakes me up by kissing my neck before the sun is up.
His kisses start out light, loving, and playful but quickly turn more serious—like they did last night.
I suppose maybe I should feel guilty, but I don’t. My marriage to him, whether legal or not, should trump his arranged engagement. And it helps, knowing that Lizzie isn’t in love with him.
Lorenzo has ignited a passion in me that can’t be described, and in tender moments like these, I don’t care at all about the rest of the world. I only care about us.
Lorenzo is more. He brings more joy and beauty to my life. More love. More happiness.
But with that, sadly, seems to come more trouble, more danger, more pain, and more heartbreak.
“Last night, I considered hauling you back to Montrovia and forcing you to tell the world of our love,” he says sweetly.
“Lorenzo, I really don’t care what the world thinks.”
“Neither do I, and it’s why you are currently luxuriating in my arms and not on the plane.” He chuckles. “Thank you for staying with me last night. Just holding you in my arms makes me feel like anything is possible, that we’ll somehow get through this.”
“Like the bombing in Berlin,” I say.
“I’m not following.”
“How did Dupree know you and I would survive the culling? It’s your phones. The Society won’t kill off their own, so if you get a message regarding a situation in Montrovia, we’ll know it’s starting.”
“That means, we won’t be able to stop it,” Lorenzo counters.
He’s running his tongue across my collarbone, which makes it difficult to think straight.
“But maybe that’s another way to look at it. It’s one thing to randomly kill a bunch of people, but if you’re going to go to all this trouble to create the perfect world, you wouldn’t want to be left with random survivors. You’d want your family and friends with you.”
“That means, whatever they cause to happen, Society members have to be able to survive it,” he adds, working his way up my neck.
“And since they preach retreating to your vaults, maybe that can help us work backward to figure out their plan.”
He runs his hand across my forehead and sighs. “Maybe we’d have less problems in the world if we just let it happen.”
“Lorenzo, nearly all of your country could be wiped out!”
“Yeah, and we’re not that big to begin with,” he says with a laugh. “I’m sorry. That was horrible of me to even think. Sometimes, I just want to be selfish.”
“Me, too. If I could go back home with you, I would. Oh, and I owe you a bunch of money.”
“Whatever for?” he asks, rolling over and snuggling me into his chest.
“Well, I think my trial period on the jet is about over. I want it.”
He reaches over and grabs my clutch off the nightstand. He digs around inside and pulls out a twenty-pound note. “Done.”
“I’d say that’s not exactly fair to the Casino. Then, there’s the issue of the Montrovian villa. I think you purchased it from Ares’s estate somehow.”
“Are you saying I bought you something you’d already owned?”
“Technically, it would be jointly owned by my brother and me, but yes. You need a refund.”
“I’d buy you anything in the world.” He leans down, kissing my forehead.
“And I only want you.”
“Ah, the simple pleasures in life,” he says, slipping his hand under the covers. “Let’s rejoice in them.”
We’re woken later by the sound of knocking.
“Lorenzo! Lorenzo!” I hear Chauncey yell. “Cookie told me you’re here! Come have breakfast with me! Why is your door locked?”
His cute little knocks are replaced with louder bangs.
“Guess it’s time for us to get up.” He glances at the clock, noting it’s only seven as he gets out of bed and pulls on his robe. “I’ll go out there. You can come out when you’re ready for the board meeting.”
I hurry through my makeup routine and then consider what to do with my hair. I’m thankful it still looks good from last night. Just a simple brush through, a little balm, and a big barrette to hold back my long bangs, and I’m ready to get dressed.
I slip on the beautiful and professional-looking St. John tweed knit suit that Dr. Kate chose for me to wear today. It is perfectly appropriate and respectable, but when I put it on, it just doesn’t feel like me. I wander through the wardrobe I have here, my hand stopping on a simple red Valentino dress with a jewel neckline and bell sleeves.
It’s perfect. Simple and classic, but the sleeves give it a youthful flair.
I pair it with black peep-toe Louboutins with its signature red sole and an Olympia Le-Tan clutch, the front of it featuring the board space in the Monopoly game where you pass go and collect your salary. It’s kind of fitting since, most of my time spent as a Von Allister, I’ve felt like I’ve been playing with Monopoly money.
I sneak into the kitchen where Lorenzo and Chauncey are sitting at the breakfast bar, both of their backs to me, and I give them each a peck on the neck.
“Huntley!” Chauncey yells as he practically knocks over his chair to give me a hug. “I’ve missed you!”
“I’ve missed you, too.” Tears spring to my eyes for no apparent reason other than I love this kid, and I feel bad for having to leave him here.
“I have so much to tell you,” he says. “Do you want some Pamcakes?”
“Do you mean pancakes?”
“No, silly. I found out that Cookie’s real name is Pam. When she makes pancakes, we call them Pamcakes.” He holds his stomach as he breaks out in laughter, finding it hilarious.
That causes Lorenzo to start laughing, too. For a brief, fleeting moment, I can almost picture it—me with a family.
I shake off the thought.
“I’d love some,” I finally say. “Tell me about school.”
“We’re officially on summer break. Nanny spoke to Lorenzo about maybe taking me to Disneyland in Paris. Doesn’t that sound like so much fun? I’ve never been there before! And all my school chums are going on holiday with their families.”
“He was also invited to go with one of his friends to the French Riviera.” He turns to the boy. “Chauncey, I told you I needed to discuss it with Huntley before you got too excited.”
“I know!” he says, flinging his fork into the air, causing syrup to fly. “That’s why we’re talking about it now! What do you think, Huntley? Can I go? Please? I promise I’ll be good.”
“I know you will be, but we need to check the calendar.”
“Oh! I have the dates written down,” he says, flying out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room.
“I want him reunited with his father at the Von Allister home in the District of Columbia during the Olympics.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want them anywhere near whatever is going to happen in Montrovia.”
Chauncey comes racing back into the room and thrusts a piece of paper in my direction. “Can I go?”
“I’m afraid not,” I say after reading the dates. “But you do get to go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I think you and Nanny should go to D
isney World in Florida! It’s way bigger than the one in Paris. And they have Universal Studios where you can meet all the superheroes.”
His little eyes get big. “Really? I can meet them? Like, in real life?”
“Yes.”
“I’m in!” he yells happily. “Can I go to the beach, too?”
“You can for a few days, and then you will be going to Washington DC. It’s where the American president lives and where my house is. I thought it would be fun for you to stay there. It has a huge yard with its own pool, an indoor basketball court, bowling, and your very own private movie theater.”
“Whoa!” he says. “My very own movie theater?”
“Yep.”
He shoves a few more bites of pancakes in his mouth and then says, “I’m going to tell Nanny to start packing!”
“That kid has a whole lot of energy,” Lorenzo states before taking a sip of his espresso.
“And I probably need to get going. I don’t want to be late for the meeting.”
He gets up, takes my hand, and leads me into his study. “I didn’t want to talk in front of the staff, but what are your plans for today?”
“The board meeting this morning, wedding dress shopping with Blair Bessemer this afternoon, and then dinner tonight with Blair, Peter, and Viktor.”
“Wedding dress shopping?” he repeats, a smile playing across his lips. “You had better look for one that is fit for a future queen.”
“I heard Lizzie is having her fittings this weekend.”
The smile falls from his face, and I feel bad for slapping him with reality.
“Yes, a custom gown has been commissioned. I’m told it will be a form-fitting silk with modern lines.”
“That’s good,” I reply, “because, if we get married, I’m going full-on princess. I mean, I’d have to if I’m going to wear that tiara.”
“I can picture it in my head. You walking down the aisle toward me. We’ll be in the church in front of everyone, but I know I will only have eyes for you, just like I did on the yacht.”
I nervously wring my hands, knowing the chances of our dream happening are slim, and remember I still have his ring on.
I take it off.
Hand it back to him.
He places it around the chess piece and puts it safely back into his pocket.
I walk into the parlor and retrieve the engagement ring from Daniel, slipping it on my finger. Lorenzo follows me, gives me a kiss, wishes me luck today, and walks me to the door.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t mention anything about seeing me again.
I’m in the car, headed to the VA London offices, when my phone rings with a call from my brother.
“Hey, are you on your way to the meeting? Any chance you will arrive early? I’d love to have some time to chat beforehand.”
“I was hoping for that, too,” Ari says, “but the Berlin airports are still shut down after the terror attack last night.”
“I didn’t know you were in Berlin. You should have told me!”
“You didn’t tell me that you got engaged to Daniel, that you almost died in Iraq, or that you are player X on Battleground,” he fires back.
“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We have some catching up to do.”
“Allie and I be traveling to London as soon as we can. Can you handle everything with the board?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I think so.”
Von Allister Industries’ London offices are housed in the beautiful Shard building, an all-glass structure that looks like a shard of broken glass rising into the sky. It’s seventy-two stories and offers an open-air viewing deck atop that I hope to have time to visit.
Traffic was bad, causing me to arrive later than I had planned. I’m feeling rushed as I make my way up the elevator.
Upon entering the offices, I’m quickly escorted to the boardroom with sweeping views of the city as well as the iconic Tower Bridge on the River Thames.
Aleksandr is standing close to the door and greets me with a hug. He then offers to introduce me to the board members. The first two of which I recognize.
“Sergey Olander and Zayn Kipling,” Aleksandr says, “I’d like you to meet Huntley Von Allister.”
“We’ve already met, haven’t we?” Sergey says, very affectionately kissing my hand.
I nod. “Yes, at the Cartier Queen’s Cup. You were in the Royal Box.”
“I also saw you at the Royal Ascot. You had on a dress covered with gelato. Every man in the room was dreaming about licking it.”
Zayn Kipling pats him on the back. “Sergey, you old dog, stop hitting on women less than half your age.” He turns to me. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Will I see you at the British Grand Prix tomorrow as well?” I inquire.
“Of course. My race team is strong. I should mention that one of my drivers has a large crush on you. You must come to the pits and meet him. Maybe it will make him drive better,” he says with a hearty laugh.
“And don’t forget, anytime you want tickets to an Everpool United match, text me,” Sergey says.
“I don’t think I have your number,” I reply, and quite honestly, I’m not sure if I want it.
Aleksandr says, “I’ll see that she gets it. As a matter of fact, my wife has been bugging me to go to a match. It seems she has a crush on one of your players.”
Both are laughing when another board member reaches his hand out to shake mine.
“Maximilian Olivier,” he says. “You met my wife, Leah, and me at the Queen’s Garden Party in Montrovia.”
“I remember. Your wife had on a lovely hat by Anna Remaldi.”
“She was betting on you to be the next queen,” he says with a lowered voice. “Are you doing all right? I’m sure this isn’t easy for you. Being thrust into all this, totally unprepared.”
“I’m very lucky that the first person I met was Peter Prescott. He’s become a good friend, and he has been a big help.”
“His father and Ares were very close. We miss him greatly.”
“Thank you,” I say. “At first, I was sort of pissed off about it all.”
“You were upset to learn you had inherited billions?” he asks.
“No, not about that. It was all just a shock. I assumed I never knew him because he didn’t want to know me. But the more I’ve met people who knew him and the more I learn of everything he did, I’ve become jealous of the people who did.”
I don’t know why, but emotions fill my voice when I say these words, and Max leans over and gives me a hug.
How am I ever supposed to figure this out? How can these men, some of whom must be in the secret group, all be so nice?
When Max releases me, Rutherford Elingston and Malcolm Prescott are standing next to us.
“Huntley,” Malcolm says, “do you remember Rut? He was at the dinner at my house.”
“We met only briefly,” I say, “but it’s good to see you again.”
“Are you ready for this meeting?” Malcolm asks.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Perfect,” he says. “Let me go introduce you to the CEO and chairman of the board.”
A few steps later, and I’m shaking the hand of Harrison McClellan—the man who was listed on my mother’s note and the man who was close friends with Hillford, who ordered her to be killed. When he touches me, it takes every ounce of strength I have, everything I learned at Blackwood about hiding my emotions, to pretend to be happy to meet him rather than showing the repulse that I feel.
When it’s announced that we should take our seats, I’m looking around for Royston Bessemer, who dashes into the room, apologizing for running late. The table only has enough chairs for the board members around it. There are other chairs pushed up against the edges of the room, but those are filled with assistant types.
I understand what this is. It’s a power play by McClellan, letting me know that I don’t belong. But I don’t care. I won’t take a seat with the assistants whe
n I own the majority of the company. Instead, I stay standing proudly with my back straight and tall.
The meeting is brought to order before anyone notices I’m still standing. Malcolm glances up from his leather portfolio, looks at me in shock, and then looks around the table.
“Huntley,” he says, “grab a chair and take a seat.”
“It seems there isn’t room for me at the table,” I say even though my heels are killing me. “That’s okay, though, I’m just here to observe—and to vote.”
Royston, whose chair is closest to me, gets up and insists I take his spot.
“Gentlemen,” he says, addressing the group, “if this is how you are going to treat the owner of your company, this might not be the board for me.”
“Just an oversight, I assure you,” McClellan says, but I certainly don’t believe him.
I sit and listen to three presentations given by top executives in the company. It’s actually quite interesting, all the things Von Allister Industries is into. They have numerous lines of business—from gaming to military. Each member of the board seems to take his role seriously, all of them asking appropriate questions and taking notes.
Soon, it’s time to vote on the high-value contracts and renewals. Since Malcolm is the head of this committee, he briefly goes through each contract, hitting the highlights of each agreement along with their financial impact and possible risk. Since I’m not well versed on any of these issues, I refrain from voting.
But then he brings up the TerraSphere contract and states that the board recommends not to renew.
“I’d like to discuss this contract further,” I say, standing up.
“And what is it you want to discuss?” McClellan asks, assuming I know nothing.
“It’s my understanding it’s not the Sphere itself that the American government has an issue with, but rather the technology that controls it.”
“You can’t have one without the other,” McClellan says. “We can’t sell Spheres if we can’t sell the technology.”
