Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  The door closed, and André’s sigh echoed her own. She handed him the photo, and he folded it into his pocket.

  Moisture built by her hairline, and she wiped her forehead. “I really hate that guy.” She moved to a small, gilded mirror on the wall and checked her hair, adjusting the tiara to ease the tension from her up-do. The small, glittering crown was the same their mother wore to her thirtieth birthday celebration. I need her strength to make it through this.

  “Condescending creep doesn’t even begin to cover it.” André removed his tux jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. “How do you know him again?”

  “He debriefed us on the USS Delphus when Flynn and I were rescued. Gave me the conflicting intelligence reports that forced the U.N. to delay their vote to assist Solana after the terrorist attack. All bullshit. Because of him, forces didn’t arrive until six days later, and more of our people died.” The burn twisted in her chest. Remembering that man’s condescending air and the soul-shattering images in the file he gave her… “Makes me wonder…” Is there more to his involvement than he pretends?

  “What?”

  She took a deep breath to calm her anger. “Over a year ago, he met with Father and Tulio, before all of this. At the time, I didn’t know what it was about. I was stuck in my nineteen-year-old naïve head. But after the meeting, they were furious. Father gave me this lecture about a world full of people wanting to tear us apart, and we can’t back down to them. ‘Make your name mean something, because in the end, that’s all you have.’”

  She lowered her voice with her father’s quote, repeating it the same way he did what felt like a century ago.

  André’s shoulders sank. He closed his eyes, and the pain on his face trickled down his body.

  She instantly regretted saying the words. It had been many years since her father had spoken to André. Exiled for his scandalous behavior, still reeling from their mother’s sudden death. Alanna had been the only one to maintain contact with him through the years. She’d missed him horribly and thought her father had been too rough. But the king wouldn’t listen to her.

  “So he knew about the Lozanos, even back then,” he deduced.

  “The U.N. was trying to make him agree to the same ridiculous terms to secure Solana’s defense. And now they’re dead.”

  André frowned. “You think the U.N. deliberately let the Lozanos invade, for our ammephire mines?”

  Alanna paced in front of him. “I don’t know. On the surface, the idea seems ridiculous, but the whole thing is fishy to me. Which is why I don’t trust him. That, and he’s a condescending asshole.”

  He snorted.

  “Do we have reason to suspect any other royal guardsmen are working for Lozano?” She thought about every move she’d made while her father was alive. Always surrounded by at least two guardsmen, her whereabouts scheduled and tracked, under the safety of the men her father trusted. Maybe that’s how our country was overtaken so easily.

  “Stefano assured me no.”

  “I suppose it’s a pointless discussion now, since most of our Royal Guard was obliterated with the first attack.” She continued to pace, hating the insecurity crawling up her spine. If it weren’t for the fancy dress covered in gemstones, she would’ve started punching the armchair. Something to release the frustration. The damn dignitaries who wanted too much were only a few of the thorns in her side.

  André watched her, his expression stunned.

  She stopped. “What?”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Same place you did.”

  “My little reserved sister isn’t little anymore. You’re a hellfire, just like Father. When did you become so outspoken? So forceful?”

  Prickles raced up her neck. “When I almost had my fingers severed and my head blown off by Lozano.”

  He blanched. “Cristo! I had no idea you were ever that close. To him.”

  “Not a place I ever want to be again.” She sighed and checked her waistline, trying to adjust the built-in bustier so she could breathe easier. Funny how dealing with bloodthirsty leeches sucked the air out of her chest. “Let’s get back to our guests. I don’t want to leave Flynn by himself in that room for too long. State Dinners aren’t really his thing.”

  They would both much rather be on the water, letting the sea air fill her soul and the salty water surround them. But she had to take care of the people first. They would always come first.

  He chuckled. “So we’re each involved with someone who can’t stand royal functions?”

  “Yep. They’ll fit right in.” She moved to the door.

  “You never told me how you escaped.”

  Alanna looked back at him, her hand gripping the handle. “From Lozano?”

  André nodded.

  She smiled, remembering the moment her guardian angel had swooped down from above and pulled her out of the wreckage. She’d thought she was hallucinating. “Flynn rammed a boat into his yacht.”

  “THAT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, Miguel.” Gemma kept her voice low after André had returned from his secret meeting and finished his welcome to the crowd.

  He strolled back over, smirking and eyes dazzling.

  Cataline stiffened beside her. Gemma knew the woman still hadn’t gotten used to her using André’s middle name. But she loved using it. More of a reminder to herself of the man she’d fallen for, the unknown chamaco—as Stefano had called him—stuffy, exotic, and irresistible.

  Especially in bed.

  This prince, with an endless list of responsibilities and insufferable decorum, was a new side for her to get used to.

  Yet with his genuine smile and the easy conversation with these dignitaries, formal as it was, he seemed to slip into the role he was born to fill with ease.

  Everyone was full from the meal and dessert. Now it was time for something called a receiving line.

  “You ready for this, secret weapon?” He nudged her into their place at the start of the line.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  The look he gave her sent a shiver of doubt down her spine. “Just don’t lock your knees, or you’ll fall over. These tend to last a while.”

  Before she could ask how long, the line started and an interminable river of faces paraded in front of her. Ambassadors, delegates, parliament members, and military leaders; one after another shook her hand or kissed her knuckles.

  Never pictured myself in a room with world leaders. Think I’d rather stare down a wild bull.

  She fidgeted with every introduction, picking at her nails, and her feet felt like they were on stilts in the damned heels. André must have sensed her nervousness. He kept wrapping his arm around her waist, squeezing her hip, or touching her hand. She’d lost count of how many times Cataline leaned in from behind her and whispered, “Smile.”

  Alanna’s well practiced smile and ease with each person had Gemma even more self-conscious. But at least she wasn’t the only one. Flynn hardly smiled, and his greetings were clipped, one-word responses, if any.

  Fifty million people later, a woman in a tight hourglass crimson gown sashayed up to André. Her ebony hair was pulled in a French twist with—of course—perfect makeup. Her ravenous gaze was impossible to misinterpret.

  “Your Highness,” her sultry voice began, “it’s about time you finally returned home.”

  “Miss Soto, a pleasure to see you.”

  Gemma watched their exchange carefully. That smile on his face was a tad wider than a second ago.

  “Vivette, please,” she cooed. “We know each other well enough.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I trust you remember our rendezvous a few years ago at the Cosmopolitan. Vegas is so enjoyable with the right company.”

  Gemma rolled her eyes, just as her stomach did a roundhouse kick to her heart.

  André hesitated, then audibly stammered, “It’s been a long time since that weekend.”

  A whole weekend. How sweet.

  Vivette laughed, the annoying silk
y sound making Gemma’s hands fist at her sides. “It was more than a weekend, Prince André. At least for me, it was.”

  “It’s good to see you doing well.”

  Nice rebuff, Miguel. But you’ll have to do better than that for her to get the point.

  “Allow me to introduce Miss Gemma Westfall.” He wrapped his hand around her waist.

  She didn’t miss how André left out a title or moniker.

  “Yes, of course.” Vivette turned a plastered smile to her, eyes flashing. Nearly a foot taller than her, looking up into her pristine, graceful face was almost painful. “The savior of our beloved long lost heir, so the media has coined you. Charmed.”

  “I’m sure.” Her voice came out colder than she anticipated, but she wasn’t used to masking her feelings.

  André gave a discreet but tight squeeze on her hip. “Vivette is Lord Soto’s daughter,” he explained, keeping his voice casual and light. “We met at Cambridge my first year there, about ten years ago.”

  Gemma’s breath stalled. Studied at Cambridge. Another tick in the column I didn’t know. “So you went to college at Cambridge too?” Her self-consciousness soared to a new level of humiliation.

  Until Vivette laughed, right in her face.

  “No, dear. I was in town visiting friends. His Highness Prince André was the talk of London, and I made sure we met. Our friendship only grew from there.”

  Her face heated, and biting her tongue became a pointless, painful effort.

  “Where did you attend university?” Vivette asked, wearing a not-so-well-hidden smirk.

  Of course she would ask that. “University of Hard Knocks. Valedictorian of that one.” She winked.

  Girl talk is so insufferable. When will this damn receiving line end?

  The surprise on Vivette’s face made Gemma’s neck itch even more. “Well, you must feel so out of place at events like this. I’m sure you miss your little country house and small-town life.”

  There are the claws. Challenge accepted. “Actually, I miss my guns the most. Especially Lil’ Pete, my Remington rifle.”

  Vivette’s eyes widened, and the person next to her stopped talking to Alanna, focusing their attention on the trio.

  I just don’t give a shit. “But everyone here has been so kind and welcoming. Accommodating.” She moved the navy sash on her arm aside to the nude-colored bandage. “You know, bullet wound and all. That, and André is just brilliant in the sack.”

  Everyone around her gasped, and André’s sudden air intake was exactly what she wanted.

  Cut right through the bullshit. “He can go for so much longer than a mere weekend.”

  Vivette’s cheeks reddened. André pulled his hand away from her waist. Then the shock on everyone’s faces around them finally dawned on her.

  Followed by a few snickers, and camera flashes.

  Dammit.

  Cataline touched her arm. “We need to go, right now.”

  “Gladly.”

  “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  Gemma ignored Cataline’s question as she cooled off in the night air on the balcony outside her apartment on the palace’s top floor. If the devoted aide hadn’t still been in the room, she would have slipped out of the dress and into her peach-hemmed cami and boy shorts. Lingerie was her only girlish indulgence. Anything to feel comfortable.

  The balcony overlooked the pool cabanas to the lush gardens beyond. The endless trickle of water from the fountain in the center filled the night air. Naked mermaids carved out of pink marble spewed water from their mouths, and water sirens stretched their arms to the sky, calling for their lovers.

  The dark hills beyond the palace grounds were covered in massive palm trees, illuminated by the bright half-moon and countless stars glittering overhead.

  The rose bushes in the far back always caught her gaze. The third rose bed was where they’d infiltrated the palace ten days ago through a hidden trapdoor, leading to a secret entrance underground.

  Out of one kill box into another.

  Cataline moved to the doorway and inhaled slowly.

  Here it comes.

  “There was no point in engaging her like that.”

  “She asked for it.”

  “The last thing the royal family needs right now is a scandal. They are trying to rebuild this country and secure foreign military assistance. Now the media is going to be more focused on your slanderous comments about Prince André.”

  Gemma spun, ready to defend her actions, but the main doors whooshed open without a knock. André barged in, hands fisted and face glaring.

  Her breath caught in her chest. Even when he’s hot, he’s so damn hot.

  Stefano came in behind him, face unreadable as always, with hands clasped behind his back.

  André stopped at the balcony doorway, his chest heaving and eyes firm on Gemma. “Cataline, my sister could use your help in her drawing room.” His clipped voice twisted her gut.

  “Of course, Your Highness.” Cataline slipped past the prince, paused beside Stefano, and squeezed his arm. Then left.

  The silence between Gemma and the smoldering Solanian electrified the air. What she wouldn’t give for a punching bag or her kickboxing gear right now. She squared her shoulders and moved forward, letting the rage cook in her stomach to a boil. André didn’t move an inch.

  With a glance over the prince’s shoulder, she caught Stefano’s eyes. His stern gaze wasn’t unexpected. The badass bodyguard’s opinion was one of the few she admired because he gave it so infrequently. And it was always spot on.

  Ok, so maybe I overreacted a smidge.

  Until the corner of Stefano’s mouth lifted into a smile.

  Gemma paused and bit her tongue—hard—to keep from smiling back.

  “If you need anything, Your Highness…” Stefano started.

  André shook his head, his furious eyes burning into her face.

  The loyal bodyguard turned and left, closing the doors behind him.

  “What were you thinking?” André’s voice was too quiet.

  “I don’t walk on eggshells. I stampede through them.”

  “I remember well enough from the ranch. You’re the only person to have ever laid a violent hand on me and lived.”

  “You deserved it, with your pompous-ass comments back then.”

  His lips pursed. “Do you have an idea of the fallout from your little catfight in front of the guests at the State Dinner?”

  “I hardly use claws, André. You of all people know that.” His jaw flexed. She continued, “I’m actually quite proud of myself.”

  His eyebrows rose to his hairline.

  “My first instinct with a woman like that is to throw a right hook to her cheek. I restrained myself.”

  “You call that restraint?”

  She lifted her chin.

  André wiped his forehead. “It wasn’t enough knowing that you were the one standing beside me, not Vivette? You were the one I danced with. I wrapped my arm around you. And you still played the jealous girlfriend.”

  “I don’t get jealous,” she threw at him, the bitter words festering in her throat.

  André smirked.

  Holy shit. I’m jealous. That’s a new one.

  His expression softened, and he sighed. He pulled off his jacket and royal sash, and draped them on a nearby armchair. Suspenders and a tight, white shirt hugging his arms and pecs never looked more incredible. So unfair. With slow steps, he moved toward her and caressed her elbows, his touch achingly warm, sending goosebumps all over her body.

  “Just so we’re clear, I love you. No one else. The women in my past don’t matter. Just like the men in yours don’t matter.”

  A touch of heat filled her cheeks. She hid her face, biting her lower lip. Having her troubled, rowdy history brought up made her insides squirm, more than being belittled in that damned receiving line.

  André slipped his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “Let me hear it.”


  “Hear what?”

  “You know.”

  Her chest froze. She’d never said it. Not out loud. It had taken all of her soul to admit to herself, but she still couldn’t physically say it. Words had meant so little to her growing up, having promises broken throughout her life. Actions meant more to her.

  Haven’t I proved I love him? She’d helped him take back his country, killed the bastard who murdered his father and brother, and gave up her life on the ranch for him. Doesn’t that show it?

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. His brilliant russet irises, tender and pleading, cracked her heart once again.

  He caressed her cheek and wiped away…a tear?

  “It’s all right,” he soothed. “I know you love me. When you’re ready, you’ll say it. I can wait.”

  She sucked in a breath, blinking away the sudden dampness in her eyes.

  “But be warned…” His smile widened. “On that glorious day, I’ll slip the largest rock imaginable on your finger. Make it official.”

  Her heart hiccupped. And then twisted.

  With that, he leaned in and took her mouth, claiming her tongue in no uncertain terms that he was in control, although she refused to give him the power.

  Using her good arm, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Her tongue dived in deeper, tasting the sweet chocolate soufflé dessert, followed by a hint of champagne. Cradling her face, he tilted her head and gently nipped her lip. The zing went straight to her core, jump-starting her heart.

  With a pull on his bowtie, the fabric unraveled and she whipped it off his collar. Grabbing the sides of his shirt, she ripped it open and the black stone buttons scattered across the floor. Spears shot down her arm, but she ignored them.

  This man is so worth any pain.

  He growled through a deep-throated kiss. “You are such a dom.” His raw voice set her wild side loose.

  “Does that mean you’ll be my submissive?”

  His lips were swollen, damp, and utterly delectable. His firm hands moved to her back, and he stared down into her heaving chest, her cleavage on full display. “Have I ever played that role?”