by Holly Rayner
She looked at him then, realizing that his fear was quite real. A pang of pity struck her, and she was surprised by it. She sat back and reached for Jenson’s hand, lacing her fingers with his.
“Jenson, this is what every single day of my life is like. This is what it’s like to be a royal. You wonder why I’m so serious all the time? There will always be people after my power, looking to avenge some wrong they have laid at my feet because I am a public figure. This is just life,” she said, staring at him to gauge his reaction.
His eyes never stopped moving, gazing out the windows as though waiting to see a gun appear in one of them. They finally pulled into a secret garage, the driver parking the dingy little car and turning off the engine.
“Here you are, safe house on the north side.”
“Thank you so much for your courage,” Jasmina said, placing a hand on the driver’s shoulder.
He turned and bowed his head.
“Anything for you, Your Highness. I will leave a jagged trail before I drive back to the palace, so as not to draw any attention. When the threat has passed, I will return for you.”
“Wonderful,” she said, hesitating as she reached for the door handle.
“Did Deniz happen to think of my emergency bag?”
The driver nodded, popping open the trunk.
“He did. You will find it in the back.”
“Fantastic, thanks again!” she said, sliding out of the car and grabbing her bag from the backseat.
She sent a silent thank you to Deniz, who had thought to bring her bag with her work laptop and an emergency cellphone for when she was ready for the deception to end. Perhaps she would make it a day, maybe more. Jenson seemed to be learning quite a bit already. He had stepped out from the car and closed the door behind him, watching forlornly as the driver opened the garage door once more and pulled out, driving into the night.
The two of them stood in silence as the garage door closed, locking them inside.
“Well, that was certainly an adventure. Lucky for us, we didn’t have to drive all the way out into the country. That would have been quite inconvenient.”
“I suppose having one’s life threatened might also be considered inconvenient. How often does this happen, anyway?”
Jasmina shrugged and opened the door to the small townhouse. A security system let out a beep, letting her know to lock it before the night was out. When Jenson stepped inside after her, she pressed the combination to lock them in.
“Oh I don’t know. Depends on a lot of factors: who feels like invading us this year, who feels that their breakup was my fault. It’s always a mystery. You’ve never had your life threatened, I take it?”
“Of course I have. You don’t get to where I’m at and not have people wanting to kill you.”
“So what’s the problem?” Jasmina asked, walking further into the house. It was fairly spacious, though not at all what Jasmina was used to. It reminded her a bit of her housing in college, though of course it was much larger than the average New York apartment. The kitchen was cozy, with white marble countertops. The living room was carpeted, housing several sofas in front of a large bookcase. There was no television in the safe house—the point was to keep noise to a minimum.
“The problem is that I’m not ousted from my home every time the littlest threat comes in. This is not going to fly going forward, Jasmina.”
He was trying to take control of the situation, regain his credibility after his show of weakness. Jasmina simply stared at him, crossing her arms as she stared him down.
“Your intention in this whole situation was to rise high enough to brag to all your friends about how rich and powerful you were. Did you ever stop to think about the price of that position? When you are part of the ruling family, you affect the lives of millions. You think the Pope or the Dalai Lama don’t get evacuated every couple of months?”
“You’re comparing yourself to them?” Jenson asked, his eyes wide.
“I’m a monarch, Jenson. This is my life. If you want power and status, you need to understand the sacrifices that come with it. It’s not all playing golf and making deals at this level. Lives are affected here, and that impacts us directly. It puts us in danger every day.”
Jenson stared at her for a moment, processing that information. He glanced around at their surroundings, contemplating. Jasmina waited for him to come to the conclusion that this would not be the life for him, and then he would set her free, while still giving her what she wanted: jobs and security for her people.
Instead, he headed toward the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Jenson opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of pasta, checking the expiration date.
“Making dinner. We were rudely interrupted before we had a chance to eat, weren’t we? Do you know how to cook, Sheikha?”
“I…” Jasmina began, unsure of what she was going to say.
He had bounced back so quickly. How had he done that?
“Not to worry. Cooking has always been a hobby of mine. I’m sure I can whip us up something tasty enough until we can get fresh supplies tomorrow.”
“You think we’re allowed to leave?” Jasmina asked, fighting to win back the upper ground.
“Your guard said we had to wear disguises. Why would we need them if we’re tethered to the house? Besides, there’s no point in hiding like this when we don’t know how long we’ll be here. I know I have to eat, don’t you?”
Jasmina frowned, taking a seat at the kitchen counter while she watched Jenson boil some noodles before pouring the water out and fixing them each a bowl.
“I’m afraid there wasn’t much by means of seasoning, but it should be edible. Hungry?”
He held the bowl out to her, and she took it, her eyes wide. All she wanted to do was ask him how he had bounced back so fast, whether or not he was reconsidering his role. She knew that a question like that would give her away within minutes of their arrival, so instead she twirled the pasta around her fork and took a bite.
A succulent flavor filled her senses, and she looked up at Jenson.
“What did you put in this?”
“What? Doesn’t meet your royal standards?”
“I was going to say it’s delicious. Now who can’t take a compliment?”
“Touché. Well, I found some spices in the cabinet that I mixed in with a light sauce. I’m glad that it holds up to your high tastes.”
“You don’t know what my tastes are. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Now that is simply untrue,” he said, leaning in, his elbows on the counter as he looked at her.
She wondered if he would kiss her, then. He’d come so close so many times. The memory of his lips on her ear came rushing back, and she sat back ever so slightly, not wanting to fall under his spell.
“Yes, it is. What could you possibly know that you haven’t read off of a webpage?”
Jenson watched her, his eyes intense. It made Jasmina intensely uncomfortable, but she still refused to break his steady gaze.
“You are a tyrant,” he said finally, and Jasmina stood, her bowl slamming against the counter.
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded, her whole face hot with anger.
Jenson smiled up at her.
“Got you,” he said, taking a bite of pasta as he continued to smile.
“I’m too tired for games,” Jasmina said, leaving her bowl on the counter and walking toward a hallway.
Jenson followed her, his fingers wrapping gently around her wrist, forcing her to stop.
“Hey, I was kidding. The one thing I know about you is that you always put your country first. I for one consider that a pretty admirable trait.”
She turned to look at him, searching for the joke behind his words. When she didn’t find it, her eyes narrowed.
“How do I know when you’re telling the truth?”
“How do I know when you are?” he countered.
“This
will never work if we can’t trust one another,” she said.
“That’s true. So when are you going to start?”
“When you start acting trustworthy? So most likely never. Goodnight, Mr. Black.”
“Goodnight, Sheikha. Don’t let the assassins bite.”
Unable to find a proper retort, Jasmina glared at him before closing the door in his face.
As a direct result of her own scheming, she now found herself locked in a house with Jenson Black? What on earth was she going to do?
Chapter Thirteen
Jasmina set an alarm for early the next morning, waking in the dark. Turning on a light, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she opened her emergency bag and pulled out her laptop, logging into her secure server. She spent the twilight hours going over documents her council had sent over, emailing out her feedback and detailing what she believed to be the best course of action. By the time she looked up from her screen, the sun was rising, cresting the horizon in a cascade of pinks and oranges.
She stood, stretching her lower back as she padded toward the window. She gazed out at the city, feeling a combination of melancholy and a deep love for her home. As the sun rose into the blue sky, she knew it would be a glorious day.
Unfortunately, she had to spend that day with Jenson Black.
With a sigh, she prepared herself for a long day of bantering with her fiancé, her hand resting on the doorknob as she hesitated, giving herself one last moment of peace. When she opened the door, she was met with the smell of roasting coffee beans. The delectable scent led straight to the kitchen, where Jenson stood with his back to her…shirtless.
Jasmina cleared her throat and Jenson turned, flashing her a chiseled chest that she tried very hard not to look at, keeping her eyes firmly on his face. He grinned, looking sexy as all get-out.
“Good morning,” he said, his voice a little scratchy with first use.
There was a shadow of a beard along his jawline, giving him the appearance of a pirate, and Jasmina had to work to get her thoughts back to where they ought to be.
“You’re up early,” she observed, taking a seat at the kitchen counter.
Jenson nodded, pouring a cup of hot coffee and setting it in front of her.
“One does not become one of the most successful men on the planet by sleeping in. How do you take your coffee?”
“Black is fine,” she said, palming her cup and blowing gently on the steam.
She took a tentative sip, the strong brew caressing her tongue as she swallowed, instantly feeling a little more awake.
“That’s for the best; we don’t have anything perishable here, and I couldn’t locate any sugar either.”
“We’ll need to go out and gather supplies this morning. I imagine there isn’t much food around. This safe house is rarely used.”
She glanced around the kitchen, noticing that Jenson had cleaned up the pasta from the night before, presumably after she had gone to bed. How often had the man ever had to clean up his own mess?
“Are we allowed to go out?” he asked, taking a sip from his own cup.
“Of course. That’s what disguises are for.”
“And I assume you have a whole makeup studio in here, complete with wigs.”
Jasmina rolled her eyes.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We can easily hide ourselves with hats and some different clothing. The people of El Jayiah have never seen me out of royal dress before, and every time they’ve seen you it’s been in a suit. I’m sure we’ve stocked this place with clothing that is inconspicuous.”
“Not to a murderer, I’d imagine.”
“A murderer who has no idea where to look for us or where we are? You’re terribly paranoid, Jenson.”
“Forgive me for wanting to live. I tend to value my life. It’s pretty great, where it is.”
“Indeed. But we don’t have a choice. We either go out in disguise or we starve, and then you’re dead anyway.”
Jenson mumbled something under his breath, and Jasmina smiled, knowing she had won. They drank their coffee in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
Jasmina wondered if she would really be able to pull this stunt off. Would he be smart enough to discover what a deception this all was? Perhaps she should be more afraid, but she didn’t want to be. Let him be the cowardly one. She was happy just the way she was.
She finished her coffee and hopped off the chair.
“I’m famished. We must get something to eat.”
“I didn’t bring any money with me,” Jenson said quietly.
Jasmina shrugged.
“Never mind that. There was plenty packed into my emergency bag. All cash, of course. If we need more, I can find a way to get it.”
“What else was in that bag, anyway?”
“Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“I thought husbands and wives told each other everything.”
“Husbands that blackmail their wives into marrying them have no grounds to ask for anything.”
“You walked into this deal with your eyes open, Jasmina. I didn’t force you into anything.”
His voice was more defensive than she had ever heard it before. Had she finally struck a nerve with him?
“That remains to be seen. We will still never be able to change the fact that you turned this marriage into a business deal for your own personal gain. Why should I owe you anything, much less the truth?”
“Because you’re getting something out of the deal, too. You’re getting security for your country. I think that a marriage to me is a rather small price to pay for such a vast amount of money spent on your people.”
“And what about giving up any shot at love? I wouldn’t call that a small price, Mr. Black.”
“And now we’re back to Mr. Black. Tell me, what will you call me during our little outing today?”
“Jeff,” she said, without hesitation.
“That was fast. What’s Jeff got to do with it?”
“He’s a student I despised in my political science classes. It suits you.”
“In that case, you can be Cassandra.”
She couldn’t resist asking.
“Who is Cassandra?”
“My mother,” he said, taking her empty cup and turning away from her to place it in the sink.
Jasmina stared at his muscular back, wondering why he would give her such a name. He’d never mentioned his parents before. Would she ever meet them?
“We haven’t yet worked out a guest list for the wedding. Will your parents be coming?”
Jenson shrugged.
“I don’t think now is the time to figure that out, do you?”
“What, when we have no technology and all the time in the world to wait until we can get back to our regular lives? You’re right—terrible timing.”
“Just show me where you think these disguises are, Cassie, and then let’s get some food. I get grumpy when I’m hungry.”
“And yet you’re such a pleasant person the rest of the time,” Jasmina quipped. “Very well, let’s see what we can find.”
They made their way to Jenson’s bedroom, opening a closet and some drawers until they found a pair of sneakers, jeans, and a T-shirt, along with a baseball cap. Jasmina advised him to keep his beard stubble, and he reminded her that he didn’t have a razor to shave with anyway, so it didn’t matter. She left the room so he could change, acutely aware of his bare chest and desperate to put some space between her and his smooth, chiseled skin.
In all her life, she had never seen a man’s bare torso like that. Of course she had seen her fair share of half-naked men—she’d gone swimming in her life—but none compared to what Jenson had going on. It was disconcerting. Her fingers itched to caress his skin, and she clenched her hands into fists to release the urge.
It wasn’t effective enough.
In her own closet, she found a long skirt, a white blouse and headscarf, making quick work of changing before slipping on a comfortable pair of wa
lking shoes. Once she was finished, she stepped out to find Jenson fully dressed and waiting for her.
“Nice,” he said, admiring her openly.
She felt herself blush, and she strolled past him, back in the direction of the living room.
“See? We’ll be well hidden.”
“If you say so. You have quite the distinctive face, Jasmina. I doubt that you’ll be able to get around without being noticed.”
She looked back at him, thinking. Then, getting an idea, she darted back into her room and lifted her thick-rimmed glasses from the desk, sliding them on. When she walked back out, Jenson laughed.
“Jasmina, is that you? I thought it was just some mild-mannered reporter,” Jenson joked.
“Say what you will, but you’d be surprised how easily glasses can hide someone’s face. Paired with the headscarf, and my new accent, we’ll be unrecognizable.”
“What new accent?” he asked.
“This one,” she said in a perfect American lilt. “You forget that I spent four years in New York. I learned a thing or two in my time there.”
“That’s pretty impressive. Perhaps I should be British, then?”
He said the last part in a twisted, terrible accent, and Jasmina laughed.
“I think you should stick to American. You’re going to give us away for sure if you keep that up.”
“I think it was pretty good,” he said, still in his terrible accent.
“Whatever,” she said, in a perfect valley girl style.
Jenson laughed.
“All right, you definitely pass for American better than I do British. What say we go out as tourists from New York? We can really fool them then.”
“I think that’s a great idea. You ready to head out?”
“Let’s brave the outside world,” he said.
Jasmina noticed that he had visibly relaxed since the night before, and wondered what had happened. Had he simply processed their situation and moved on from the fear? Had her attitude affected his in any way?
Not wanting to ask and give herself away, she instead led the way to the front door, unlocking the deadbolt and three chains holding it shut.
