by Sara Arden
“Which he already told you. It’s fine. You don’t have to change your mind just because I heard you say that you don’t want me. You’ve made it abundantly clear.”
“That’s not it at all, Damara. Not at all.”
“It doesn’t matter what it is.”
“You were right, okay? I’m not going to abandon you.” He realized that must be how she felt, and he wouldn’t do that to her.
She didn’t say anything else. Instead, she lay down on the bed and turned away from him.
He didn’t know what to say to her, what to do to make it better.
Byron picked up the book and sat down in the chair where she’d been. His job was to protect her and watch over her, so that’s what he’d do.
No matter what it cost him.
Maybe if he kept her safe, all the lives that she changed, all the lives that she’d save, would be worth Uganda. Or at least grant him a quieter corner of hell.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I DON’T WANT THIS and I don’t want her.
Damara didn’t need to hear that over and over again in her head for it to make sense. She’d already processed what it meant, but that didn’t stop her stupid brain from playing it on a loop. Maybe it was a self-defense mechanism. If she heard it enough times, it would root out whatever silly things she’d thought about she and Byron together. It would help her remember to keep her distance.
But it did more than that. It crushed the air out of her chest.
It hurt.
So what if no one ever wanted her for herself? It wasn’t the end of the world. The sky was still blue; the earth still turned.
Her denials rang hollow in her ears. Right now, she was good for something. And that was putting on this show to thwart Abele. It would have to be enough.
Damara had it better than so many. She had wealth. She had privilege. She would always have a roof over her head, food in her belly, and that was a lot more than many.
But that didn’t stop the hollow feeling that chilled her insides.
She’d passed the rest of the night without speaking to Byron, and he didn’t make any further effort to engage her, so it was startling to hear his voice calling her name.
“Damara?”
“I’ll be down.”
“Sonja White is here.”
The piranha with too many teeth. Before facing her, Damara pulled on her princess armor by brushing her hair, straightening her clothes and doing her breathing exercises. When she descended the stairs, she felt almost like herself again.
Until she saw the way the blonde woman talked to Byron, the way she angled her body toward him, used every opportunity to brush against him.
And who wouldn’t? Byron Hawkins was heroic and handsome with his dark hair and sharp eyes. His broad shoulders like Atlas that lifted up the world.
That didn’t stop it from irritating Damara to no end.
“Good of you to join us, Princess.”
She didn’t know if Sonja meant to be condescending, but Damara didn’t care for her tone. As if she’d kept them waiting some unreasonable amount of time. She was the Jewel of Castallegna—if she deigned to take hours to prepare herself or decided not to see the woman at all, that was her prerogative. She was royalty. Even on American soil.
“Good of you stop by without invitation,” Damara returned with a genuine smile. Genuine because it pleased her to put the woman in her place.
Sonja appeared startled and off her game. Another mark in the win column. Then Damara felt just the slightest twinge of guilt. The woman had been hired to help them. Damara wouldn’t be difficult just because she was jealous.
Even though she really wanted to be.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. Jet lag makes me cranky, and I’m still tired.”
“I completely understand.” Sonja nodded. “I’d be more than cranky if I’d been through what you have. You really do have such an amazing story. Everyone wants to hear about it. Have you seen the news?” Sonja handed her a clipping from the New York Times.
It was a picture of her and Byron. The moment she’d put her hand on his chest to keep him from doing bodily harm. They both looked every inch the parts they were supposed to play. She was a fairy-tale princess and Byron was Prince Charming, the hero. The way she looked up at him, her emotions were written all over her face.
But so were his. Woe be to anyone who’d dare try and hurt her.
It was such a contrast to what he’d said to Renner on the phone. I don’t want her.
“That looks like good publicity,” Damara agreed. She wanted to take the clipping and fold it up, to keep it to remember what it was like when she still dreamed of fairy tales.
“Every news outlet in the country has picked up the story. There’ll be the press junket today, and we need to start thinking about a publicity tour.”
“Whoa, hold on. How am I supposed to protect her if we’re doing some publicity tour?”
“They’ll come to you.”
“This hiding her in plain sight stuff is harder than it looks.” Byron sighed.
“We’ll make her face so recognized and well loved that no one would chance hurting her.”
Byron was sacrificing so much to be there, especially by revealing who he really was. He was losing everything. Damara wanted to say something to him that would make it okay, but she knew there was nothing.
“And we need to start planning the wedding.”
“Excuse me?” Damara almost choked.
“The wedding. You have to get married. It’s the only way to expedite citizenship. I thought Mr. Renner told you.”
“He did,” Byron said. “Let’s just worry about our immediate needs. Press junket. What do you need from us?”
Damara was floored. She hadn’t realized that she was actually expected to marry him. And yet the idea wasn’t horrible.
Or it wouldn’t have been, if he hadn’t said he didn’t want her.
She didn’t have to ask if it would be a marriage of convenience, or inconvenience as the case happened to be. It didn’t matter. This would have been her life one way or another. Any man she married would have been doing it for any reason in the world except for loving her.
“Damara?” Byron asked, jerking her from her thoughts.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
“Do you feel up to be fitted for your wardrobe? If not, we can just do hair and makeup for the junket,” Sonja repeated.
Damara gave a wan smile. “That’s fine. I’m a princess. I’m used to it.”
“Better you than me,” Byron replied.
“Oh, no, you’ll be fitted, as well. You need new uniforms, as befits your status and rank.”
Byron paled, but he didn’t say anything.
“Are you sure he needs to be in uniform?” Damara tried to help.
“Ladies love a serviceman in uniform. He’ll fit the archetype. All of the women will want to be you, and all of the men will wish they were Byron. They’ll want you to succeed just because of that.”
Damara nodded.
“The rest of my staff will be here in—” she looked at her watch “—twenty minutes. We’ll order in lunch and we should be done by dinner. Just in time for the junket.”
It occurred to Damara that he knew everything this would entail. It was why he’d wanted to say no. And she’d pushed. She’d pushed so hard with no care for what it did to him. She’d told herself it didn’t matter because she had to save Castallegna, but it did matter.
It mattered a lot.
There was a reason he wasn’t a ranger anymore, a reason for the haunted look in his eyes. It wasn’t her place to make him face anything. He’d already done so much for her.
She wanted to tell him that, but she didn’
t know how.
Instead, they were both silent as they were led their separate ways to get ready for the fittings.
Damara endured stoically; this wasn’t a new experience for her, being poked and prodded by strange hands with various materials and designs being shoved in her face.
She still didn’t care for Sonja, but she was content to let her do her job. Even when she dragged out a selection of paste tiaras. Damara understood she had to play this a certain way for the camera and for the people.
When the rep would have chosen a larger one, Damara opted for the smaller. “The larger one is too big. When I do a public meet and greet, I like to give them to one of the children.”
Sonja blinked. “You’re kind of diabolical, aren’t you?”
“Why would you say that?” Damara cocked her head to the side.
“That’s brilliant PR.”
“It’s not really about the PR. It’s about telling girls that they are all princesses.” Damara was determined to give not only the men of her country more power but the women. She shouldn’t have to make a marriage just to keep people from hurting her. She should be free to love who and where she would, give of her body as she chose, not for some office. And her countrywomen should be free to do the same. If there was any PR, it was to get that message out.
“Even better.” Sonja sighed and directed the staff to leave and finish assembling the princess’s wardrobe. “Can I ask you something?” she asked when they were gone.
“Of course,” Damara answered. What was she going to say, no?
“I know Renner told me this was a PR thing, but is there actually something between you and Byron?”
Her question was like nails on a chalkboard; it scraped down her back and burrowed into her spine. “Not really.”
“Because of him or you?”
“I only said I’d answer one question,” Damara demurred.
“Okay. Back off. I get it.” Sonja nodded and held up her hands in surrender. “You can’t blame a girl for being curious.”
“You’re more than curious,” Damara said.
“You’re right—I am.”
She regretted adding that last part, but she had to be honest. “I don’t have any hold on him, but it wouldn’t do for Prince Charming to get caught banging the PR rep, would it? Talk about a fractured fairy tale.” It wasn’t her place to warn off the other woman—Byron could do as he liked. He didn’t belong to her.
Even though she wanted him to.
The thought of him with Sonja cut her deeply, but it was just one more thing to push down deep so she didn’t have to feel it. This was stupid; it had only been one night. And maybe he had saved her life, but that didn’t mean they needed to spend their lives together.
“No, of course not. I know how important this is. Not only for you. This could make my firm. I’m not going to throw that away for a man.”
“Good for you.” She meant it sincerely.
Sonja cocked her head to the side. “Now, you really meant that, right? It wasn’t a thinly veiled fuck off?”
Damara laughed in spite of herself. “No, really. I think it’s wonderful that you’re able to prioritize your life so that your value is more than just your ability to breed heirs.”
“I can’t imagine what that’s like.” The woman made a face.
No, Damara was sure she couldn’t, and she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She had to get control of herself for the junket. “So what should I wear to this junket?”
“The pink skirt and sweater set. It will set off your hair and skin tone. It will also make you look more innocent. I wish you had your engagement ring, but if your first appearance is without it, there will be more buzz when you start wearing one.”
Damara nodded, glad that Sonja was back to business. Engagement ring. She supposed if she was a citizen of the United States, she couldn’t be queen of Castallegna and qualify for asylum. She didn’t want to give up her country, her citizenship. But she supposed if that’s what it took to meet the end goal, that’s what she’d do.
“I’ll get ready then.”
“Do you need any more help?”
“No, I can do it. Thank you.” She waited for Sonja to leave and dressed. She went toward the master bath to apply the cosmetics that had been left out for her. The makeup artist had wanted to help, but Damara liked to do it herself. It was a sort of ritual that soothed her nerves. She used to watch her mother put on her lipstick before events, and it was something they’d always done together. She missed her so much. It was a way to be close to her and to hear her mother’s wisdom when she was frightened or afraid. Unfortunately, Byron was already there. He stood tall and resplendent in his uniform.
He was clean-shaven, his hair clipped and cropped. His jaw looked harder, his shoulders broader. Yes, there definitely was something about a man in uniform, but this one especially because she suspected it was so very hard for him to put it back on. She was torn between wanting to rip it off him and demand he do salacious things to her, and pulling him softly against her breast and telling him everything would be okay.
At first, she thought he was talking to someone on the phone, but he was talking to himself in the mirror.
“I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move further, faster and fight harder than any other soldier. Never shall I fail my—” He broke off, and his fingers curled into a fist as his eyes closed. “Never shall I fail my—” Byron tried again, but instead of finishing the sentence he put his fist through the mirror.
Glass shards exploded everywhere.
He swore.
Damara knew she should leave him with his ghosts, but he was in such obvious pain. She wouldn’t leave a dog like that, so she certainly wouldn’t do that to a man. And most definitely not to a man who’d done so much for her.
He didn’t need her, he didn’t want her, but he was getting her. Mindless of the glass crunching beneath her pink heels, she went to him.
Damara turned him carefully away from the remains of the mirror so he’d look at her.
Tears shimmered in his eyes, but she knew he’d never shed them. She of all people understood the futility of tears, the perception of weakness, but sometimes they could wash away the sharpest edge of the pain.
Instead of speaking, she embraced him. It wasn’t a soft or kind sort of touch; it was an assault. She dragged him down to her so that he could bury his face in her hair, and she clung to him as if she was the one adrift.
His arms tightened, and he curled his big body around hers.
He was whispering again, and she couldn’t understand what he was saying, but that was okay. It wasn’t for her—she knew that. She’d hold him like this until he said whatever it was that needed to come out.
“And complete the mission though I be the lone survivor. Rangers lead the way.”
Byron didn’t let go. He just held her hard and tight.
But when it was over, it was as if it had never happened. Just like the night he’d made love to her. It was a moment taken out of context from the rest of existence.
She accepted it for what it was. “Are you ready to go?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BYRON COULDN’T EVEN recite the Ranger Creed.
He knew he had no business wearing the uniform.
Never shall I fail my comrades.
But he had. He’d failed them.
I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy.
He hadn’t even brought their bodies’ home. There hadn’t been enough left.
He looked over at Damara, serene and pink and perfect. The scent of jasmine was still in his nose. She’d seen him so weak, so lost, and she’d yanked him back to shore with a simple embrace.
The comfort of her body
, her warmth, her glow.
Without judgment or any sort of morbid curiosity. She just let him be what he was and that meant more to him than he could—or should—articulate.
It was as if she just knew what he needed. Byron was starting to think it was some kind of supernatural power she had, to see into the hearts of people. To know what they needed when they needed it and to be able to manufacture it somehow on demand. That was Damara—the Jewel.
He steeled himself for the inevitable hell of the junket, determined to make it through without being a dick and without thinking about himself. He could do this for her.
Byron took her hand when they stepped out of the car at the community center. It was small and warm but strong, too. Just being near her made him feel as if he was a better man than he actually was.
That was part of why he’d wanted to get away from her, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
He was going to marry her.
This woman, this force, was going to be his wife.
As unworthy as he was.
“This town, it’s just like something out of the movies,” Damara said to him when they were ushered inside.
The town had put together a potluck.
For a press junket.
He rolled his eyes. Leave it to Glory to treat an international affair like a night of church bingo. Although, he found he kind of liked it. It would make it easier to protect Damara. Once the town had claimed her for its own, she’d be one of them forever. They’d circle the wagons around her just like a group of pioneers under attack on the unsettled prairie.
They were seated at a long table on the stage. Bouquets of microphones had been strategically placed, and there were hundreds of cameras already in the room.
He spotted some of Renner’s people already in place. He knew this building like the back of his hand, even if he’d been gone for years. He’d picked the lock to get into the indoor pool with a couple of girls on multiple occasions. He also knew where a couple of secret escape routes were.
As people filed in, the noise in the room became a buzzing roar.