by Sara Arden
But Damara wasn’t intimidated. “I said I’m not doing this. I won’t risk him.”
Renner’s eyes narrowed, and Byron could see the ruthlessness that he’d had to cultivate to be successful at his position.
“She’ll do it,” Byron interrupted. “We were in the middle of discussing how this is going to go down when you came in.”
“I was in the middle of telling you it wasn’t.”
“And we were discussing how you wanted to go home. I’ll take you home for our honeymoon,” Byron said.
“Please don’t make me do this.”
“This is what you signed up for. I thought you assured me that you’d do whatever it took to save Castallegna?” Renner’s voice was gentle, but the meaning of his words was sharp.
Byron struggled to sit up. “Dan. I’ve got this, okay?”
“No, your princess and I need to be very clear with each other.”
Byron leaned over so that he was between Renner and Damara. “No, you and I need to be very clear with each other. I said it’s handled. My job is to protect the princess, and I’ll do it, even from you.”
“What about yourself?” Renner asked him. “Did you tell her the details about Uganda yet?”
“That’s just cruel,” Damara answered for him. “He doesn’t have to tell me. I don’t care.”
“You should. I think you two have forgotten what this is. It’s not real. Get your heads in the game or this whole thing is going to fall apart.” Renner slammed the door on his way out.
“Damara, did you not hear anything I had to say about this? This isn’t Castallegna, and Renner might as well be a king with all the power he has at his disposal. He usually uses his powers for good, but he is not the kind of man you want to cross.”
“Did you mean what you said? That you’d protect me from him?”
He closed his eyes for a minute. He was afraid of what she was going to ask him. “Of course I will,” Byron said on a heavy exhale.
“Then don’t ask me to risk you. If you’re gone, then what will I have? Who will keep me safe?”
“You’ll keep yourself safe because you’re strong, confident and capable. You don’t need me, Damara.”
“Maybe I don’t need you, but I want you.”
“I haven’t changed my mind about killing your brother.”
“You will.”
He knew he had to tell her about Uganda. She had to know. Renner had used it against him like a weapon. If he thought that would keep Byron from doing this one good thing, he was sadly mistaken.
“If you still want to hear it, I’ll tell you about Uganda.” His voice was harsher, lower than he meant. He tried to speak clearly, to own his crimes, but his vocal cords didn’t want to obey him. Neither did his memory.
Byron shied away from remembrance like he would a hungry lion. He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t, but he had to. Just like he was asking Damara to face some ugly truths, he had to face his own.
She leaned over and carefully placed the gun in the drawer of the nightstand and turned her attention back to Byron. Gone was the fierce warrior angel and in her place was the soft, kind woman who’d held him to her breast when he’d been coming apart at the seams.
Damara nodded slowly. “Tell me.”
“It was summer,” he began, remembering the smells, the heat, the constant sting of bugs on the back of his neck, his arms. “We, my team and I, we were on a mission to roust some guerillas that had been attacking villages. We found them. Or they found us, rather. They attacked the camp and fled, leading us deep into the jungle. I gave the order to pursue.”
He inhaled a shaky breath, feeling as if someone had dropped a piano on his chest. It was more than just the gunshot wounds. It was the weight of his crime, the wages of his sin. His throat constricted. “And it was a trap. An ambush I should have seen coming a mile away, but I didn’t because I was so keen on completing the mission. We’d been in the area for weeks, getting nowhere. I thought if we could just...”
“It’s not your fault. Your men chose to follow you.”
“They trusted me, and I broke that trust. You know how you don’t want anyone to get hurt because of you? My whole team died. Slaughtered. Tortured. By the time I saw what was happening and called a retreat, it was too late. I’m the only one who survived.”
“What were you supposed to do? Follow them to die?”
“If I had any honor, it’s what I would have done.”
“And then who would have told Belinda Foxworth that her husband wasn’t coming home?”
He cut a sharp glance at her. “Like that’s a good thing?” Byron tried to keep a snarl out of his voice.
“It is when that’s all there is. Now she knows to bury him. She’s not waiting, in vain, sitting by a window watching the road and feeling her heart leap up in her chest every time she sees a strange car or the telephone rings. Each time, it would choke her with hope and despair. Those things can’t coexist. Eventually one or the other wins, and either way there’s no healing. No grief. So now she can honor the man he was, she can love him, she can miss him, but she can live, too. There’s no shame in surviving.”
“It was cowardly.”
“Death isn’t always an honor. Sometimes, most of the time, it’s the easy way out.”
Byron had held on to his pain, his guilt, it had been like a life raft buoying him up in a black, oily sea. Without it, he was drowning.
“I dream about them. I hear them screaming in my head on an endless loop.”
“Their pain is over, Byron. Don’t you think yours should be, too?”
“No. I deserve to suffer for what I’ve done. For reaching too high. I thought I could be more than what I was, but I learned that lesson.”
“The boat, when you talked about getting your hand slapped.” She pushed her hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Byron. For pushing you to this, for taking what I wanted when I didn’t know what you’d been through.”
“Oh, Princess. That’s not on you. I just want you to understand why.”
“Why what?”
“Why it’s okay if I die protecting you. I don’t think it’ll square my accounts, but maybe there’s a little bit of redemption for me with every person you save.”
“When you dream of them, what do they say?” She wore a wistful look.
“Austin Foxworth says that there’s more to life than this while his face burns away,” he said in an even tone that belied the horror.
“You have that in your head and all this talk of weddings and public relations must turn your stomach.”
It had at first, he’d admit. “That doesn’t matter now, Damara. We’re so far past all of that. We’re already married, but we have to have the ceremony. It’ll be televised, and then there will be no doubt in the world court of opinion that it happened. This is to protect you.”
She looked down at her hands. “I feel so ashamed.”
“For what?”
“For putting you through this. For balking when it got tough. I just—” She shrugged.
“You have a soft heart. But that’s also why you have me. To do things that your heart can’t.”
She leaned down on his shoulder. “I’m afraid.”
“I know.” He didn’t tell her it would all be fine. He wasn’t going to lie to her again. Either he was going to die or her brother would when this was all over.
“You need time to heal,” she said after a long period of silence.
“I don’t have that luxury. I’m sure as soon as I can stand, they’ll shovel me into a monkey suit and you into some lace and a veil.”
“And then you’ll take me home,” she said with a certain finality.
“Yeah. Then I’ll take you home.” And one way or another, he
’d never see her again. But that was probably for the best, for both of them.
He wondered what she’d been thinking when she’d said she loved him. If she’d imagined a future with him that could never be. Or if it was just to get them through because she couldn’t bear the thought of him or anyone dying for her.
No, he knew in his bones without even asking what the answer was to that question. Damara felt everything deeply, completely.
He used to think that if he had one wish, one moment he could change, it would be Uganda. But if he did, then he wouldn’t be the one here with Damara.
If he had one thing that he could do differently, one course of history he could change, it would be to make this right for her. To take away her pain, to make her safe.
He couldn’t take her pain, but at least he could make her safe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“CHRISTMAS DAY,” SONJA said to her across the cafeteria table at the base.
“Are you insane?”
Sonja looked at her. “Why would you ask that?”
What kind of question was that? “He was shot,” Damara answered, as if the PR rep wasn’t aware of the fact.
“He’s fine.” Sonja waved it off. “He’s a former ranger, honey. You can’t keep them down unless you put them down, if you know what I mean.”
“There’s no way he’s going to be ready to be on his feet.” She shook her head.
“He’s already been on his feet. Did you really think a man like Hawkins would be content to lie there and convalesce?” She said this last as if it were something dirty.
“It’ll have only been a week on Christmas Day.”
“And we can’t show any weakness.” Sonja eyed her. “You understand that, right?”
This whole thing had gone so far afield from what she’d wanted, how she’d planned. Damara supposed she really was that naive girl Byron had accused her of being. She was still a pawn, and she’d done nothing but exacerbate the situation.
“Yes, I understand.” She nodded.
“So, we’re going to have the ceremony here, at the Main Post Chapel. It’s really a lovely building.”
Damara didn’t think there was anything in the world that was worth Byron Hawkins’s life. Nothing. Not Castallegna, not capturing Kulokav. And not her.
Nothing.
At least when she thought they’d have to be apart, she’d know he was still in the world. Still flashing that cocky grin and still saving damsels in distress.
Morbidly, she wondered how many nights Belinda Foxworth had stayed up bargaining with heaven for the exact same thing. What had she offered in trade for Austin Foxworth?
And why hadn’t it been enough?
“Hey, I’m losing you. Front and center.” Sonja snapped her fingers. “We’re down to the wire.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Damara sighed. “I’m trying.”
“You’re distracted because you’re worried about Hawkins.”
“Aren’t you?” She wondered how the other woman could be complacent in this insanity of a plan.
“No. That’s not my job. My job is to get you married. I know it sounds a little coldhearted and mercenary, but it’s what has to be done. Renner tells me that you’re going back to Castallegna? Do you have a plan?”
“I thought that only PR was your job?” Damara asked.
“We can’t very well release to the press that you’re going to Castallegna on your honeymoon.”
A fake honeymoon was apt for a fake marriage. “I don’t even know how we’re going to get back on Castallegna. It’s not like we can just fly in. This has all fallen apart.” She shook her head.
Sonja’s face softened. “Look, I know this has to be tough. But you’re letting your brother and the Russians get in your head. That’s what they wanted. The shooter could have easily used a much higher-caliber weapon. They didn’t want him dead. They wanted to show you that they could hurt him, and they did. They wanted you to scramble, and you are. But let’s scramble on our terms, okay?”
“PR campaigns are very much like waging a war, aren’t they?” Damara asked her.
Sonja grinned. “Yes, they are. They’re the ones who bloodied the waters, so let’s give them a shark.” She paused. “I’ve been in meetings with Renner. I promise you—Hawkins can take it. He’ll be medically cleared before you go. He’ll still have a wound, but he’s not like other men. He’s more like a junkyard dog. Mean as hell, and, if you tear him open, you’ll just make him madder.”
Damara wondered if Sonja knew just how right she was about that. No wonder he’d been pushing her away because Damara was the one who kept trying to tear him open.
There was a part of her that wanted to call Grisha and surrender. If she did that, Byron would be safe. But she was sure that was a little-girl fantasy, too. There was just no way for this to end but badly.
“So, what do you think of the dress?” Sonja prompted.
Damara looked down at the pictures spread out in front of her. The pretty white ballgown with holly trim around the neckline and the red sash at the waist that turned into part of the train. It was lovely.
But it made her think of her mother’s simple Grecian dress. She’d worn no jewelry when she’d married Damara’s father until he’d placed a ring on her finger and a crown on her head. There’d been jasmine petals under her feet.
Her heart constricted, and she missed Castallegna, her mother, her father and the way her brother used to be.
“It’s fine.” She nodded.
“We can get something else,” Sonja rushed to assure her.
“No, really. It’s fine.” She plastered a smile on her face and forced her attention to the arrangements. This was something she had control over, something she could do. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her mark and that had to be worth something, at least in her own head.
She wrote down a list of the things she wanted from the cake to the reception. “I want a closed reception for the town. No press. Only locals. The town has been good to me, and I’d like to do something special for them.” For Byron, too. Maybe he’d stop thinking so little of himself if the town could show him the man he’d become, not the boy he once was.
“I think we’re done for the day.” Sonja gathered up all the papers and began organizing them with sticky notes, highlighters and folders.
“Thank you for all you’ve done.” Damara took her hand and squeezed.
“My pleasure. Usually, I’m hired to clean up things we’d rather not know about. It’s not a nice job, but it pays well. And this, this was something good. What’s better than a fairy tale?”
“The truth?” Damara raised a brow.
“Honey, you’re going to get the happily ever after. You’re a princess who is all the things a princess should be. And you’re already in love with the prince.”
“The prince has to love himself first, and I don’t know if that’s going to happen. Even if it does, we’re from two different worlds.”
“I guess that will be for you two to work out.” Sonja finished packing up. “I’ll walk you back to the room. They’ve moved him to a labor-and-delivery suite so your stay is more comfortable.”
This was the last thing she wanted to think about. The very last. It was too close to all the things she’d dreamed of and none of the things she’d have. But she followed behind Sonja anyway.
They paused at the empty nursery, and Damara was glad it was empty. Damara didn’t want to take a chance that a child would be hurt while she and Byron were being sheltered there. She placed her hand on the window anyway, thinking about what it would be like to have her own child. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday.
“Aren’t you worried Hawkins will catch you daydreaming?” Sonja teased.
No, she wasn’t wor
ried about that at all. She’d been trying to picture children with some nameless, faceless someone, but all she could see was a little girl with his eyes and her hair. His strength and her heart.
As if that would ever happen. If Byron didn’t even want a commitment, he’d never want children. She dragged her hand away from the glass and followed Sonja to the room.
“I’ll leave you two alone. I have some paperwork to catch up on.” Sonja left.
She was right; it was a much nicer space. The room was done in soft, dark colors. There were two cushioned couches, a bed large enough for them both and a fruit basket as well as other sundry items all set out for them. It was almost like a hotel.
Byron stood in a pair of clean black fatigues, bare from the waist up.
Her mouth watered, and she felt instantly guilty about all the thoughts in her head. He was an injured man, and yet, standing there with his muscles all hard and flexed in the soft light, Damara needed to touch him.
More, she needed the reassurance of his body, the heat of his skin, the steady beat of his heart.
He turned when she entered and the sight of the angry wounds on his chest drilled deep into her. She ached for him physically, as well as in her heart. She supposed they were one and the same.
“I’m glad to see you’ve been taken off all the machines. That means you’re improving, right?”
“I’m fine.” He nodded.
“So says you with the holes in your chest.”
He shrugged, his massive shoulders rolling with the action. “They don’t feel good, but the docs sealed them with that surgical glue.”
“And what happens if someone hits you there?”
Byron raised a brow.
She walked toward him slowly, her brain screaming at her that this was a bad idea, but she just had to touch him. Damara wanted to feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers.
He was frozen, didn’t move or even blink as she looked up into his eyes and pressed her palm over his heart.
The words bubbled up again and she didn’t want to say them, but she’d decided love was much like soda. It was sweet and carbonated, dancing around and exploding outward when rattled by a thought or a sensation.