by Jillian Dodd
"That, too," I say, leaning in to kiss him.
I wrap my arms around his neck and sigh into his mouth, wondering why I should even care about any of this. My mom is dead, and no matter how much sleuthing and killing I do, nothing will bring her back.
When we finally stop kissing, he says, "If you think I'm the target of the third hit, it is imperative for you to stay very close to me."
"Just how close are we talking?" I ask as his hand trails up my thigh.
He gives me a devilish grin. "Inseparable. What do you say we take a drive in the countryside and skip the rest of the festivities?"
I can't help but smile at him. "I think that sounds completely wonderful."
After a relaxing drive, where we stopped on the side of the road numerous times to get out and take photos, we arrive at Prescott Manor. We're shown to opulent suites across the hall from each other and told cocktails will be served on the terrace in an hour with dinner to follow. A maid follows me into my room, unpacking my clothes and steaming the wrinkles out of them, while I freshen up.
I choose a pretty pink-and-black gown, the tag stating that it is a silk Marchesa. It features a plunging V-neckline, a bodice made of black Chantilly lace, and a tiered skirt with silk roses. I put it on and study my reflection in the full-length mirror, loving the way I look in this dress. Then I grab the beautiful pair of Oscar de la Renta embroidered-illusion pumps I'm supposed to pair with it. I take a seat on the divan at the end of the bed and am slipping them on when there's a knock at my door.
"Come in," I say, standing up.
Lorenzo walks into the room, looking particularly delicious in a white shirt and dinner jacket paired with a black bowtie and slacks.
"Lee," he says, admiring me, "that dress is sublime. I fear many men will be vying for your attention."
I nervously laugh and feel my cheeks flush. "Thank you."
"Shall we?" he says, holding out his elbow.
We've been on the terrace for all of about fifteen minutes, and I already feel like I've stepped onto the set of a soap opera. Peter, who is supposed to be with Allie, is flirting with Miss Tennis, who is actually here as Daniel's date. Ari is hitting on Allie, who is openly encouraging him because Peter is ignoring her. Lizzie is talking seriously with Daniel when he's not teasing me. And then there's Lorenzo, sweet Lorenzo, who seems to only have eyes for me.
I take in my surroundings, trying to get my bearings in Prescott Manor. But it's huge. Twenty-seven bedrooms. Six hundred acres of land with formal gardens so elaborate that they remind me of the Palace of Versailles, its own golf course, stables, and plenty of wooded grounds for hunting. It's no wonder Peter acts the way he does. How could you not be both sheltered and privileged when you grew up in a place like this?
I belly up to the bar next to him when he goes to retrieve more champagne for Miss Tennis.
"Did you grow up here, Peter?" I ask him.
He hands me a flute and softly clinks his glass to mine in a silent toast. "I grew up in boarding school. This is one of our summer homes."
"One of them?"
"Yes, we have multiple real estate holdings across the world, but this is one of my favorites." He leans in and whispers, "Last summer, when my parents were vacationing in the Antibes for a month, I had one of the company jets bring over a group of my school chums. Ask Daniel. Women. Booze. We even did a club one night. Brought in an international DJ we'd met in Ibiza and nearly brought the roof down. It was the best party ever."
"Sounds like it." I look around at the couture-clad men and women demurely sipping champagne in the great hall, trying to picture what Peter described.
"In fact," he says as he starts to walk back to Miss Tennis, "my mother was just telling me about their next vacation, so we're doing it again. Expect an invite."
I glance over at Lorenzo, who is talking polo with the Danish prince. He flashes me a grin, so I head in his direction, only to be stopped halfway there by Daniel.
He grabs my left hand and studies it. "Are you and Lorenzo engaged?"
"Engaged? Where did you ever get such an idea? The tabloids?"
"No, from Lizzie. We danced at the Queen's Ball after you turned me down. Anyway, we've stayed in touch. She told me that Lorenzo must marry before his next birthday, which is less than a year away."
"Lorenzo did tell me that."
"Did he also tell you that he has a deadline?"
"For getting married? Yeah, before his next birthday."
"No, for getting engaged. Royal weddings take time to plan. And his deadline for being engaged is quickly approaching."
"Hmm. That, I didn't know."
I now understand why Lorenzo has been talking about marriage so much. He's under pressure to take a bride.
"I bet you also didn't know that if he isn't engaged to a woman of his own choosing, he will have to marry Lizzie. Their parents have an agreement."
I can't hide my shock. "Does Lorenzo know that?"
Daniel rolls his eyes at me. "Of course he does." He gives me a smirk. "Seems Prince Charming hasn't been forthcoming. I'd say he was just sowing his wild oats with you before he settled down with Lizzie, but I believe you when you say you haven't slept with him yet."
"I never said that," I bark back.
"Still," he replies, raising his eyebrows at me and then walking away.
For a few moments, I stay rooted in my spot. The realization of what Daniel revealed comes crashing down. I want to run from the room, flop on my bed, and cry.
Instead, I text Ari.
Me: Hey, where are you?
Ari: Right behind you.
I turn around to find him standing there. I was so distracted by the thought of Lorenzo marrying someone else that I didn't hear him sneak up on me. I'm losing my edge.
"Let's check out the garden," I tell him, grabbing his arm and leading him to a somewhat private area.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
"Maybe I'm just not dealing with all this so well. How are you doing it?" I ask, lying, but I don't want to talk to him about Lorenzo marrying someone else. It makes me feel sick.
"I am happy to discover that you're my sister. Are you upset about it?"
"I'm upset about all of it. The way we are being manipulated and lied to. I think you might be right about Black X trying to brainwash me, Ari. They told me over and over that, if I wanted to be the best, I couldn't have any emotional attachments. Then they spring a brother on me? How am I supposed to work with you? You're not expendable anymore. And then there's Lorenzo. He's ignoring my advice about trying to stay safe. What if he's the target of the third hit?"
"Then you won't have to worry about him marrying Lizzie," he says.
I put my head down and try not to cry. "How do you know about that? And how do you know that's why I'm so upset?"
"Daniel told me. And because I know you can deal with the rest. Are you in love with Lorenzo?"
"I can't be, Ari. We barely know each other," I say, trying to rationalize my feelings away.
"But?"
"I feel like I am in love. The thought of him marrying someone else makes me feel sick to my stomach. But then I worry that I'm just desperate for love. You have no idea what it was like, being sent to Blackwood after my mother died. I had no one. And the one guy who my parents always told me would take care of me if something happened dumped me there and only came back to see me once."
"Huntley, you have me now," he says, patting my arm. "We have each other."
"But I don't want you to be my brother. You're my partner. I don't know how to function like this. I'm not supposed to care. But I do. And it's messing with my head. How can I be depended on to make important life and death decisions when I didn't even notice you'd snuck up behind me? I'm unraveling."
"No, you're not. You're in a safe environment, and you let your guard down for a minute."
"Which I should never do! We could literally be standing in the lion's den right now, Ari. We just don't know it yet beca
use the lion hasn't shown himself."
"I think you're wrong about that," he says, taking in the lush setting. "And I think you should talk to Lorenzo about his situation. It's so obvious that he's in love with you."
He goes back to the party.
I take a seat on a nearby bench, needing a moment to catch my breath.
But I don't get one because Peter's father, Malcolm Prescott, sits down next to me.
"I'm glad you could join us," he says.
"Your estate is incredible. You must love it here."
"It is one of my favorite homes. Are you all right? You look distressed."
I am very much so, but I can't tell him that. Anyone in their right mind would think I'd be a fool for not wanting to be with a man like Lorenzo. So I lie. "Today is my birthday. I'm just taking a few moments to reflect."
"Well, happy birthday," he says. "I'm so intrigued to get to know you and your brother."
"And, as I told you at the funeral, I'd love to hear about my father."
He leans back in the bench, settling in. "Your father. Where do I even start? He was brilliant."
"Yeah, I've heard that one before."
"You want to know what he was really like?"
"Yeah, like what were his interests? What did he do in his free time? What kind of person was he?"
"Well, he loved history, and after he met Lorenzo's father, he became slightly obsessed with the Vallenta family tree, which he learned dates back to the Medici family in Florence. Ares always said that we could learn much from history, and he wondered how Montrovia always managed to avoid conflicts and wars. He was very much a pacifist."
I scrunch up my nose. "Really? But so many of his inventions and most of the money he made were from stocking the war machine."
He considers this. "While that is true, your father was altruistic. Everything he invented, at least in his mind, was for the betterment of mankind. His calipers were created in part because his parents had been killed in an auto accident when their brakes failed. He got the idea for using drones after his twin sister was killed in combat."
"Wait. He was a twin?" I ask, unable to hide my shock. "Ari and I are twins, too--we think. Today is both of our birthdays. You'd think that was something the attorney would have maybe mentioned to us. What do you know about his sister?"
"Her name was Ceres, after the goddess of the harvest. She wanted to be a Marine, like their father before them. Ares didn't want her to enlist, and it caused strife between them. When she passed, it was difficult on him. I believe that is part of what led him to become a recluse." He studies me. "And maybe the guilt of not being a father to his children."
"Do you think he knew about us?"
"I would assume, at some point, he did, or you would not have been named in his will," he states.
"True." I nod.
"I will tell you though, he probably wouldn't have been the best of fathers. He had the ability to see a problem and the tenacity to discover its solution. We often wouldn't see him for weeks at a time when he was in the middle of his inventive process. Some would call it obsession. But, obviously, he did extremely well in life."
"Of course, I Googled him when I found out, learned about his company and all his inventions, but there wasn't much written about his personal life."
"He was a private man and turned down all requests for interviews. He was also a little paranoid. Other than the flashy cars he drove, he didn't flaunt his wealth."
"Have you seen his house in DC?" I ask with a laugh. "It's massive."
Malcolm Prescott laughs easily. "Yes, well, in his defense, he did put in a park to hide it from view. He didn't come from money, but, as I said before, he loved history, and he was interested in royalty, wealth, trusts, and even secret societies. He preferred to associate with those types of people rather than, say, the latest hot celebrity. Did you get to tour his lab?"
"We walked through it. Not much left in there, but we did see photos of him. That was pretty cool. He seemed to know a lot of influential people. My favorite one though was one with you, him, Viktor's father, the former president, and Lorenzo's father. You all looked young, tan, and happy."
He suddenly stands up, and I wonder if what I said has offended him.
"Follow me," he commands.
He leads me inside and then down a gilded hallway to a large billiards room featuring a massive vaulted ceiling and walls covered with a combination of hunting trophies and photographs.
He peruses the wall for a moment and then points. "Was it this one?"
I smile when I recognize it as the same picture. "Yeah, it was. Was it a good day?"
"Absolutely. We were all in Montrovia, gambling and carrying on as single young men do. I suppose I shouldn't be so hard on Peter sometimes. He just doesn't seem to be driven."
"Does he need to be?"
Malcolm chuckles again. "You are astute, aren't you? I suppose you are correct. My success could lead to my son's failure."
"What makes you think he will be a failure?"
"Because he reminds me of Jack Jr. And look what happened to him."
"He became president of the United States."
"And, now, he's dead," Malcolm says, lowering his head.
He doesn't speak for a few moments, so I stay quiet.
He takes a cleansing deep breath and then looks up at the photo again. "You probably wonder why I would consider someone who became president of a great nation a failure. Simple--because he hadn't earned it. Everything was easy for Jack. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. He never really worked a day in his life. If it weren't for his family connections, he never would have been elected."
"I like Peter, but he does have a different view of the world than most. He can be a little pretentious at times, but I honestly don't think he knows better."
"Give me an example," he says.
"At the Queen's Garden Party in Montrovia, he was really upset that they'd confiscated his gold clippers and made him check them. He didn't think they had to worry about him clipping someone's nails to death. When we laughed about it and mentioned how you weren't allowed to have them on commercial flights because they could be used as a weapon, Allie pointed out that he'd never flown commercial in his life. Anyway, it was just funny to hear him huff about it."
"Does he ever mention what he wants to do with his life?"
"He wants to enjoy it." I shrug.
"And what about you, Huntley? What do you want? Or maybe I should ask what you wanted to do before you found out you were extraordinarily wealthy."
"Like what did I want to be when I grew up?"
"Yes."
"Don't laugh. But I thought about maybe working for the government. I'm good with languages, and I love to travel. I thought I might be able to get a job as a translator, working at different embassies. Maybe serve our country in that way."
"You are your father's daughter," Malcolm says. "Let's go check on my son. I saw him and some of the guys going down to the shooting range before I came out to talk to you. We should make sure he hasn't shot anyone yet." On the way there, he says to me, "Has the government reached out to you yet?"
"About working at an embassy? No. I haven't even applied. I probably need to get my degree first. But Ari and I decided to travel for a year, so that won't happen for a while."
"Your father had some unconventional theories about war. He was paranoid and was always worried he was being spied on."
"Really? That's kind of funny since I saw drawings of inventions in his office that were surveillance equipment." I stop walking. "Um, can I ask you a question? Things have changed so much, and it's proving to be a little tricky. And I just thought, well, since you and my father were friends, maybe you might be available to guide Ari and me through some of this."
"It would be my pleasure. Do you have a specific question now or just wondering in general?"
"I have a specific question." I bite my bottom lip to make myself appear a little stressed, but
mostly, I want to gauge his reaction. I still haven't figured out if Malcolm Prescott is friend or foe. "When Ari and I met Peter at the gala, we were seated with Senator Bill Callan. Later, when I was meeting a friend for lunch, the senator introduced me to Mike Burnes."
"The director of the CIA?"
"Yes. He was also at the Callan's dinner party later that night. And he approached me. Gave me his condolences. Then he asked if I'd--well, to put it bluntly, I think he wanted me to spy on people. To be an informant."
Malcolm can't hide the look of surprise on his face. "What else did he say?"
"That the British agent who saved us when we were kidnapped said I was cool under pressure--I have no idea why he said that because I was totally freaking out, but whatever--then he told me that Aleksandr Nikolaevich was attending a Montrovian state dinner that I was going to with Lorenzo. He said there were rumors that his international shipping company might be selling arms to people we didn't want to have them."
"And what did you say?"
"I said I didn't know about that but that the man could sure build a gorgeous yacht."
Malcolm laughs out loud and slaps his hand on his knee. "That's rich. The CIA sells weapons to everyone in the world at one time or another, depending on who they want in charge at the time."
"That's what Ari said."
"How did he leave it?"
"He gave me his card and told me to call him if I heard anything of interest. How in the world would I know if something I heard was of interest? And, besides, I read in the newspaper on the plane that the president's assassin was found and killed, and they made it sound like the hunt was over. You'd think our government would want to know why he was targeted, not just be satisfied that the man who had pulled the trigger was dead. And for some reason, it doesn't add up. The kid they showed on the news didn't look like he'd been hanging out in Syria."
"The public may never know the truth," he says somberly. "But regardless of what our country says, I'm using all my resources to get to the bottom of it. Three of my friends are dead, and I can't help but wonder if I'm next."
"Would it be rude of me to ask why you think that? Were you into something you shouldn't have been?"
"I'm not saying we were saints by any means, but we had similar values. It's what drew us together."
"Except for Jack?"