by Jillian Dodd
"Of course, Lorenzo. We were on your yacht."
"And you were the first woman to ever step foot on it," he adds.
"Besides your mother," I correct, teasing.
He cradles my face in his hands. "Insomuch as love grows in you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul. You are the beauty of my soul, Lee. I love you."
My heart swells with joy at the same time my stomach drops. He shouldn't love me. And I can't say it back. It wouldn't be fair to him. Lorenzo makes me wish I were a normal girl. The kind of girl who would be thrilled to hear his words of love. I consider saying something like thank you, but I figure that would be dumb, so I just gaze into his eyes, hoping it's enough. Hoping he sees through my hardened exterior and knows, somehow, that I feel the same. And that I wish I could tell him.
After a moment, he breaks eye contact, picking up the other package and setting it on my lap. I quickly tear open the wrapping to find the beautiful chess set from his study with its inlaid marble chessboard and intricately carved but worn wooden pieces.
"I can't accept this, Lorenzo. It must be quite old."
"It's been in my family since the sixteenth century and is passed to the eldest son on his sixteenth birthday. But I must give it to you, for every time I look at it, I recall the desire in your eyes. Desire I'd like to fulfill in the future. I hope that you will continue this tradition, by passing this on to your son on his sixteenth birthday. And if I'm lucky enough that your child is also my son, that will mean I have lived a truly blessed life."
I throw myself into his arms, giving him a tight hug. Then we lie down on the bed, holding hands and staring at the balloons floating in the air above us until we fall asleep.
MISSION:DAY TWO
The sun shines in through the curtains, reflecting off the balloons and giving the room a colorful glow. I wake up feeling like I'm in the midst of a rainbow. The effect is even more stunning than the night before. Or maybe it's the afterglow of sleeping in Lorenzo's arms all night.
"Good morning, my sweet," he murmurs in my ear, causing me to melt.
I know, eventually, the helium will fade, all the balloons will drop to the ground, and he'll be left picking up the pieces--just like he will in our relationship. Part of me wants to confront him about his impending engagement, but I don't want to ruin this moment.
"Good morning, Your Highness," I say with a little giggle.
"I have to admit, this is a surprise," he says. "Waking up in bed with a beautiful woman, fully clothed, and being happy about it."
I lean down and give him a kiss. "You're very cute."
"Cute? I have been called handsome, rakish, debonair, suave, sophisticated, and even dapper. But I don't think I have ever been called cute."
"Well, I think you are. What are your plans for the day?"
He leans down and kisses my forehead. "I plan to spend the day with you. Let's have breakfast here, in your suite. We are due downstairs around ten thirty for pre-departure drinks."
I glance at the clock, and seeing it's already eight, I pop out of bed. "Why don't you order breakfast while I shower?"
"Sounds like a plan. Although we could conserve water by showering together," he says sexily.
My breath catches, stopping me in my tracks. I don't want to turn him down. I don't want to stop his advances. There's nothing I would like more than to say yes.
"Um," I end up saying.
He takes my hand in his. "I understand," he says. "We will wait for such exquisite pleasures."
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Because I have to. I'm afraid, if I open my mouth again, I will beg him to join me. And I'm already in deep with him emotionally; if I let it get physical, I will never be able to finish my mission. Because I won't want to leave him.
Instead, I race into the bathroom and turn on the water, locking the door behind me--to lock myself in more than to keep him out.
I quickly strip off my clothes and get into the shower, allowing the steamy water to rush over my body. I close my eyes and think about my next mission as I wash my hair. I must stay focused on that.
While I thought that going after The Priest would be my most dangerous mission, I realize I was wrong. The stakes will just continue to get higher as I work my way up the chain of deceit.
In school, they taught us to think critically. To dissect plots on the fly. We must identify the players, figure out what they want to accomplish, why they want it. Understanding the motivation behind a plot can help you make assumptions in a case. The problem is, so far, we don't know anything, except that it starts in Montrovia. What bothers me is that I feel Black X knows more than they are sharing with us. Our missions are simply leading us along some predetermined path. And, somehow, that path is related to my mother's death.
I'd thought, when I found The Priest, I would get some answers. But he knew nothing; he was just a hired gun. If it's true that former president John Hillford Senior himself ordered the hit on my mother, the question is, why? What did she know? Was she investigating the president? Maybe that's where I need to look. It could be the key to unraveling everything.
"The key. The lockbox key for the Royal Montrovian Bank," I say out loud.
Could something in it point me in the right direction? Although, based on what was in the vault in Switzerland, I highly doubt it. Mom would never have knowingly put me in danger.
I pause, sucking in a deep breath, as realization hits me.
Actually, that's not true. We traveled together for her "work" all the time. I was probably always in some kind of danger.
My mind flits back to a time when we were in Casablanca. We had been strolling through the city and were on the grounds of the Cathedrale du Sacre Coeur. My dad was supposed to "meet a friend" there, and while we waited, my mom was telling me about how the castle was built in the 1930s, making it new compared to the city itself, which dated back to the tenth century BC. My dad got a call on his phone, and his eyes got big. He and Mom shared a panicked look. I could sense something was wrong, and when we abruptly split up, I got scared.
"Where is Daddy going?" I asked in French since that was the language we were speaking on this trip.
She tightly grabbed my hand, practically dragging me through the grounds and then down a curved street, toward an art school.
"I don't have time to explain. We have to hurry, Lee," she also said in French, trying to keep her voice sounding calm but it came out with a shrill.
When we got inside the school, we rushed upstairs, down a long, narrow hall, and then back down a different set of stairs.
She stopped briefly at the door, holding me back with one arm, while she surveyed the alley.
"We're going to have to split up," she said, pointing. "Run straight that way to the Boulevard Hassan I, take a left, and then another left onto Boulevard Moulay Youssef. Go to the US Consulate. Tell them your name and that you and your mom got split up. I will meet you there. You will need to speak in English even though we've been speaking French on this trip. Okay?"
"Okay, Mom." I heard a car screech to a stop somewhere nearby.
"Go, Lee!" she said. "And, no matter what you hear, don't turn around."
But I did turn around. After I was safely behind the corner of a building, I stopped and peeked my head out, seeing two men in suits hopping out of a dark sedan, both brandishing weapons. And I instinctively knew, I'd better follow my mother's directions exactly if I ever wanted to see her again.
I walked to the Consulate like I knew exactly where I was going. Because I did. Mom always made me get to know the local area whenever we arrived in a new city.
And, when I got there, I calmly told them my mother's name and that we'd gotten separated.
The soldier at the door was kind, took me inside, and hit a few keys on a computer. Whatever he saw caused his eyes to perceptibly widen. Then he said, "Come with me."
I followed him to an elevator where he instructed me to wait. The elevator doors parted, rev
ealing a tall man in a different type of uniform. This one, all black.
He pulled me into the elevator with him and placed his palm on a screen. Instead of the elevator going upward, as expected, I could feel us descending.
When the doors opened, a large space was spread out in front of us. It looked like something out of a war movie with huge flat-paneled screens showing diagrams and charts and live video feeds.
"What is all that?" I asked.
"It's a normal part of all Consulates," he told me. "It just allows us to monitor news and other information going on in the country. Our job is to keep our citizens who are traveling here safe. Now, tell me where you were when you lost your mom."
He led me into the room and pulled up a map on the computer. I showed him the art school and where we had been before. I didn't tell him about the armed men since I wasn't supposed to see that.
He nodded to someone standing next to him and then led me to a kitchen where he got me a snack.
"Stay here and eat. And don't worry; we'll find your mom."
But it wasn't until the next morning when we were all reunited. My dad walked with a limp that he shrugged off as an old football injury, saying that it had gotten irritated when sightseeing through the old streets. But my mom was banged up, like she'd been in a car accident. Her right cheek was bruised, and the eye above it was swollen nearly shut. There were six stitches on her neck, and her arm was in a sling. She told me that she'd gotten mugged, but I know better than that now.
I dry off, wrap myself up in a plush hunter-green bathrobe with a Prescott Manor monogram, and comb my hair. There's a knock at the door, so I rush out of the bathroom to answer it, suddenly feeling starved.
I notice that Lorenzo has changed out of his suit and into a matching robe. He's sitting at the table, reading the morning paper, and his hair is wet. He must have gone back to his room and showered already.
"I'll get it," I tell him when I see him start to rise.
When I open the door, I'm surprised to find Daniel with a large tray of food.
"Your breakfast is served, Miss Von Allister," he says with a devilish look in his eye. "I don't know what all you ordered, but it looks like enough for two. Thought I would join you."
He doesn't give me a chance to reply before he walks in past me and toward the table. But then he stops midway upon seeing Lorenzo in my room. And I know how it looks.
"I'll just drop this here," he says, his voice turning cold, as he sets it on the table. "You two have a great morning." Then he turns on his heel and walks back out of the room.
I follow him. "Daniel," I say, catching him in the hall, "it's not how it looks."
"What makes you think I care how it looks? And what's with all the balloons?"
"It was my birthday yesterday. He decorated."
He grabs my wrist. "You're still wearing my watch."
"Yes."
"But you're with him now?"
"No, Daniel. I'm not with anyone. Lorenzo and I are friends. I mean, we've kissed, but that's--"
"I get it. I just wanted to say good-bye. I'm not going to the tennis match. I got invited to join this club thing. I am going to an interview for that, and then I have to head back to the States to practice. Tryouts are coming up fast. Will you be back in DC soon?"
"I'm not sure."
"Well, if you are, give me a call. I was serious about the tour."
"Thanks, Daniel." I lean forward and give him a kiss on the cheek.
He grips my arms with his hands. "Lorenzo's going to break your heart. You know that, right? They are going to announce his engagement as early as next week."
"That's soon."
"Yeah, and he's yet to tell you. What does that say about your Prince Charming now?"
"You seem upset. Do you like Lizzie?"
"I just don't think it's fair that she has to marry someone she doesn't love. Who does that in this day and age?"
"Royalty, I guess. It seems like a stupid law to me, but at the same time, I understand the need for an heir to the throne. And it doesn't help that his life is still in danger."
"Why do you think that?" he asks, gazing intently at me.
And I realize I just slipped up.
"Because his security detail seems to think so, I guess," I reply, covering.
He rolls his eyes. "Sounds like the Secret Service that is guarding me. They act like a terrorist is hiding in every corner of every room."
"But what I don't understand is, why would Lizzie agree to this at all? Can't she say no?"
"Do you want her to?" he asks.
"Honestly, I don't know what I want. Lorenzo and I went through something traumatic together, and we bonded because of it. I have feelings for him, but I've only known him a short time, and I don't know if those feelings are just because of what we went through or if it could be something more. My life has changed so much in such a short time. Finding out about my father, inheriting a ton of money, learning I have a brother, and then meeting all of you and getting sucked into this crazy, amazing world of privilege."
Daniel leans against the wall. "And what about me?"
I smile at him. "I like you, Daniel. I think you know that."
"I like you, too. And, remember, even though Peter and I weren't kidnapped along with you, we still went through a lot. It's bonded us all."
He reaches out and runs his hand down my damp hair. "I'm going to tell you something I probably shouldn't, but our government thinks you are right. Something is going on in Montrovia. They don't seem to know what, but they also believe Lorenzo is in danger. Especially after what happened to Ophelia and Clarice."
I decide to confide in him about something important. Something I wonder if our government really knows. "Can we go in your room?"
He gives me a grin. "I thought you'd never ask, Huntley."
"I want to tell you something about all that in private, not in the hall."
He narrows his eyes at me and then takes my hand, leading me into his room. "Okay, what?"
I pat the front of his jacket and feel his phone. "Would you turn on some music?"
"You going to strip for me?" he asks. But he doesn't smile. It's like he's instinctively following along with my ruse.
When a loud rap song blares out, one I know he listens to when working out, I take a step closer to him and put my mouth up to his ear. "I'm not sure if our government knows the truth about what happened after we were kidnapped. The story in the papers, saying that Ophelia was killed by the kidnappers, isn't true."
He grabs my shoulders and presses me back slightly, so he can look into my eyes, trying to judge if I'm telling the truth or not.
After studying me, he finally says, "Tell me."
"Ophelia was behind the kidnapping. She hired men to kill Lorenzo. Apparently, she had some serious hate for Montrovia. She said she was going to sell the Strait to the highest bidder and then close the casinos, sink the yachts, and become queen, ruling as she saw fit. The British agent, Gallagher, killed her."
"I want you to come back to DC with me and see the White House," he says.
I'm a little confused as to why in the world he would say that after what I just told him.
But then I realize he didn't whisper it.
"Would I also be seeing your father?" I ask, thinking maybe that's what he means.
He nods furiously. "Yes."
But I know I can't go. I have to stay in London for my mission.
"I can't leave with you today, but I'll come as soon as I can." I pull him back close and whisper again, "The fact that Clarice was assassinated after Ophelia was killed means whatever was going on isn't over."
He nods and then whispers back, "And, with the Olympics being held in Montrovia, it makes it all a little scary." He gives me a quick kiss. "Take care of yourself, Huntley."
"I will," I reply.
But, as I'm walking down the hall, back to my room, my mind is going crazy. Could something bad happen at the Olympics?
&
nbsp; "Everything okay?" Lorenzo asks.
I sit down across the table from him, noticing that he has spread out our food but hasn't started eating yet, the warming domes still over the plates.
"When was it announced that the Summer Olympics would be held in Montrovia?"
He sort of shakes his head, his mind obviously not expecting my question.
"Do you need to know the exact date?"
"Yes."
He gets out his phone and presses a few buttons. "Nearly seven years ago, in September. They must announce the host city far in advance to allow time to build the necessary infrastructures needed for hosting such an event."
"And the world will descend into Montrovia in just a few months?"
"Yes."
"Lorenzo, have you ever considered that whatever is supposed to start in Montrovia might have something to do with such an event?"
He closes his eyes, suddenly looking tired. "No, I haven't."
We don't talk much during breakfast, Lorenzo clearly distressed by the thought.
I've been running evil schemes through my head, but no matter what horrors I come up with, the result is the same. While there could be tragedy in Montrovia, other than sorrow over lost souls, I can't imagine how anything would directly affect the rest of the world whether it be physical or economic ruin. While Montrovia is known to be a safe place to house wealth, a financial ruin wouldn't greatly affect the world. If the capital city were destroyed by some kind of bomb, it would be a tragedy, but what would it trigger? A war, perhaps, depending on who was responsible.
If you want to hurt citizens of every major country in the world, the Olympics would be the place to do it. But my thoughts keep returning to one piece of information Ophelia mentioned--she was going to sell the Strait of Montrovia to the highest bidder. That would have had worldwide ramifications. But taking over the Strait could be done at anytime.
That brings me back to square one.
I break the silence. "Lorenzo, I've been sitting here, thinking of all sorts of horrible things, different terror situations, that could happen at the Olympics, but while tragic, what would it start?"
"Montrovia's demise, I would assume," he replies. "It would cripple our economy if we couldn't keep our tourists safe. If there were a major terrorist attack, I suspect it would destroy Montrovia as we know it."