Spy Girl

by Jillian Dodd

  After taking off my shoes, I get a tour of his amazing yacht. It sports a navy steel hull with a white superstructure on top and is curvy like a racecar. The interior is made up of rich woods accented in stainless steel with lots of leather upholstery. It’s a combination of sleek, rich, contemporary warmth. It has six staterooms for guests as well as a massive owner’s suite and room for a large crew. It also features five levels of sundecks, a pool, nightclub, and numerous entertaining salons.

  “It’s one of the prettiest boats in the harbor,” I tell him as we go to the top deck to view the charity races.

  “Thank you. My father would love to hear you say that.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He worked with Viktor’s father’s yacht company for the last two years having it built for my twenty-fourth birthday.”

  “When was that?”

  “Just three weeks ago. You are my first guest.”

  “But I’ve seen pictures of you on yachts surrounded by women. There was one in the paper just the other day.”

  “Not on this boat. You are the first woman, besides my mother, to step foot on it.”

  “Well, I’m honored then.”

  “I thought we could have lunch up here and then enjoy the sun on the pool deck.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  He gives me a kiss. “So, how is my beautiful Huntley today?”

  “It seems she’s on the cover of the newspaper.”

  “Yes, our publicist did mention that there are a lot of photos of us. Are you okay with that?”

  I laugh. “Um, the question should be are you okay with that? I’m a nobody. No one cares who I’m with.”

  “I do,” he says, kissing me again. “And I prefer you be photographed with me as opposed to another man. Did you remember to send the bombs to the castle?”

  “I did—not that you gave me much time—and you need to stop calling them that. I’ll end up getting arrested.”

  “You may get arrested if anyone sees you in this,” he teases, pulling a teeny white thong that looks too small for a Barbie doll out of his duffle bag. Good thing the Kates insisted on the Brazilian cut down there. “This is what you will be wearing.”

  “I’m not wearing that.”

  “It’s for bath time, not for yacht time.”

  “Well, thank goodness.”

  I look around at all the yachts in the harbor, each one packed to the gills with spectators. “Did you notice this is the only yacht not full of people watching the race?”

  “I hadn’t noticed. I only have eyes for you.”

  I laugh. “Really?”

  “You talked me out of participating in the charity race. I’m not sure what kind of spell you have me under.”

  “Love potion, probably,” I tease. “Ordered from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley.”

  “Harry Potter,” he says, doing a great imitation of Dobby the house elf, which causes me to burst out in laughter.

  I stifle my laugh when a sommelier brings us a bottle of wine, allowing Lorenzo the opportunity to taste it and deem it good enough to drink.

  He holds his glass up and touches mine. “Love is the beauty of the soul.”

  I recite the rest of the quote. “Insomuch as love grows in you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul.”

  “Do you believe that?” he asks, holding my gaze.

  “I think love grows in us, but I don’t think love is always beautiful.” An image of my mother clouds my vision, but this time instead of watching her head get blown away, I see her eyes before she got shot, full of love for me. Not caring about herself, only wanting to protect me at all costs. It saddens me to know that she died worried for me. I feel like I let her down.

  Tears gather in my eyes.

  “Huntley?” the Prince asks, searching my face.

  “Sorry, the answer to your question is yes. I believe love to be a beautiful thing.”

  “Where did you just go?” he asks. I put my head down. I’m not supposed to let him in. I can’t, but he gently touches my face. “Tell me.”

  “I was just thinking about my mother,” I answer honestly.

  “How old were you when she passed?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “And your father?”

  “They both died then.”

  “Then what?”

  “Boarding school. College.”

  “So you’ve been on your own for a while?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He sets his glass down without taking a drink and pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head, and hugging me. “I will admit to knowing all that, but I wanted to hear it from you.”

  “Let me guess, your security checked me out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that normal protocol for everyone you date?”

  “No, but it is for the girl who saved my life twice. I want to know everything about you. Is it bad that I read their report?”

  “My life hasn’t been very exciting, other than a few detentions for sneaking out after curfew, so I imagine it was a rather dull read.”

  “You are well-traveled. That was the most interesting thing. Passport stamps from all over the world, even from a young age.”

  What he says gives me pause, because this was not in my backstory. But maybe my real story is my backstory, just with a different name. I realize that this is a do or die situation. If what I say and what he read in my file don’t agree, he will know I’m lying, and I’ll end up in a Montrovian jail—or worse, sent home a failure.

  “My parents traveled a lot for their jobs, and we often stayed for months at a time,” I reply, then quickly try to change the subject. “I particularly love visiting ruins and museums.”

  “You mentioned that at the castle. What do you like about them?”

  “When you combine the literature and art from an era, you get a good idea of how people of different time periods lived. It’s intriguing that at the core, their lives weren’t all that different from ours. There was good and evil. Love and hate. War and peace. Happiness and tragedy. I find that comforting.”

  “How so?”

  “Because someone else has probably gone through something similar to what I have, if not worse.”

  “We still haven’t sealed our toast,” he says, handing me back my glass. “To love worth recording.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say, feeling like I just dodged a very big bullet.

  We have lunch then sit on the pool deck for a bit, enjoying each class of the charity races and then a practice session for the professionals.

  We’re cheering for his favorite driver, who is out on the track, when one of his security detail brings a wrapped package and sets it in front of me.

  My immediate thought is that it’s a bomb. I consider picking it up and throwing it into the bay, hoping it wouldn’t destroy all these yachts. I must have a panicked look on my face because the man says, “It’s a gift for you from a friend. We opened it, checked to make sure it was legitimate, and rewrapped it. Sorry, it’s not quite as pretty as when it arrived.”

  “What is it?” Lorenzo asks as the guard retreats to his position.

  “I have no idea.” I carefully open the box and pray they properly vetted it. When I take the lid off, I find the Judith Leiber silver crystal clutch with red and pink lips that I was coveting at the store today. “Wow.”

  Lorenzo takes the card out of the box and reads it. “You should never walk away from something you love, even if it’s impractical. It’s signed with just a W. Do you know who that is?”

  “I think so. William Gallagher. He was at the store when I was considering buying it. Do you know him?”

  “He’s British.”

  “That’s what he said. What do you know about him?” I try to make the question sound curious and not like an interrogation.

  “He works for the government. Covert stuff.”

  “Like a spy?”

  “I believe
so.”

  “He was following me.”

  “Why?”

  “He asked me if we were going to the yacht party tonight. I told him I didn’t know. It seemed weird, you know? After everything that’s happened.”

  He calls Juan over and asks him to find out why the hell a British spy is on his soil, if his government knows about it, and why he was following me.

  “You have good instincts. You’re very clever.”

  “Thank you. Um, do you think it’s okay if I keep the clutch?”

  He laughs. “Did you really love it and not buy it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then William and I are in agreement. You should have everything your heart desires, Huntley, my dear.”

  X X X

  After an afternoon on his yacht, we head to the castle to take our bath and prepare for the party tonight.

  I put on the teeny white thong and find him waiting for me in a mini euro Speedo type thing. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

  I remind myself that topless is normal here and fight the urge to cover my boobs. And although the other night there was some over-the-dress boob action that went on, this is the first time Lorenzo has seen them naked. It’s both awkward and stimulating.

  He leads me into a palatial bathroom, which features a huge sunken tub large enough for a crowd. The water has been drawn. The bathroom glitters with ornate blue and gold metallic tiles and features a cathedral ceiling covered with paintings of mermaids, Greek gods, and elaborate sailing vessels—all supported by marble Doric-style columns.

  “Are you ready to add the bath bombs?” he chuckles, holding up the bag.

  “Why don’t you do the honors?” I suggest, sitting on the edge and watching his expression as they bubble and fizz.

  “The water is turning very blue,” he says nervously.

  “Don’t worry.” I grab the smaller bag of golden bars, get into the tub, and break them up under the faucet. “It’s not dye. We won’t go to the party looking like Smurfs.”

  He laughs. “That is a relief. Would you care for some champagne?”

  “I’d love some,” I reply as he pours me a glass. It’s French, dry, and tastes expensive.

  He steps into the bath, sits down, and we both relax. It’s really quite nice, sitting close to him, mostly naked, all warm and sipping on champagne.

  He wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I lean back into it.

  “So are you only here for the week?” he asks.

  “We leased the villa for a few months.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s beautiful.”

  “Would you ever consider settling in my great country?”

  “I read Montrovia is very easy to visit, but living here is another story. Foreign real estate transactions must be approved by the government for anyone who isn’t Montrovian by birth.”

  “You could always stay at the castle.”

  “If you tell that to all the girls you date, there’s probably a waiting list.”

  He chuckles, and it’s clear I’m amusing him. “Would you like to?”

  “I would like to, but I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not looking to be your nanny.” I cup water in my hand and pour it onto his chest with a grin.

  Which causes him to do the same to me, the warm water gliding through my cleavage.

  “What about a princess?”

  I laugh—choke, practically, on my champagne.

  “Ohmigosh, that usually works, doesn’t it? No wonder when I Googled your country all the images that came up were photos of you with different women. It seems tourism ranks second place by a mile.”

  He takes a sip of his champagne, looking thoughtful. Probably trying to figure out how to make himself sound less of a cad. I mean they call him the Playboy Prince for good reason.

  “If the papers are correct, there may be a royal wedding soon,” he says, finally, apparently deciding it’s better to just change the subject.

  “That stands to reason, since your cousin got engaged yesterday in a very public way.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you haven’t read the papers or seen the articles about us?”

  “Because I haven’t. I saw the photo on the front cover of the local paper, and that was enough.” I move away from him and swim across the pool-sized bath.

  “Why?” he asks, following.

  “I’m not sure hats are a good look for me. I looked awkward.”

  He pins me into the corner and kisses me. “You were beautiful. Did you get your invitation for tonight?”

  “Ari said they were delivered while I was out this morning shopping for a dress.”

  “And did you find one?”

  “That was the good thing about the photo in the paper. Everyone in the stores was very helpful. And I did.”

  “What does it look like?”

  “What little there is of it is silver and fringy.” He nuzzles his face into my neck then slowly kisses his way to my mouth. I honestly fully expected I’d have to fend him off if I sat topless with him in a bath, but he’s behaving very well.

  Although part of me wishes he wouldn’t. I’m torn between my own desire and what I deem to be good for my mission.

  I move onto the Prince’s lap. He smiles and wraps his arms around me and continues talking. I’m thinking that he doesn’t usually talk much to the girls he sleeps with. It helps that conversation flows easily between us.

  “Before we go, I have to meet with the Saudi Prince again. He says his country is still concerned about our shipping lanes allowing him passage to Europe.”

  “Why?” I ask, running my hands gently through his hair. I need to get his take on it all. I also wonder what the Saudis have heard that has made them nervous. “Is he a friend?”

  Lorenzo squints, an imperceptible twitch that tells me no—regardless of what comes out of his mouth next.

  “He feels our military is lacking, but we have controlled the Strait for over four hundred years,” he says, suddenly holding up his hand and studying it. “My hand is gold.”

  “I’ll take all the glitter, so I will sparkle tonight.” I laugh, taking his hands and rubbing them down the front of me. “I can see why the Prince is worried, though, things have changed in the world.”

  He glances at the clock letting me know that bath time is over, so we swim over to where the towels are.

  “Yes, terrorism is an unfortunate side effect—”

  “I’ve never really understood that,” I say, wrapping a fluffy towel around me. He does the same, and we sit on a bench and continue to talk.

  “Terrorism? Extremism?”

  “Yeah. I mean look through a history book. People have been killing each other for centuries in the name of religion, and I don’t get it. Nearly every religion teaches peace. Man’s ability to twist whatever gospel they believe—is where we get into trouble. People laugh at pageant contestants who say they want world peace, but isn’t that what we should all want?”

  “All you need is love? Do you believe that?”

  “If we truly loved our fellow man, yeah, I do. Have you ever heard of the Terra Project?”

  “No. Wait, yes. Clarice was speaking of it the other night. But I don’t know what it is all about.”

  I give him an overview.

  “Interesting concept, but I don’t think it could work. You still need currency to barter. And a government to back the currency. Plus, I like things the way they are.”

  To prove his point, his phone dings on the table next to me. I pick it up and hand it to him, noticing the text that says: My kitty misses you and is followed by a photo—of which you can assume is not her cat.

  I laugh, goofily. Who the hell in the basement of Black X ever thought I had a chance in hell of capturing the Prince’s attention when cooter pics are sent to him daily?

  “Friend or acquaintance?” I ask.

  He tilts his head, consid
ering. “Acquaintance, who wants to be a friend.”

  “More like a princess. I bet that sucks, though, sometimes—having women throw themselves at you.”

  He tries not to smile. It’s clear he doesn’t agree. He loves this shit. “Isn’t it every man’s fantasy?” he asks, taking another sip of champagne.

  “I suppose, but what if it’s like anything you gorge on? Eventually, you lose your taste for it—or worse, grow to hate it. It would really be a shame if you lost the taste for kitty.”

  He blows champagne out of his mouth, laughing. “You are funny.” He caresses my hair. “Would you like to be the one I gorge on?”

  I back away. “I’d rather gorge on love, because that’s the one thing you never get sick of.”

  “Hopeless romantic?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Yet, your first night in town you went home with a guy from the casino.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “He talks. Says you’re wild.”

  “He was so drunk, he passed out before any wildness could take place,” I lie. In reality, I may have shot him with a tranquilizer dart and drug him to bed.

  “You spent the night. When he woke up, you were naked.”

  “No, I was wearing exactly what I’m wearing now—albeit, a larger version. Basically, I was wearing what one would to the beach in your lovely country.”

  “You were in an evening gown at the casino.”

  “Which was entirely hand beaded. I would have ruined the dress had I slept in it.”

  “So, he lied?”

  “Well, I may have led him to believe we’d had a good night.”

  “Why?”

  “Before I realized he was shit-faced, he was sweet to me.”

  “How so?”

  “I was at the bar and someone made a nasty comment about my dress. He told the guy to shut the fuck up. It was chivalrous, and I appreciate that in a man.”

  “Sounds like you need a prince.”

  “Oh, for gosh sake, give it a rest. You’re a prince. I get it. If I succumb to his royal sexual wishes, maybe I could live a fairytale. No thanks.”

  “No thanks?” He’s taken aback.

  I lean toward him, my towel purposely slipping a little in the front. “Lorenzo, if all I wanted to do was screw you, I would have already.”