Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  A royal guard opened the door and waited for all of them to gather their things.

  “Please try to reach Representative Macias and ask him to call as soon as possible,” Alanna instructed. Everyone bowed their heads as they left, though Barilla’s gaze lingered on Alanna. A line of sweat tinged his receding hairline. When the siblings were alone, André could only stare at her.

  Her face was drained, as if she’d been made to live through the attack all over again. André had just lived through a glimpse of it for the first time.

  Stefano had told him how his family was murdered, but hearing it described the way Alanna had seen it was entirely different.

  “Is that how it really happened?” André’s voice was hollow. “You saw all of that?”

  She kept her head low as she answered. “I escaped the palace by then. But the U.N. intelligence got their hands on the security footage. It was in the file Damon Ward gave me when Flynn and I were rescued and brought to the USS Delphus.” She swallowed hard, and her voice went higher. “I’m going for a walk.” Alanna grabbed the intelligence binder from the table and checked her cell phone.

  “At this hour?” The sky was dark, and sunrise was hours away.

  “Just through the gardens. Flynn’s probably awake by now.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She sighed and brushed the hair out of her face. “I will be.” She tucked the binder under her arm. “It’s not every day someone insults your family and threatens to rip the throne out from under you. But I’ve seen worse days.”

  André scoffed. Technically, he’d seen worse days too. But he’d never felt this bad his whole life. “Are you sure we should still move forward with the charity yacht dinner? The timing of everything, and all this…” He gestured to the unsigned defense agreement on the table.

  “Yes,” she replied simply. “A welcome distraction. And it shows the victims’ families we are here for them. As we should be.”

  His phone buzzed, and Stefano’s number popped onto the screen. Que pasando? André answered. “Stefano? What’s wrong?”

  PRISCILLA WESTFALL’S HANDS SMOOTHED BACK the long, tangled hair of her only daughter. “It’s okay, angel. Come and meet Miss Reyna.”

  Gemma reluctantly climbed out of the dusty, two-door sedan and rounded the dented bumper to a large ranch house with a wrap-around porch. The dry air smelled of livestock.

  “Ah, the little niñita. She’s so beautiful!” An older woman with a thicker physique and dark hair pulled into a bun waited at the bottom of the porch. Her smile widened with every step Gemma took.

  “Remember I told you about the woman with a horse ranch?” her mother cooed. “She’s going to watch you while I’m at work.”

  Gemma gripped on to her mother’s shirt, the scrubs smelling like soap and lavender. “Don’t leave me.”

  Her mother knelt beside her, the breeze blowing through her platinum blonde ponytail. Ice blue eyes just like Gemma’s peered back into her small face. “You are going to have so much fun with Miss Reyna. She’ll teach you all about horses. How to ride them, take care of them; anything you’d ever want to know. Then when I come back, we’ll go pick up Daddy for some ice cream.”

  “He won’t want to,” Gemma pouted. “All he ever does now is play cards and yell.”

  Her mother’s face fell and her eyes watered. “He’ll want to come today. Don’t worry.”

  Gemma looked back at the stranger, who walked forward with something fuzzy in her hands. When she got closer, the furry thing moved. A kitten.

  Miss Reyna knelt beside them, her smile as warm as the air. “Hola, niña. This little one has just been weaned today. Will you help me name her?”

  The kitten mewed, its gray fur fluffy and soft. The yellow eyes reminded her of the cornfields down the road. Miss Reyna handed her the kitten. The little claws pierced her shirt, but it nuzzled under her chin.

  “Corny.” Gemma smiled.

  Her mother laughed.

  Miss Reyna grinned. “Corny it is. Do you know your eyes are as blue as the waters of my home?”

  “Where’s that?” Gemma asked.

  “It’s an island in the South Pacific, a long way from here, called Solana.”

  A muted beeping pulled her eyes open to a bright light. The pounding in her head magnified. She swallowed the cotton feeling in her mouth, and everything in her body protested. The pain dominoed down her body and pinged back up her spinal column.

  She grimaced. Someone sat in a chair beside her, their body hidden behind a newspaper as they read. The headline came into focus.

  American Woman Shames Solanian Royal Family at State Dinner

  Playboy Prince Forced to Dump Her

  Gemma cringed through a sigh. What bitch did that? I’ll kick her ass. She reached up to touch her mouth, only to find her neck in a plastic brace and tubes pulling on her arms. IVs and blood pressure cuffs restrained her movement.

  The newspaper pulled away and the worried face of Shane Pierce filled the chair. “Gemma?” His voice was soft and hopeful. He threw the paper to the side. “You’re awake! Thank God!”

  His wavy blond hair had been cut shorter than she remembered, and his green eyes were clouded and tired. He gripped her hand, and she winced. Still as strong as ever, with bulging arm muscles to match. “Jesus, Gemma. You had me terrified. Do you know where you are?”

  She tried to speak and felt the deep cracks in her lips. Her jaw felt heavier, and her tongue swollen. “Y-you look awful.” Her voice was hoarse, and scratchy.

  He laughed and swallowed something back. “You should see the other guy.”

  She couldn’t hold back a chuckle, until it ripped at her chest. She groaned through the pain instead. “Wh-where’s Stefano?”

  Something flickered across Shane’s face, but he caressed the back of her hand. “He’s getting coffee. Been on the phone most of the day.” He frowned and the crinkles in his forehead thickened. “I found you early this morning in your cabin. Christ…” Tears filled his eyes and his lower jaw trembled. “There was so much blood, I thought you were dead. The way that bastard left you…”

  “Where’s Vasco?” The neck collar was getting annoying.

  “Long gone now. The police are all over it, and a whole bunch of feds are arriving today. Shit, I’m so sorry, Gemma. I should’ve picked you up at the airport myself.”

  “Is André okay?”

  His frown deepened into a vicious scowl. “He’s not here, Gemma. If he were, I’d roundkick his ass into a grave.”

  Gemma tried to roll her eyes, but her energy drained quickly. “Don’t.”

  “That pompous ass put you in this position. If it weren’t for him, you never would’ve—”

  “Stop.”

  “I knew all along those two guys were bad news.” His voice grew angrier. Harsher. “That they would end up hurting you.”

  “Stop,” she said louder. Her heart monitor beeped faster.

  “Now Reyna is dead, and you’re beaten to hell and back.”

  “Stop!” she yelled, though it came out more like a crackle. Her body retaliated viciously, ripping at her insides. A nurse came in and glared at Shane. She fiddled with Gemma’s lines, fussed over pain meds, and mumbled something about the doctor coming soon, then left.

  “This wasn’t their fault,” she croaked.

  “The hell it isn’t.”

  “Knock it off. Was it my fault that my father turned to the bottle and became a useless human being? Was it your fault that your mother walked out when you were six? No. Sometimes shit happens.”

  “These guys had a choice of where they hid out. And they chose Reyna’s ranch. They brought all of this here.”

  The more he talked, the more she heard his father, Rock, come out of his lips. Judgmental, intolerant, and angry. She didn’t have the energy for it. Especially not now.

  She licked her dry, swollen lips. Her gaze caught the newspaper on the windowsill. A distraction. “Read anything enterta
ining in there?”

  Shane sighed. “There’s a great article about a puffed-up prince getting knocked off your pedestal.”

  More like me getting knocked off his. The ache all over her body increased. The pain meds were probably wearing off. But at least it reminded her she was still alive.

  “I’m sorry about that kiss, too.” His apology was directed at the floor. Then he looked up at her behind hooded eyes, as if waiting for her to punch him. Again.

  That kiss. A random, stupid move that Shane made while over at Reyna’s house for dinner. The first night he and André were introduced. The last night Reyna was alive, before her home was destroyed by the same psychopath who almost killed Gemma. “What was going through that thick head of yours?”

  “Panic,” he scoffed. “An idiotic idea that if that asshole saw me kiss you, he’d back off.”

  Gemma tried to shake her head, but the damn neck collar restricted her. “Since when are you the helicopter buddy?”

  Shane scoffed. “Since those two showed up.”

  She raised a brow. He has a point.

  “You’re my best friend, Gemma-girl. Even when you’re impossible, and I’m dense. Forgive me?”

  She scowled at him. “Of course not. I can’t be friends with someone who has a pathetic left hook.”

  A smile cracked his tired face.

  Gemma tried to shift her body off the constant ache in her abdomen, but her muscles burned. She winced. It was so hard to focus, and her energy drained too fast. “What’s the damage? Without the medical dictionary.”

  Leaning against the window, Shane took a deep breath “Well, for starters, the doctors couldn’t remove the chip from your shoulder.”

  “Your humor is still lousy.”

  He smiled. “And yours is still firmly in place.” Then he scowled over his folded arms. He held his breath and paused.

  “Concussion,” a low voice answered from the door. Gemma shifted her eyes to Stefano holding two cups of coffee by the entrance. The bags under his brown eyes filled his otherwise hollowed face. A few more gray hairs speckled his temples, and he hadn’t shaved.

  He moved to the other side of the room and handed a cup to Shane but never took his guilt-filled eyes away from her. “Two broken ribs, three more cracked, three broken fingers, a broken nose, a lacerated spleen, and a ruptured ovary.”

  Shit. That’s all?

  He sat in the chair beside her, where Shane had been, and gripped her hand. The unbroken one. He opened his mouth to continue, but stopped and pursed his lips.

  “So, I’m all set for the next State Dinner, aren’t I?”

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Can you hand me a mirror?”

  His eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, Gemma. You don’t want to see. Wait a few days.”

  She glared at him. Well, as much as she could. Anytime she moved her neck, the pain ricocheted everywhere.

  Shane pulled a small hand mirror from a drawer. Stefano turned and scowled at him. “It’s too soon.”

  “She can handle it.” Shane knew her well and had given her plenty of cuts on her face from their kickboxing sessions. She’d given him twice as many. His green eyes locked on hers. “Brace yourself, Butterfly.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m the bee.”

  He tilted up the mirror.

  Holy shit. Her eyes widened. Or eye, because the other was too swollen. I wasn’t the bee in this fight.

  The number of lacerations and bruises on her face silenced her. Yeah, she’d seen these kinds of injuries before, but not this many. Not all at once. Black, blue, and purple covered every inch of her face, at least the parts not bandaged or stitched. A nasty gash above her right eye, bloodshot, would leave a legendary scar, and both of her lips were busted. Not to mention a swollen, reset nose.

  She swallowed hard and looked away. “Guess that destroys my hopes of being a beauty queen.”

  Shane set the mirror aside and rested his hand on her leg. “The doctor said you fought hard on the table. Anyone else wouldn’t have made it.” He sniffed. “I told him that’s the only way you knew how to fight.”

  Gemma lowered her eyes. “Not hard enough.”

  “Shane, could you please give us a moment?” Stefano waited for her friend to leave. But the silence between her and André’s bodyguard dragged on. He’d dropped his head and refused to look at her.

  Finally, he spoke. “Ya se que pedir perdón esta vez no sera suficiente.”

  “My Spanish isn’t that good.”

  “I’m sorry isn’t nearly enough.” He took a shaky breath. “My mistakes keep piling up…”

  “Stop it. You’re much better as the hard-ass soldier.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted, but then fell just as quickly. “There’s one more thing, Gemmita.”

  Oh great. “Doctors did remove the chip from my shoulder? Dammit, I was attached to that.”

  His face contorted as he spoke. “Vasco, un monstruo, beat you so badly, the doctor had to remove one of your ovaries.”

  Gemma let the news sink in. But the only thing she felt was exhaustion. Processing all the injuries took too much mental power.

  A removed ovary meant a higher likelihood of no children. She’d never really considered having a baby before this. A few puzzle pieces swirled in her head around the concept, but it was so hard to fit them together. To keep her eyes open. So she let them close.

  “Lo siento, Gemma.”

  “Sshh. Later.” The deep, relieving peace of sleep pulled at her mind. But a niggling feeling in her gut forced her to fight it. “Is André okay? Was he attacked?”

  She couldn’t force her eyes open to see Stefano’s expression, but he took too long to respond. His hand tightened around hers. “He’s safe. Rest now.”

  “Tell him I’m sorry. He was right.”

  “You were right, Gemma.”

  ANDRÉ DIDN’T WAIT FOR THE security detail to open his door when it pulled up to the backside of the hospital. He barreled out and charged forward. The entrance was already swarming with United States Secret Service agents, FBI jackets, and countless bodyguards from his own entourage.

  None of it soothed his frayed nerves. If anything, the presence of all these people pissed him off as much as it twisted his heart. A dozen people tried to stop him on the way in, but his bodyguards intercepted, showed their badges, and let him pass. His feet couldn’t carry him fast enough to see her. He was on the verge of tears, or slugging someone against a wall. He couldn’t tell which was stronger. The entire flight over, he was a wreck. Ever since that phone call from Stefano about Gemma…

  His stomach somersaulted for the hundredth time.

  He turned the corner and slammed into a nurse. The coffee cup she’d been carrying spilled down the front of his shirt. He gasped at the burn.

  “Watch where you’re going!” she barked, then swallowed her next words when she looked into his face. “I…I’m so sorry.” She started to wipe his shirt with her bare hand, but the guards beside him pushed her back.

  He didn’t even say a word to her. He maneuvered around her and continued down the hall. Stefano was among a cluster of doctors and nurses. His normal austere posture was gone, replaced with a slight hunch and beaten image. The former royal guardsman scraped the back of his neck, then saw André.

  All of the doctors looked over and stepped back. André approached, forcing the panic down his throat. His hands shook, so he fisted them at his sides.

  Stefano gave him the customary bow and held up his hand. “Your Highness—”

  Screw the formality. “How is she?” His voice sounded strained. Almost angry.

  “She’s resting. May we have a word first?”

  The hallway was crowded with all of the security detail and hospital staff. The mass of bodies was almost suffocating and stole any chance of privacy. But he refused to go anywhere else. Gemma was on the other side of that door. He’d come all this way, terrified that his worst
fears would be realized, and he wouldn’t leave her now.

  Stefano noticed his stained shirt, but ignored it. He lowered his voice and leaned toward him. “During the surgery, there was a lot of internal damage. They did the best they could, but…”

  Oh shit, but what? His throat started to close.

  “They removed one of her ovaries.”

  André covered his forehead with both hands and dragged them down his face. They were shaking so badly, he braced them against the back of his neck, interlacing his fingers.

  “She woke up a little while ago, so she’s in less danger now. They removed the neck collar, but she still has a concussion. Recovery will be long.”

  “I told her not to come. Not to do this. She did it anyway, and now she’s—” Desperation clawed at his esophagus, ripping through his voice.

  “Your Highness, now is not the time for that.” Stefano lowered his voice more, darker, more admonishing. “She doesn’t need the I-Told-You-So lecture. After all, she knew what a dozen intelligence agencies didn’t.”

  Mierda.

  Stefano touched his shoulder. “Brace yourself, André…” Their eyes met. The informal gesture in public was against protocol, but he needed it. Stefano knew it. The bags under his eyes must have felt as heavy as André’s soul. “The bruises and lacerations on her face are severe. You need to be prepared.”

  André nodded. Only because he couldn’t speak. He was terrified if he opened his mouth, he’d start sobbing.

  “Breathe.”

  André inhaled. He walked in.

  Then nearly choked when he saw the bloodied, battered woman in the hospital bed. He covered his mouth and fought back the tears with every fiber of his strength. He hardly recognized Gemma underneath all the bruises, bandages, and tubes. There’s no bracing myself for this.

  She was sleeping. The heart monitor beeped quietly in the background, even and strong. Thank God for that. He slowly approached and reached out to hold her hand, but it was bandaged. He was terrified to touch any part of her, afraid he’d hurt her more.