Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  A side door opened, and André stepped through. Everyone held their breath, and Gemma’s head pounded.

  A bandage covered his right ear, and he was paler than normal. But he still maintained the same posture as the first day they met. Like a pitchfork up his backside. He’d changed into black slacks and a gray t-shirt that hugged his torso. No more suit with a bullet hole in the back.

  Gemma couldn’t tell which urge was stronger—to punch him in the face or smother herself all over him.

  “Well, you clean up nicely for a gunshot victim.” Alanna walked over and hugged him. “You scared us.”

  He returned the hug, all the while staring at Gemma over his sister’s shoulder. “You’re not alone,” he replied. Then his gaze found Rico. “Rico, my friend. Good to see you.”

  “Same for you.” They met each other in the middle of the room and shook hands. “Can’t get away from flying bullets, can you?”

  André’s smile was awkward, almost worried, and he looked back to Gemma, who still couldn’t find the words to speak. “Hopefully, the last ones.”

  Another knock, after which Quintana entered. “Your Highnesses, parliament proceeded with the vote. The results are in.”

  Both Alanna and André held their breaths.

  “With five representatives not present, the final vote was fifteen to one.”

  For or against? The whole room silently asked the question. Is this the end?

  Quintana smiled. “The bill was defeated.”

  Alanna’s sigh of relief came out as a sob. “The monarchy will continue. Dios salve nuestro padre y el madre.” She collided with Flynn’s arms, and they held each other.

  André’s eyes turned glassy. He made the sign of the cross, tilted his head back, and kissed his thumb. The relief was palpable.

  But not for Gemma.

  “Can you please leave us alone for a few minutes?” she asked, her voice lower than she anticipated. Everyone stared at her, Alanna with widened eyes back and forth between her and André. Like the request was so unheard of, and she was nearly offended. Probably something about royal protocol or something, but Gemma didn’t give a damn.

  “Certainly,” she finally answered.

  Rico gave her another sympathetic smile on his way out. “You know where to find me, yes?”

  She nodded.

  Everyone left, leaving the two to saturate in the tension soaking the air.

  “I know, Gemma,” he began. “If it’s any consolation, I promise not to suggest anything like that again.”

  She took a step toward him, trying to control her raging heartbeat. Something akin to fear crossed his face. She took another step.

  “There was no way anyone could have guessed they were already in the parliament building.”

  She clamped her teeth together and took another few steps.

  “Not that this was my intention,” he continued with a slight quake in his voice. “But now you have a glimpse into what I felt when you ran out on me in the middle of the night in your quest for vengeance.”

  By now, she was only inches from him, the smell of antiseptic and fabric softener pungent. Though she knew he’d shaved that morning, a barely visible layer of stubble had grown. Stress or trauma induced, perhaps. Or just more easily seen with paler skin.

  “I’m sorry, Gemma,” he whispered. “But now we’re safe.”

  His lips were damp, like his eyes. She cupped his cheeks. They were a ragged pair of broken bones, bruised hearts, bandaged and bloodied. One royal, the other rugged, and equally hopeless.

  “If you weren’t just shot in the head, I’d slap you.”

  He smirked. “But you won’t. Because I love you.”

  She shook her head. “No. Because I love you.”

  His smirk stretched into grin, reaching his eyes with a twinkle. “Say it again.”

  She swallowed, the words no longer scaring her as much as before. She’d lived through more fearsome realities. “I love you.”

  He covered her hands with his own and pulled one away to kiss the tips of her fingers, breathing in her scent. “Are you ready for that rock on your finger?”

  She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “If it makes you sleep better at night.”

  He chuckled. “That’s probably the closest thing I’ll get to a yes.”

  She couldn’t stop her smile from spreading. “Sure.”

  He leaned in, placing his soft lips to hers. Tender, consuming. The ache in her chest changed to warmth. And peace.

  Perhaps Flynn was right about them. Maybe there was hope. If they were together.

  “I guess a royal life wouldn’t be so bad.” She pressed her cheek to his chest, breathing in his cologne and letting it saturate her pores. “I won’t be anything close to orthodox, but I can try to make you happy.”

  “I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He gazed down into her eyes, the mocha color flecked with amber slivers. “Trust me.”

  THE WIND PUSHED ON THE bulging sails in the bright sunlight, urging the forty-foot schooner faster across the waves. A dozen other sailboats and a handful of yachts dotted the horizon on the north side of Solana, all taking advantage of the brilliant morning weather. The entire island seemed to take its first deep breath of peace.

  Including Gemma. She loved the warmth on her face and the breeze on her cheeks.

  But none appeared more peaceful than Princess Alanna behind the helm. The silver wheel was polished to a gleaming shine under her confident fingers. She reveled in her first chance of being on the open ocean. Gemma smiled. No doubt she shared the same look while riding horses.

  Even the two royal guardsmen on deck seemed to carry a lighter posture.

  “What do you think?” Alanna called behind dark sunglasses.

  “A much smoother ride than my first boat trip.”

  She laughed. “André told me. I think I may have become sea-sick under those conditions, too.”

  Remembering their secret infiltration on a small fishing boat twisted Gemma’s stomach. They’d been boarded by Bendetto’s thugs, and she and André had to hide in an on-board storage cabinet, wrapped around each other in a space no bigger than a footlocker, with her gun at the ready. Another threat of imminent death only six inches away, yet thanks to Stefano and the captain, Talino, they’d talked their way out of trouble and made it to Solana safely. But not before the near-death experience amped up the adrenaline and pheromones. She’d never had better angry sex than that moment with André against the hull. And had unknowingly conceived their child.

  The boat tacked to the right, and a spray splattered her face. A secluded cove appeared on the other side of a bend, and the wind died down. A single dock jutted out into the water, with a private beach and a large estate among the palm trees.

  “This is where I first met Flynn.”

  The cove was beautiful. Quiet and deep, from the dark blue water. A nice spot to swim around and cool off.

  “Did you know then? That he was it?” Gemma asked.

  “No. I remember thinking he was too beautiful to be real. That I must have been shot, and this angel was greeting me at the gateway to heaven.”

  “When did you know?”

  The smile she gave was small and a little sad. Like she held a secret. “When he knew the truth. All of it.”

  Gemma shifted in her cushion, uncomfortable with her truth. André knew it already, or at least the highlights. But if their relationship was going to work—long term—her past didn’t only concern him. Closet ghosts haunted the whole family. Royalty worked that way.

  A little farther in, the boat stopped, and Alanna dropped anchor. The royal guardsmen scanned the coastline for threats, always at the ready. There were too many hiding places in this picturesque beach. Another cove worthy of a travel-magazine spotlight. Peaceful, enticing, and potentially deadly.

  But not with the pistol in my waistband. She’d never leave the palace without it again.

  “Do you think they’ve made it out of Cebu ye
t?” Gemma asked, referencing the secret mission no one was supposed to know about that left ten hours earlier. Stefano and seven others disappeared in a dark SUV on their way to a private plane to take out the last major stronghold of the Lozano cartel. The head of the snake.

  “I don’t know.” Alanna secured a final rope and met Gemma on the bow. She settled down on one of the cushions and soaked in the sun. “They couldn’t show me a timeline, since technically, we’re not supposed to know they are even there. I’d imagine we won’t hear anything back earlier than this evening. But I couldn’t keep sitting in that room waiting for word. We needed air.”

  Gemma nodded. A good ride always helped clear her mind. But her thoughts continued to fret over Stefano’s exact movements. Had they made it to Lozano’s estate? Had there been much resistance? Was anyone injured? Were they already dead?

  “I feel guilty.” Admitting it made Gemma’s heart lighter, but only by a fraction.

  Alanna stared at her. “Because you’re not there with them? Granted, you’re a better shot than most, but even God needed to rest on the seventh day.” She smirked.

  A long moment passed before she answered. “I’m not used to depending on someone else to solve my problems.”

  “This isn’t your problem.”

  Gemma blinked, though behind her sunglasses, the princess probably couldn’t see it.

  “It’s our problem.” Alanna smiled.

  “This isn’t the first time my problems have caused serious pain for others.”

  Alanna lost her smile and slowly nodded. “You’re referring to Mr. Pierce’s interview.”

  Gemma’s cheeks heated all the way back to her ears. “I think I owe you an explanation for some of those stories.”

  Alanna shook her head. “Stop.”

  “That’s not who I am, Alanna. You need to know that.”

  She raised her hand, and the rest of Gemma’s words went with the breeze. Alanna sighed. “I’m the first person to admit that I’ve lived a very sheltered life up until a few months ago. But I know what happens to someone when tragedy strikes, and their world is destroyed. The rifts it causes.”

  Gemma surveyed the coastline. Though the skies were clear and a pretty blue, the image of the smoke plumes rising from the distance the first night they’d arrived would never leave her memories. “I think anyone has a right to feel traumatized after the invasion. After seeing their family killed.”

  “I wasn’t talking about that.”

  Gemma glanced back at Alanna, the distress on her face tangible.

  She removed her sunglasses and rested her elbows on her knees. “After our mother passed, my family splintered. Father grieved in his own way—silent, behind closed doors, and blind to the pain of others. Tulio’s grief appeared more professional, subtle, and he threw himself into his duties as a way of coping. Meeting and marrying Claudia helped heal more of those wounds. But André’s grief was much more visible…and destructive.”

  Gemma studied Alanna’s face, every flicker in her eyes. Hanging on every word.

  The princess removed her hair band and pulled her hair down, massaging her temples. “Mother was his best friend and primary confidant. Suddenly, she was gone. He received plenty of criticism from people who didn’t understand he was still spinning. I was ten years old at the time, but even my young eyes could see that clearly. Yet no criticism was as severe as our father’s. He was so focused on royal protocol and decorum, he forgot to help him first as his son. André’s downward spiral was not so much from our mother’s death as from our father’s avoidance and deliberate blind-eye to grief.”

  Gemma swallowed. The patchy parts of André’s exile finally clicked.

  “My point is, whatever your childhood was like, and the destructive behaviors while coping, were just that. Coping. Without help.” Alanna smiled. “I’ve seen who you are. I’ve seen the way you look at my brother. More importantly, I’ve seen the person my brother has become because of you. There is nothing you can say or do that will change my stellar opinion of you, Gemma Westfall.”

  It was hard not to smile. Who couldn’t, after such an impressive compliment? She glanced out over the water, taking her first refreshing breath in what felt like years. The palm trees swayed in the breeze, and the rushing of the waves in her ears soothed. “Not a bad view for a girls’ lunch.”

  “Speaking of which…” Alanna jumped up and flipped open the on-board cooler. “Aren’t you starving?” She pulled out a packaged sandwich and small fruit bowl. She tossed them to Gemma, who caught them and grinned.

  “What, no butler? No champagne? How will I manage?”

  Alanna smiled and pulled a bottle of champagne from the cooler. “Mimosa?”

  Gemma laughed, then winced and growled through the pain. “Thank you, but with my meds, probably not.”

  She shrugged and put it back. “Water, then.” She tossed a bottle of water over. Then she settled down into the cushion. “Let’s see how well Alfred follows instructions. I told him simple and something straight from the cooler.”

  Gemma paused. “You hired Alfred?”

  “Technically, I told him this was a test run.” She smirked. “But if he really wants the job this badly as a way out of the yachting world, of course I will.”

  Gemma bit into the shrimp salad sandwich with a mixture of spices she couldn’t identify. The flavor exploded in her mouth. “On this sandwich alone,” she said through a mouthful, “I’d hire him.”

  Alanna laughed. “I’ll tell him you approve.”

  “Not to pry, but how is Flynn doing? He’s been writing in that notebook a lot.”

  The princess grinned. “He’s setting up a sailing school here.”

  Gemma’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Really?”

  She nodded. “He’s putting together his business plan and talking to a few investors. He’s going to ask his friend, Marcus Gazi, to help him on the operations side. He wants the whole thing to be a non-profit, providing lessons at no charge to kids and teens.”

  “Wow. That’s a hefty undertaking.”

  “But this is a great place for that. A lot of people who love to sail—with money stuffed in their coffers—willing to help others.” She winked. “Not to mention, a fantastic nautical engineering program at the University of Solana, with plenty of students willing to volunteer their time.”

  Gemma took a few bites of fruit. “That’s all great for him. But you know André only cares about whether Flynn treats you well. If you’re happy.”

  “Then we are very similar. Because that’s my only concern for him, too. Of which I’m no longer worried.”

  After several long sips and a few bites of her meal, Gemma pressed her lips together. “Not that I’m trying to pressure you one way or another…”

  Alanna paused and watched her.

  “But for what it’s worth, I think you’d make one hell of a queen.”

  The smile the princess gave was genuine. “We’ll see.”

  SANTOS LOZANO AWOKE TO A dark room. His heart rate instantly jacked to top speed. He flipped the switch on the lamp beside his bed, but it didn’t turn on. Cold sweat covered his neck, and he rolled out of bed, slower than he wanted. Everyone who worked for him knew they weren’t supposed to turn off the lights. Ever. He moved to the doorway into the living room, where the lights were still on.

  He grabbed his chest, calming his breath. The bulb must have gone out in the lamp. After Ricardo’s disappearance in Palau and the bad feeling in his gut, he decided to retreat to his trusted hideout. Solana would have to wait. Something was going on, and he needed time to find out.

  Better safe than dead.

  “Memo.” He moved into the living room, forcing deep breaths to calm his heart. “Try my son again. I want to talk to that prick.” Lozano had only been back at the hill estate Cebu a few hours, and he couldn’t stay awake. Sleep clawed at his eyes so often lately.

  No one answered.

  “Where is everyone?”

/>   They were supposed to leave again that afternoon, off to another hideaway in Kuala Lumpur while the heat died down and his bad feeling ebbed. At least until either of his sons were found. Raul also hadn’t checked in from the final assassination.

  Lozano filled a glass with whiskey from the wet bar. He downed it and poured another. Then he switched on the television and settled in his chair.

  “Prince André Peralta of Solana was shot during his speech yesterday inside the parliament building, where three terrorists opened fire in an attempt to assassinate him and his sister, Princess Alanna Peralta.”

  He smiled, his insides warming with the whiskey and the fantastic news. Solana, here I come.

  “Luckily, the prince wore a bullet-proof vest, and his injuries were not serious. The three terrorists were killed by royal guardsmen. In addition, the United Nations security forces have confirmed they’ve captured over forty conspirators scattered throughout the crowds outside the Solanian Parliament building.”

  His smile vanished, and the whiskey curdled in his stomach.

  “Among those captured was notorious Raul Lozano.”

  Everything in his body froze. The whiskey threatened to crawl up his throat.

  “Raul was gunned down in a fire exchange with U.N. forces, and is currently in critical condition in an undisclosed location. He is suspected for at least a half dozen targeted deaths of parliament members on Solana, along with the royal yacht explosion, and over twenty other murders.”

  He stood on shaky legs, nausea overtaking his body. With a howl, he threw his glass at the television, shattering it across the screen.

  Everything was collapsing around him. Decades spent building his empire. All his careful plans, his years of patience, and brutal reputation. For nothing.

  “Memo! Get the fuck over here!”

  He spun and raged toward the kitchen. No doubt that pig was eating up the entire fridge’s contents. When he turned the corner, Memo’s vacant stare greeted him. From the floor. Surrounded by a pool of dark blood.

  He’d been sliced open, with his intestines spread across his abdomen.

  Something tugged on Lozano’s chest, deep and oppressive. It spread to his lungs, and his breathing grew short. He dropped to a knee and gasped.