The Phoenix

by Jillian Dodd

  “You didn’t care when I touched you like that in Montrovia,” he counters, trying to redeem himself.

  “Different situation. There, we were flirting with each other. Here, I am your friend who is engaged to be married.”

  “It’s bollocks,” he mutters.

  “What is?”

  “You marrying Daniel. I just can’t see it.”

  “Daniel has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,” I say truthfully.

  “You still like Lorenzo. It’s obvious.” He rolls his eyes toward the sky.

  “Lorenzo and I are friends. As are Lizzie and I. What’s wrong with you? Why are you being such a jerk?”

  “She broke up with me.” He sighs and holds his hands up in front of his chest. “And I probably deserved it.”

  “One too many Jodi, Jodi, Jodi and your mates saying, Off with her head?”

  “Something like that. She says I’m immature.”

  “Do you want her back?”

  “My mates say good riddance. They are glad she’s gone and say that I need someone with a sense of humor.”

  “And what do you say?” I ask, my eyebrow raised.

  “I miss her terribly,” he admits.

  “Maybe you should listen to your heart and not to your friends.”

  “My heart says she’s a bossy pain in my arse, but I’m in love with her.”

  “Sounds like you need to do some groveling,” I say.

  As Wesley slinks off, presumably to make a phone call, Peter wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek in greeting.

  “You seem to be in an exceptionally good mood,” I say to him.

  He glances to the left, causing me to look that way and see Blair. “We’re here together. I’m deliriously happy.”

  “Gonna be tough to party with the old ball and chain around,” I tease.

  “I’d like to be chained to her all night,” he replies with a naughty smirk.

  MISSION:DAY SIX

  Royston Bessemer and his wife arrive at the hotel just before ten in the morning. They are quickly escorted to their suite.

  While their clothing is being unpacked and steamed by housekeeping, his wife reads the engraved events schedule and has the butler move their welcome gift of chilled champagne served with caviar-topped oysters out to the balcony overlooking the water.

  Royston pauses for a moment, wondering why they were invited. Why Huntley, who he barely knows, offered them a place to stay in Montrovia. He takes The Echelon ring out of his pocket and considers wearing it to the wedding, but he’s worried about what they would do. Would he be kicked out? Killed for revealing their secret? He’d really like to determine who the other men in the group are besides Harrison McClellan, Maximillian Olivier, and himself.

  Ultimately, he slips the ring on. He knows that Ares Von Allister was a very important influence on this group. Maybe the other members will wear their rings in his honor.

  It’s my brother’s wedding day. I’m so incredibly happy for him and Allie, and I can tell he’s so excited. And, although Lorenzo is his best man, Ari asked if we could have breakfast alone, just the two of us.

  Of course, I agreed.

  We’re in his hotel suite, waiting for our food to arrive, when he sits down across from me and grins.

  “You haven’t asked who I invited to the wedding.”

  “Are there more people coming? I guess I thought it was just family and close friends. Like everyone who was here last night.”

  “I invited some of our father’s friends,” he says smoothly, causing me to realize that he wasn’t just thinking about himself but also our mission.

  “As in the entire board of directors of Von Allister Industries and some of The Echelon members?”

  “Yep.”

  “Even Harrison McClellan? Is he coming? He hates me.”

  “At this point,” Ari says, “we just have to figure it all out. What better way for you to get information from them than when they are relaxed and drinking at my wedding?”

  I have to give it to him; he has a point.

  “You’re right. Are they all coming?”

  “Yes. Harrison McClellan, Royston Bessemer, Rutherford Elingston, Maximillian Olivier, Malcolm Prescott, Aleksandr Nikolaevich, Sergey Olander, Zayn Kipling, and the CEO of the company, Henry Canterbury. All should be arriving over the next couple of hours.”

  I glance at the events schedule. “Today is going to be jam-packed with the pre-wedding lunch and the pre-wedding cocktail hour, followed by the wedding ceremony, more cocktails, dinner, dancing, and a carnival.”

  “It’s going to be the best day of my life,” Ari says, practically swooning over the thought.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about what would happen in my mother’s scenario. People in Montrovia start getting sick from poisoned grain. What I don’t understand is the need for a coup. If citizens are dying, what could the military be counted on to do that Lorenzo might not?”

  “Kill people?” Ari suggests.

  “Maybe, but you couldn’t guarantee that would happen everywhere in the world. It has to be something else.”

  Ari holds his finger up when the doorbell rings, announcing the arrival of our meal.

  After our breakfast is laid out in front of us and the staff is gone, I say, “Why did Hillford have his own son killed? There’s got to be something the president of the United States must do when it starts. Which means either Daniel’s dad is in on it—”

  “Or there’s something they expect him to do naturally,” Ari says before he takes a bite of his omelet.

  “Something to do with Daniel?” I gasp, suddenly realizing Lorenzo might not be the only one at risk.

  “Yeah,” he says. “But there’s something else to consider. Daniel told me his family as well as the vice president will be attending the Olympic ball. What if they are among the first targets?”

  “Oh, wow,” I say, the breath rushing out of my chest. “If they were, what would happen next?”

  “The government’s succession plan.”

  I try to remember the presidential succession plan. Obviously, the president, the vice president, and then is it the secretary of defense? No, that’s not right because he’s appointed, not elected by the people.

  I flash back to Peter taking me to Blair’s engagement party. Him telling me that her grandfather was the third most powerful man in Washington.

  “Are you saying that Speaker of the House Royston Bessemer—who announced, much to his wife’s surprise, that they were going to Montrovia at the last minute—is waiting in the wings to become the leader of the free world? The man who is staying in our home? Who took Hillford’s spot on the Von Allister board?”

  “It’s definitely a possibility. In theory, he could enact martial law, take control over our military, and effectively become a dictator with no checks and balances.” He pauses to put down his fork and then looks at me seriously. “I’m having a hard time seeing that though. Some of the guys on the VA board, maybe. Like McClellan. He seems power-hungry. But the rest of the members are great people. And Royston is the grandfather everyone wishes they had.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know.” I swallow hard.

  “That he’s going to be part of an American coup?” Ari asks incredulously.

  “Yeah, because it’s not a coup. It would be a simple succession. A plan that’s been in place for years,” I say. “Him becoming the president would be following the letter of the law, just like when Daniel’s dad was sworn in. Maybe they gave him Hillford’s ring. Or maybe he’s long been a member.”

  “If not, they could pressure him in other ways—blackmail, threatening Blair and his family,” Ari suggests.

  “I think you’re right though, Ari. Hillford Junior was their plan A. Royston could be their plan B, whether he knows it or not.”

  “Maybe we should talk to him,” Ari suggests.

  “What? And casually ask if he was given a centuries-old emerald ring and admissio
n into a secret society?” I scoff. “Wait. Do they know him?”

  “What do you mean?” Ari asks.

  “Was he friends with Echelon members before they offered him the role on the VA board?”

  “I don’t know. Should we have the guys do some digging?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll do some digging. You focus on getting married.”

  “Sounds like the perfect mission,” he says happily.

  Allie is talking the whole time we’re in her suite having our hair and makeup done for the ceremony. “I’m certainly not giving up my career,” she says, “but I can’t decide if I want to keep my name. The modeling world knows me as Allie Peterson, but my real name is Alexia. I could go by Alexia Von Allister. It sounds quite regal, don’t you think?” She doesn’t really give anyone a chance to reply. “And, oh my gosh, I got a call from my agent this morning. Gucci wants Ari and me in one of their campaigns! Do you think he will agree to do some modeling?”

  “Of course he will,” one of her sisters says. “What else does he have to do?”

  “Maybe run our father’s company?” I suggest.

  She waves her hand at me. “He told us last night that he wasn’t interested in that. Besides, it’s not like he needs to work.”

  I stop speaking, knowing I’m not going to win this conversation and not caring to try. I have more important things on my mind.

  When I enter the chapel, all thoughts of conspiracy theories, poisoned grain, and secret societies fly out the window. And there’s a good reason for that.

  Lorenzo is standing at the altar and looking ridiculously handsome.

  His eyes stay locked on mine as I walk down the aisle toward him. It was something we didn’t do at our own wedding. We simply stood in front of the captain and spoke to each other. Now, I understand why it’s a time-honored tradition. Although, physically, it’s not that long of a journey, emotionally, it is.

  I remember the day I waved at him from the palace balcony when I was just twelve. I recall the sultry sound of his voice when he spoke to me for the first time. I remember the firmness and urgency of his lips on our first kiss and so many other magical moments that we’ve shared since.

  While Ari and Allie recite their vows to each other, Lorenzo holds my gaze. I know we’re both remembering our wedding and all that it meant to us.

  After the couple is announced as husband and wife, they kiss and then happily make their way down the aisle.

  Lorenzo walks toward me and holds out his elbow.

  “Although I confess to barely remembering the words I spoke to you, I remember every single one you said to me,” he whispers. “‘Lorenzo, you see my flaws as strengths. You love me without condition. You have made me feel as carefree as a cloud on an endless summer day. When I first met you, I thought you were easy on the eyes, but it turns out that you’re easy on my heart. I promise you my love for all the days of my life.’ I’m going to hold you to that promise. Just so you know.”

  When we get to the end of the aisle, he pulls me behind a massive wall of roses.

  “And you said to me, ‘Whatever our future holds, Lee, you must know that you and only you hold my heart. You give my life beauty and joy. You’re like a song, the melody of you playing within every beat of my heart. I will love you until the end of my days. That is my solemn vow to you.’ And, while the sentiment is beautiful, I fear our promises and our love will be tested in the coming days. It already has been.”

  “I swear, I will never disappoint you again.” His eyes hold mine. “I want to kiss you so badly right now.”

  I take his hand and shake it as the guests start spilling out of the little stone chapel. “This will have to seal the deal for now.”

  The party and dancing are in full swing with music by a famous French crooner. As he ends his song, it’s announced that it’s time for the garter and bouquet toss.

  The single girls all line up. There aren’t very many, just Allie’s two younger sisters, Isla, a high school friend of Allie’s, a couple of her model friends, and Blair Bessemer.

  Usually, girls claw their way, trying to catch the bouquet, but it appears they are out there just as props when they let it drop into Blair’s hands without trying to snatch it away. Blair holds up the bouquet in victory.

  “You know what they say, Blair,” Allie says loudly. “That means, you’ll be the next to get engaged.”

  “Well, in that case,” Peter says from the crowd, moving to stand in front of Blair and then dropping to one knee, “will you marry me, Blair?”

  Blair’s eyes get huge. She starts shaking, then crying, and finally nods through her tears. He has the ring on her finger before she actually mutters an acceptance.

  Everyone cheers and congratulates them, and a champagne toast is made in their honor.

  “Better hope I don’t get the garter,” I hear Viktor say, teasing Isla, who he has been practically attached to all night. “You’d have to propose to me.”

  “And, of course, you would say yes,” she flirts.

  Later in the evening, I catch Peter coming off the dance floor and congratulate him. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were going to propose tonight!”

  “I was trying to keep it a secret, although her whole family knew. What did you think of the ring?”

  “It’s amazing. Where did you find it?”

  “It’s a family heirloom.”

  “But your dad told me that he wasn’t raised with money.”

  “Her family, not mine,” he clarifies. “When I asked her father and grandfather for their permission, Royston offered a ring that was his grandmother’s.”

  “It’s massive.”

  “And cheap for me.” Peter laughs. “But it means so much to her.”

  “Because it was her great-great grandmother’s?”

  “Because her family never offered the ring to Ty. Actually, come to find out, Ty never asked for their permission before proposing to her.”

  “They like you,” I say in a singsong voice.

  “Yes, they do,” he replies with a wide grin. “That makes the ring even more special.”

  “There you are,” Blair says, wrapping herself around Peter. “Come dance with me.”

  I’m about to follow them when I notice Royston standing alone at the bar.

  I head over there, planning out a conversation that will get him talking along the way. But, when I get there, I’m stunned into silence.

  Royston’s right hand is resting on the bar, and on his finger is an emerald Echelon ring.

  He catches me looking at the ring. I quickly turn around, trying to hide both my shock and recognition.

  I look around the room and wonder why I didn’t think of it before. We’re at Ares Von Allister’s son’s wedding. Would Echelon members wear their rings in his honor?

  Since I’m dying to know who I can trust, I make a beeline for Aleksandr, who is lounging on a pink fur sofa and nursing a drink.

  “You’re close to the board members,” I start.

  His eyes narrow, and his smile flattens slightly before he replies.

  “I can tell by your expression, that’s not the case.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I greatly respect and admire their business acumen, but I wouldn’t consider any one of them among my closest friends.”

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “Maybe jealousy,” he says, replying with an answer I never considered. “You know that Jack, Gio, your father, Malcolm, and I were good friends.”

  I nod, not wanting to interrupt whatever he’s about to say.

  “Ares wasn’t close to his own father. I never really knew why, but Jack’s father sort of took him under his wing. Introduced him to all his buddies. Your father started moving in the circles of the ultra rich. Don’t get me wrong; we were best friends with Prince Gio, and we were wealthy in our own right but still young in our careers and certainly not billionaires yet. Of course, your father eventually took us all along f
or the ride. But your father could also be very secretive about their relationship. While I was jealous at first, once I got to know the men—”

  “You weren’t impressed?” I ask.

  “I know you think I’m hard on Viktor, but I am aware of the money he donates to environmental causes, and I allow it. I also know he had more chemistry with Clarice than he ever did her sister, and I never understood why he would ask Ophelia to marry him. Do you know?”

  “I think you should ask your son that question. And I think you should tell him you support any cause he’s passionate about.”

  “Did you get along with your mother?” he asks, a question I wasn’t expecting and one that sort of knocks the wind out of me.

  “Uh, um, yeah. We got along,” I stutter out.

  “Really?” he replies in a mocking tone. “I’ve seen your tenacity in action. I find it hard to believe you never butted heads.”

  “Okay, fine. Yes, I could be stubborn, but I always tried to be respectful about it.”

  Aleksandr lets out a laugh. “You were a handful; I’m sure of it. Your mother must have been smart though. Somehow, she nurtured that quality, which is part of who you are today—an extremely confident young woman, who isn’t afraid to fight for what she believes in.”

  Tears unexpectedly fill my eyes.

  Aleksandr reacts to them by pulling me into a fatherly hug. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to up—”

  “No. Thank you. Actually, you’re right. My mother did allow me to rebel, to a point.”

  He grins sheepishly.

  “That is exactly what you’re allowing your son to do,” I say in understanding.

  “Bingo,” he says, tapping his index finger on my nose twice.

  “Are you part of it?” I blurt out, my emotions completely out of control.

  “Part of what?”

  “What’s in the old book in Malcolm’s office, the one my father was obsessed with.”

  “You already know I’m in The Society,” he says softly, “as is everyone here with the exception of the bride’s family.”