Page 8 of The Prince (Spy Girl 1)
"I'm Huntley Von Allister."
"Huntley. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Thanks."
The Prince narrows his eyes at me. "Will you be there?"
"At your party?"
"Yes."
"Maybe. But I probably won't be wearing this dress."
"What will you be wearing?" he asks, truly looking confused. I'm pretty sure no woman has ever RSVP'd maybe to a personal invite from him.
"What I'm wearing is a surprise," I reply, purposefully playing coy.
Back at home, I show Ari the tickets. He's thrilled and, of course, wants to go.
"I don't think that should be our game plan. The Prince is used to women fawning over him. A man like him needs a challenge to stay interested. He must believe I'm not interested."
"Women," Ari mutters, but nods his head in agreement. "So I thought we'd do dinner and then go to the casino. Sound good?"
"Yes. We need to make friends."
"Ellis booked us a table at--and I quote--the first hotel restaurant ever to be awarded three Michelin Stars, which it has never since lost. The ambiance is supposed to be incredible," he says, flashing me a pic of the restaurant on his phone.
"Hmm," I say. "What do you think? It doesn't look like a place to meet people."
"You're right. It looks really stuffy." He does a quick internet search and comes up with a better option. "How about this place, instead? It says that its dining experience is enhanced due to an open kitchen and an elaborate counter around which we can dine."
"I think it would be easier to meet people there. It looks fun."
He reads more. "It also has an incredible view of the harbor, and it has one Michelin Star after only being open for three years. So, the food must be good. Alright. I'll have Ellis get us in."
Ellis walks into the room, bringing us each a flute of champagne.
After Ari asks him to change our dinner plans, Ellis informs us that our team has intercepted more internet chatter, and they fully expect an assassination attempt on the Prince during Race Week.
"Was there any indication it would be hidden in a terrorist attack?" Ari inquires. "We discussed the possibility of a bomb at the Queen's Ball."
"No word on that. I'll let you know if I hear anything else." He turns to me. "We have hair and makeup specialists as part of our villa rental along with the housekeeping and kitchen staff. Would you like me to send them to your suite?"
"Yes, thank you. And I think Ari should get his hair done, too."
The Army man in Ari scowls, almost offended, but he quickly hides it. "I agree," he says.
"I'd like to take a quick nap then get ready. If the casino and clubs are as big of a deal as I've read about, people will have a late dinner then go there. Let's plan to leave in three hours."
Ari nods in agreement, looking like he could use a nap, too. This is a lot to deal with in a short amount of time.
Well, at least it is for me. Not only do I have to be on point with my new identity and mission, I just found out that my parents were spies and that I am probably in possession of top secret information.
I think about the note Terrance gave me. That I'm being watched by someone. More than likely that includes the keystrokes on the computer I was supplied with. If I'm going to find out what's on that disc, I'm going to have to be careful.
I go to my room, lie down on my bed, set my alarm, and drift off trying to come up with a plan.
X X X
At dinner, Ari and I are seated next to four rowdy British lads in town for the race, the cars, and the women. It appears everyone parties all night, sleeps until early afternoon, then does it all over again.
We become fast friends during our meal, and by the end we've moved past small talk.
"It's our fifth year here," one of them tells us. "We started coming when we were still chums at Oxford."
"It's our first time," I admit. "What do I need to know? Like where should we go tonight?"
One of the chums raises his hand. "We volunteer to show you the ropes."
It doesn't hurt that I'm in a killer dress. Well, pieces of a dress.
Ari rolls his eyes at me. "I thought you were going to the Prince's party tonight." He says to them, "She got tickets today."
"Bollocks," one says.
"Boring," one adds.
Another makes a snoring sound.
I pretend to look perplexed. "I would think there would be a lot of attractive women there."
"Yes, but who all want to be a princess. We prefer to slum in the casino."
"I doubt anyone slums here," Ari jokes.
"The Prince's parties are small, elite, well-mannered affairs," a tall red head who reminds me of a Weasley informs us.
"And you boys aren't well-mannered?" I ask.
He grins. "We most definitely are not."
The others protest, calling their friend a cad.
Ari continues, still questioning my judgment on this. "But I thought my sister wanted to meet the Prince?"
I shrug, like whatever.
"Do you gamble?" the redhead asks.
"I read up on how to play Roulette. I'd like to try that."
"Which one? The English, American, or European French version?" the tall, good-looking guy named Wesley asks. He's the cutest one of the bunch and my target for tonight.
"No offense to the British," I say, holding up my hands, "but I'd like to play the European French version."
The boys boo.
"Well, let's finish our pints and go then, shall we?" the redhead asks.
"Sounds good to me," Ari replies.
"Would you like a ride?" I ask the group as we depart the restaurant to find Ellis holding open the door to our limo.
"It's just a short walk," one of the guys argues.
"You wouldn't say that if you were wearing these." I pull the hem of my skirt up and show them my sky-high heels.
"Those look like they could kill a man," Wesley teases.
You have no idea.
I grab Wesley's hand and pull him into the limo with me. He's loud, obnoxious, and a flirt, which fits right into my plan to get the Prince's attention. Because I won't be going to his party.
The casino is loaded with surveillance cameras, and although the casino is owned by a public company, the Montrovian government and the royal family hold the majority interest.
And, I'm hoping the dress I chose for tonight will attract attention--especially with the amount of money I'll be gambling with.
MISSION:DAY FOUR
The Prince wanders into the morning room, his usual full English breakfast of sausage, bacon, eggs, broiled tomato, fried potatoes, toast, and strong coffee waiting for him.
"I don't know how you eat all that in the morning," Juan, his bodyguard and head of security detail says, handing him the local newspaper. "Is this her?"
The Prince studies the photo. Clearly it's her, and clearly she is beautiful. And that dress. He reads the caption: Huntley Von Allister dazzles in a pink gown with an open midriff from the Michael Kors Collection.
The gown, if you can technically call it that, features a long skirt slung low on her hips in a glittering pink fabric. A matching band of fabric covers her breasts and another circles her neck.
"So, she was at the casino but didn't come to my party?" the Prince asks, looking bewildered.
"Apparently so, sir. If it's any consolation, her brother showed up."
"Why didn't she?"
"I'm told it's because she was winning an obscene amount at the roulette table."
"Which kind?"
"French European. She garnered a fair amount of attention from Casino security." He tosses a stack of photos at the Prince.
"I'll bet she did." He rifles through them. "She's beaming, gorgeous, and looks fiercely competitive. You can see the seriousness in her eyes. The security camera was positioned as such to take beautiful photos of her." Towards the end of the stack he notices a tall, good-looking man kissing her i
n celebration.
Then escorting her out of the casino, they leave together.
He lays the photos down with a bit of a huff. "Who is the guy?"
"Wesley Windsor, British playboy."
"Royal?"
Juan looks at his notes. "Seventeenth in line for the throne. Grandson of the Queen's daughter."
