Page 31 of The Prince (Spy Girl 1)
"It's lovely to meet you," I say sincerely, but I'm wondering why she is here and if she's a threat. "I'm glad you could join us."
"It's my pleasure."
"Did you come back in town just for the race?" the Prince asks her.
"Of course. If I missed the Queen's Ball, my mother would probably disown me."
"Where are you living?" Allie asks.
"She's studying art in Paris," the Prince answers for her.
Lizzy smiles at him in a way that makes me wonder about their past. There's an undercurrent of flirtation going on, and I'm not sure I like it, or her.
X X X
The harbor, the grandstands, the hills, and the streets of Montrovia are full of people cheering for the race.
We're on the Prince's boat, and that alone is a logistical nightmare for his security. There are men on wave runners guarding the yacht's perimeter. There are men controlling access to the boat from the docks, and while they are not allowing anyone on the boat who wasn't invited, there are boats full of partiers anchored on both sides of us. Race-goers are screened for weapons before they enter the area, and the local police and National Guard are out in full force.
Like the Queen's Garden Party, I worry about threats from the air. There are two blimps and numerous helicopters circling the track. The hill to the palace is straight across from us. Most of it is open with people sitting on blankets having picnics, but there is an area at the top full of trees. I wonder if that area is being patrolled. It's where I'd go if I was trying to take out the Prince.
Lady Elizabeth and Allie have become fast friends. They walk to the railing where I'm standing and hand me a flute of champagne.
"You looked stressed," Allie says.
"I'm fine. It's just there are so many people here, and I'm worried about Lorenzo's safety. There was talk of calling off the Queen's Ball."
"Speaking of the Ball," Allie gushes. "What are your dresses like? Mine is a pale yellow Dior."
"That will look wonderful on you," Elizabeth says. "Mine is a bold floral, off the shoulder Pierre Galante. He's a local designer. What about you, Huntley?"
"Uh, my dress is red."
"Bold choice," Elizabeth says. "Usually red is the color the Queen, herself, wears."
My eyes widen. "Does that mean no one else is supposed to wear that color? Lorenzo bought the dress. It was the one that ended the fashion show, remember that one, Allie?"
Allie claps her hands. "Of course, I remember! It was to die for!"
"But if he knows that's the color his mother always wears, why would he do that?"
"Maybe it's intentional," Elizabeth says. "I keep reading about the two of you. You've had a whirlwind romance from the sounds of it."
"It's really kind of crazy that people could speculate the future of our relationship when we've known each other for a short time."
"He isn't called the Playboy Prince for nothing, Huntley," Elizabeth says, resting her hand gently on my forearm. "During Race Week, his behavior is usually particularly scandalous. This year, it is not. Because of you. I'm glad he's finally found someone who's intelligent and sweet." She lowers her voice. "And not a money grubbing hoebag."
I quickly change my mind about liking Elizabeth.
X X X
I'm dressed and ready for the ball in a red gown that literally makes me feel like a princess. My hair is done in a pretty updo that sweeps back into a sleek, twisted knot with some complicated braiding holding back my bangs.
"Are you ready?" I call out, before I open the French doors to the Prince's study. I've been getting ready for hours. He probably showered, shaved, and dressed in fifteen minutes.
"I am," he replies, as I fling them open.
He stands up from behind his desk, looking more handsome than ever with his hair slicked back and wearing the navy dress uniform of the Montrovian maritime forces. It has elaborate heavy gold braiding, thick red trim, and numerous royal and military medallions. When I'm hanging out with him, it's sort of easy to forget that he's a prince, but there's no mistaking it tonight.
"You look stunning," he says, crossing the space between us and holding out his hand. I place my hand in his, and he spins me around in a dance move, then dips and kisses me.
"You look amazing, too. I've never seen you all decked out like this. You actually look like a real prince."
This gets a chuckle out of him. "I have a surprise for you," he says, leading me back to his desk and pointing to a box.
I open it to find a pair of heels nestled in tissue. "They look like glass slippers!"
"They are Swarovski crystals cut to look like diamonds set on a base more comfortable for dancing in than glass."
"I've never seen anything like this. And I have done a fair amount of shopping in this city."
"They were made just for you."
I kiss him.
"They're beautiful. Thank you so much." I slip off the gorgeous glitter-covered designer heels I had on, that now pale in comparison.
When I sit down to put them on, he says, "Let me," and slides them on my feet.
I stand up and spin. "I think now I'm really ready!"
"Not quite yet," he says, leading me through the castle to a vault where a guard opens it and joins us inside. "Pick something to wear tonight."
Around me is so much sparkle I can barely think straight. Diamonds may be my kryptonite.
"Oh, I couldn't."
"Then I will choose for you." He studies my dress, runs a finger across my cleavage, and kisses my neck. It's hard not to fall completely under his spell.
"This one," he says, selecting an elegant diamond and ruby teardrop choker with matching bracelet and placing them on me. "Now, you are fit to be my date," he teases.
I run my hands under his tuxedo jacket. "I think tonight, after the ball, I'd like to, uh, play chess again."
He smiles, knowing I'm not really referring to the game, but rather consummating our relationship.
"I am up for that challenge," he says, taking my hand in his and kissing it. "Let's go make our grand entrance."
X X X
The ball is a whirlwind of introductions and dancing. The Prince is a good dancer who leads me around the dance floor in a way that makes me feel incredibly light on my feet--or, maybe it's the shoes.
I also never knew the waltz could be so utterly romantic.
Partway through the evening, I excuse myself to freshen up and find Daniel waiting for me when I come out of the ladies room.
"You need to dance with me," he demands.
"I can't. I'm the Prince's date. People will talk."
"It's not like you're married," he argues.
"No, but people act like we should be. Which is crazy. I just met him this week."
"You met me eight days ago. And you're wearing red again. It's driving me nuts. Have you slept with him?"
"My answer to that question is the same as it's been the other times y
ou have asked. It's none of your business."
"You went to his place late last night."
"And when I came back home, you were passed out on the couch. I haven't had sex with him. Yet."
"Thus the jewels," Daniel says, rolling his eyes. "He's working hard to get you into bed."
"Or maybe I'm just lucky."
He holds my gaze for a beat. "Actually, Huntley, you haven't gotten lucky yet tonight." He pushes me back into the bathroom and locks the door behind us.
"I thought you and the Prince were friends?"
"We're not that good of friends. Besides, the life of a princess would bore you."
"Every girl dreams of becoming a princess. Why wouldn't I like it?"
"Because I'm not the Prince."
I laugh.
And that's when he kisses me. It's possessive, passionate, and full of heat.
Body language and nonverbal clues are important in spying. The body often can't lie the way the tongue can. But even though he's kissing me hotly, his body language is tentative. His hands are motionless at his sides. He isn't sure how I will react, so he isn't all in. No one likes to be rejected, especially someone with an ego like his.
I slip my fingers into his dark hair and let my body do the talking, even though I know I shouldn't.
Which is what he was waiting for. He pushes me against the wall, delving his tongue deeply into my mouth while he's shoving up the layers of my gown.
It doesn't help that I'm unzipping his pants.
My body is on fire with desire, and Daniel is ready to fulfill my need. His need. Our need.
But then a vision of the Prince getting killed while I'm in the bathroom letting the Vice President's son screw my brains out flashes in my head.
I reluctantly rip my lips away. "Daniel, wait. I can't."
He doesn't say a word, just angrily zips up his pants and walks out the door--leaving me breathless and unfulfilled.
I take a few moments to compose myself. Fix my lipstick. Check my hair. Anything not to think about how Daniel makes me feel.
When I meet the Prince at our dinner table, he says, "I saw Daniel follow you toward the ladies' room. When he came back a few minutes ago, he seemed upset. Did you two have a row?"
