Page 9 of The Prince (Spy Girl 1)
He studies the photos some more. "It's almost as if she knew where the cameras were and knew I would see these photographs."
Juan chuckles. "Just for you, huh? The photos were made from the surveillance videos."
"Can I please get a Bloody Mary?" the Prince says, causing a staff member to scurry away.
"Hangover, sir? You'd think by now you would have learned," Juan teases.
"Mierda."
"Now now, Lorenzo," the Queen scolds, joining the pair at the table. She picks up a photo. "Very pretty. Is she a suspected terrorist or something?"
"Why would you think that?" Lorenzo asks.
"There are an awful lot of photos of one girl." His mother laughs. "Although, she does look pretty spectacular in that dress."
Juan replies with a grin. "Well, we can't be too careful, Your Highness. You know the chatter our clandestine forces have been hearing."
"You'd think they'd have better things to do than research a pretty girl who looks harmless."
"If you were trying to kill your son, wouldn't you hire someone who looks like she does to do it?"
The Queen shakes her head. "An assassin wouldn't wear pink." She looks closer and tilts her head. "I've seen this girl before. Just the other day. Where was it?" She taps her finger against her chin, thinking. "I know," she says, grabbing her iPad and typing. "Here it is!" She turns the screen toward the Prince.
He sees another photo of Huntley Von Allister looking stunning, wearing a red gown and dancing at the Smithsonian Institution gala with someone he knows.
X X X
I wake up to the sounds of the ocean only to have it be overrun with rap music--a loud, angry Detroit version--blaring from the courtyard.
I step out onto the Juliet balcony that overlooks the villa's courtyard and see Ari shirtless by the pool, doing yoga. I study his form as he calmly holds a plank pose, his muscles tight for a long while before his arms finally start to shake. He holds the pose for a few more beats then pops up, sprints across the courtyard, and beats the crap out of a portable punching bag--his odd workout a combination of zen and badass.
I study my brother some more. I was right. He's fully fit, toned, and perfectly muscled. He should be shirtless more often.
I close the door, shutting out the noise, and walk out into the living portion of my suite to find the file I asked for yesterday on my table along with a continental breakfast.
I pluck up the file, pour myself a glass of orange juice, wrap a napkin around a chocolate croissant, and make my way out to the veranda overlooking the Montrovian harbor.
I savor a bite of the croissant before opening the file. Inside is just a single sheet of paper.
Aristotle, or Ari, is apparently his real name. Real last name: Bradford.
Mother passed away from breast cancer when Ari was young. His father was a four-star general stationed at the Pentagon, who died in a traffic accident when Ari was eighteen. Ari followed in his father's footsteps and joined the Army, where they discovered talents in weaponry and hand-to-hand combat. He was quickly sent to train and then earned a spot as the youngest member of an elite unit. He holds the Army's long-range sniper record and is their boxing champion. He's earned numerous medals of honor, one specifically for saving his unit's leader when bad intelligence caused a shit storm of a firefight.
I can see why they chose him for this mission. Not only is he qualified, but with his family all gone, it would be easy to change his birth records and create adoption papers. And wham, bam, Ari is the long lost son of a billionaire.
I turn the sheet of paper over, where Ellis has added a handwritten note.
Six months ago, Ari was pulled from his elite unit and trained as a covert agent.
Which I find interesting. CIA training is typically a year-long program and for those who are at least twenty-six years old. That's what made Blackwood so different. They were training younger agents.
I'm distracted from the brief when a text pops up on my phone.
AirForceTwo: You owe me a pizza . . . and a shirt.
I look down at my choice of pajamas and smile. But I don't reply. If Daniel wants his shirt back, he'll have to come to Montrovia and get it. I glance at the clock, knowing I need to work out and then get ready for the pool party Ari and I are having today.
Apparently, when you win big at the roulette table in a barely-there dress and have a smoking hot brother, everyone wants to be your friend.
X X X
"Looks like you win," Ari says, elbowing me and nodding toward the entrance to the courtyard.
"Well, isn't this a precarious situation? My hot-as-hell hookup hands me the Prince on a silver platter. I couldn't have planned it better if I had planned it." I elbow Ari back. "Oh wait, I did."
I watch as Daniel enters the courtyard with the Prince of Montrovia. Next to the Prince is a man with a discreet earbud and alert eyes. He's the same guard who was with the Prince in the clothing store. I'm sure the outside of the villa is surrounded by agents, but the fact that there is only one in here is the first flaw I see in his security protocol.
The Prince doesn't approach me right away. He's too busy being swarmed by people who either know him or want to.
Daniel, on the other hand, walks straight over to me. I'm dressed in a bikini, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I'm standing here naked.
"You crashing my party?" I ask, folding my arms across my chest like I'm mad at him for being here.
"You wanted me to come," he fires back, then kisses both my cheeks. "And, now, here I am. With the Prince, who if I recall, you didn't think I really knew."
"So you only showed up to prove a point?"
"Actually, it just so happens he called and asked about you."
"Why?"
"Apparently, he invited you to his party last night, and you didn't show. Not many women will turn down an invitation from the Prince. You've perplexed the poor guy." Daniel laughs. I can tell he finds my not going to the party humorous.
"That wasn't my intention. I just happened to be busy."
"Doing what? Or should I say, whom?"
"What do you mean?"
He flashes a photo of Wesley and me leaving the casino last night.
"That's none of your business," I say.
"Did you sleep with him?"
"No, I didn't."
"Dang. I was going to compare battle wounds with him."
"What are you talking about?"
He points down to his calves, which are indeed boasting fresh red tracks down the outsides. "Your sexy heels almost ruined my photogenic-ness--my perfect specimen of a body. And the salt water in the pool stung the hell out them." He smirks. "But at least the pain stopped the tears of being ditched in the morning."
"I tried to wake you up."
"You did not. The shirt isn't that big of deal, but stealing a man's breakfast pizza? That was just cold." I get the dimple. "Oh, look. Lorenzo is working his way over here. You should cover up. That bikini is practically obscene."
I punch him in the arm. "It is not."
He whispers, "It's sexy as hell. Maybe I just don't want the Prince seeing you like that. Really, I don't want anyone seeing you like that. Want to borrow my shirt?" He pulls his shirt off, revealing his muscular chest and tight abs. I want to run my fingers across them.
So I do.
"Tease," he says, grabbing my hands and giving me another blink of a dimple. God, I love the way he smiles. I fight the urge to grab his face and start making out with him, but I'm on a mission and although I want the Prince to have to work for it a little, I don't want to run him off when I'm this close.
Dani
el turns toward the Prince. "Lorenzo, this is my friend, Huntley. We met a few days ago at an event in D.C., and when I mentioned I knew you, she didn't believe me."
"That's not exactly right," I contradict. "He was bragging about knowing you, so I rolled my eyes. Which he assumed was me not believing him and took it as a challenge, rather than accepting it for what it really was--me not being impressed."
The Prince chuckles, which is good.
"It's nice to see you again," I say to the Prince. "Am I supposed to bow or something?"
"Only to my father, the King."
Daniel laughs and points a finger at him. "He must like you, cuz he makes lots of girls kneel."
To prove his point, a girl interrupts us, getting on her knees and lowering her head straight toward the Prince's royal privates.
When she gets up, she whispers something in his ear, presumably about how she's available even though she introduced me to her boyfriend earlier.
But based on how close she was allowed to get to him without thought shows another flaw in his security. Women aren't viewed as a threat.
"Cool party trick," I say as the girl leaves. "So why are you two really here?"
The Prince throws his thumb in Daniel's direction. "He says you owe him a pizza."
I hold a finger up, causing a steward to instantly appear at my side. I whisper something to him and a few seconds later he presents Daniel with a pizza box.
"What the hell?" Daniel says.
I lean toward the Prince and pretend to confide in him. "It's my new favorite combination, so I ordered it for our party."
Daniel opens the box, looking confused, but the pizza quickly steals his attention. He offers the Prince a piece, but the Prince turns up his nose, takes my elbow, and leads me away from the crowd. I notice his security does not follow.
He kisses my hand. "It's nice to see you again. I had hoped to see you at my party last night."
"Oh, sorry. I got caught up at the roulette table."
"Was your luck good?"
"It was very good."
"Congratulations." He looks back at Daniel. "I can see why Daniel wanted to come to your party. You are very beautiful."
"Thank you. But I doubt he came here for me. Isn't Montrovia where all the rich playboy types will be this week?"
"Possibly. Regardless, I'm glad he allowed me to join him."
