Page 21 of The Eagle (Spy Girl 2)
"Thank you. You look beautiful yourself."
He puts his head down and blushes slightly. It's adorable.
"I have a gift for you."
"What for?"
"To celebrate your knighthood." He hands me a white box tied with a lush, black velvet ribbon.
I open it.
"Is this a crown?"
"Actually, it's a coronet."
"It looks like a crown."
"It's not a crown. A crown is what I wore at my coronation. Crowns have high arches and are worn only by royalty. A coronet symbolizes nobility."
"What about tiaras?"
"Tiaras are a type of crown, as is a coronet, but a tiara has a semi-circular base as opposed to a full one. And there are different styles of tiaras for different occasions. When we are back in Montrovia, we can revisit the Royal Vault where I will show you the intricate variations. But for now--may I?"
I nod, so he places it on my head, then stands back and takes me in. "Perfection."
"You shouldn't have bought me this."
"Oh, I didn't," he says with a grin. "It's a tradition. The country gives them out to its newest nobility."
"You forget I am trained in deception indicators. You paused your speech and touched your eyebrow. You're lying to me."
He gives me a smirk. "Fine. It is a gift from me, Contessa." He holds out his elbow. "Shall we go?"
The Montrovian Embassy is gorgeous and screams old world wealth. After cocktails and introductions in the main floor salon, we are taken to the fifth floor ballroom for dinner. The room features what must be centuries-old chandeliers, lush gold velvet draperies, and a domed, stained glass ceiling.
Lorenzo and I are seated in a place of honor with the Montrovian Ambassador and the Danish Prince. There is just one long table set up in the middle of the room as there are only about thirty in attendance, one of whom is not Aleksandr Nikolaevich. Guess the CIA doesn't know everything.
After a wonderful five-course dinner, a dessert station is rolled into the room, featuring handmade crepes with numerous fillings.
"What is your preference, my dear?" Lorenzo asks me. "Sweet or savory?"
I look into his eyes dreamily. "Say that again."
"Sweet--?
"No say, savory." He says it again, his accent sounding particularly delicious. "That sounds so sexy. I must have that kind."
He gazes into my eyes, and we share a moment. The kind of moment from a love story--two people rooted in their spots, the world spinning around them, while they see only each other. They say we only use a small portion of our brain. That we could speak telepathically if we used our full capacity. It's moments like this where I feel like I already can. It's different than an intuitive feeling--deeper. A delicate mix of body, brain, and hormones that causes a strong feeling somewhere deep inside me.
Making me feel like I've met the one.
I vowed if I ever met the one I would run in the other direction, but instead I find myself inexplicably pulled to do the opposite--run straight to him and never leave.
Except I have to leave.
Soon.
The attendees bid us farewell after enjoying coffee and conversation. Lorenzo takes me back up to the ballroom and asks for a dance.
When I'm held tightly in his arms, it's really hard not to be swept away.
"As much as I'm enjoying my evening with you, Lorenzo, I know stolen kisses and these wonderful shared moments aren't going to keep you happy."
"My mother asked of you," he replies, changing the subject. "She likes you. Both my parents like you." He stops and shakes his head. "I forget that he's gone sometimes. Does the grief ever get better?"
"You never get over it. You just have to move on, for them. Your father was proud of you, and any criticism he gave you was only his attempt to make you a better future King. He had already raised a good man."
"Other women I have dated would not be so kind. I believed I would never be happy with just one woman, not when there are so many beautiful distractions in the world." He cups my cheek in his hand. "Until you."
"Lorenzo."
"Huntley, I don't care how you make your living. I want to continue to court you." He takes my hand and pulls me close. "And even though I know with certainty that you could probably kill me in a few seconds if you wanted, I like the danger. Just think, when we marry, I could fire Juan. You could be both my princess and my bodyguard."
I laugh nervously, trying to lighten the mood. "You're silly. I'm not even sure when I'll see you again. I received a new mission today."
"Does it have to do with the President's death?"
"Yes, I'll be going after the assassin."
"Would it make a difference if I said I wish you wouldn't go?"
"This is why people like me can't have emotional entanglements."
He is not deterred. "Well, like it or not, now you have someone to come home to." He looks distraught but quickly changes the subject. "My parents had an arranged marriage."
"They did? That surprises me. They seemed in love."
"While they were not in love when they married, they did grow to love each other. An arranged marriage will be my fate, unless--"
His words hang there.
"Lorenzo, not only did this person kill the President, but he killed my mother."
"So once you succeed, you will have your revenge?"
"He's the best assassin in the world."
"You could turn down the mission."
"You know why I can't do that. You also need to know there's a very real possibility that I won't succeed. That I won't be back."
"You have to come back, Lee," he says, cradling my face in his hands. "Because I think I love you."
Tears threaten as I feel a crack in my shell. I think that's what happens when you experience loss. You wrap a protective shell around yourself, so no one else can ever get in. So you'll never feel the pain of losing a loved one again. I've carefully built up my walls and put my emotions aside to train for this day, and now that it's here--now that I'm going to do it, instead of feeling like the lethal weapon that I am--I feel torn. This moment is everything I've worked for.
"Do you return my affection, Lee?"
I shake my head, knowing my eyes betray me.
A text interrupts our moment.
We have located him. A car is waiting for you outside the Embassy. You must go immediately. Time is of the essence.
I lean toward Lorenzo, giving him a quick peck goodbye. He wraps his arms around me and deepens the kiss, his tongue like an elixir, causing visions of a life of love and happiness.
A life that cannot be my destiny.
"I have to go," I say quietly then walk away.
It takes every ounce of strength I have not to turn around and look at him one last time. Instead, I race down the stairs and out to the car, where Ari is waiting.
"Where are we going?"
"To the airport."
I don't say anything else until we are dropped off on the tarmac of an Air Force base. "What are we doing here?"
"You don't get motion sickness, do you?"
"Uh, no. Why?"
He points to two F-16B fighter jets sitting in ready. "Those are our rides."
My eyes get huge. "What?! Where are we going?"
"France. Quickly."
"Well, I'll be. Now this ain't something you see every day," a handsome pilot says, after giving me a once over and scrutinizing my ornate dress and high heels. "I'm Lieutenant Captain Dennis Morgan, call sign Cobra, and this is my wingman Lieutenant Captain, Mark Arnold, call sign Razor."
"How'd you two manage this?" Razor asks. "Friends in high places?"
"We're trying to avoid customs," Ari jokes.
Razor turns up his nose at us, but Cobra flirts with me. "You're about to get the ride of your life, princess." It's then that I realize I'm still wearin
g the coronet. "Going to a party?"
"Well, you know, it's hard to be popular," I joke.
"You look familiar--wait, you're the chick who was at the President's swearing in, aren't you?"
"Guilty."
"It makes sense now. Are you really going to a party?"
"Kind of." I nod, figuring I might as well keep up the charade.
"And we don't have much time," Ari stresses as he watches precious seconds tick away on his watch. "I assume you were told of our tight schedule?"
"Of course. We have two fighters fueled and ready. There are flight suits for you in here." He leads us into a locker room. "Get them on and meet us on the tarmac. When the Commander-in-Chief wants something done, you do it."
If the President did approve this--which I highly doubt, I don't think they would have mentioned the assassin they were sending was the same girl who slept with his son. Not that it really matters. I haven't heard from his son since he told me I couldn't go to the funeral with him.
Ari slides his flight suit on over his clothes and is quickly out the door.
I try to stuff the full skirt of my dress into the suit, but it won't fit.
With no time left, I strip it off, throw on the flight suit, grab my heels and handbag, and then run back outside.
I get buckled in, am taught how to put the oxygen mask on my helmet, how to eject out of the plane if necessary, and am given a barf bag along with a smirk.
"I'm not using this," I say, handing it back to the pilot. There's no freaking way I will allow myself to puke.
In a few moments, we are hurtling down the runway, and I can feel the weight of the g-forces as the fighter ascends into the night sky.
We climb high quickly, and I am able to listen in on the pilots' chatter.
Once we are at Mach Two, Ari asks if I can hear him.
"I hear you," I reply.
"Are you doing okay?" he asks. "Do you feel sick?"
"I'm fine," I reply, even though I am a little queasy. "This is crazy."
"You should take a nap if you can," Ari suggests. "We have to hit the ground running."
The pilots say very little during the flight. I'm not sure if it's normal or if they were told not to ask or tell.
