Page 4 of The Society (Spy Girl 3)
"And look at this," Terrance says, pointing. "This is the Montrovian royal crest down here, but what is Arcadia?"
"In Greek mythology, Arcadia was the home of the god Pan, who had the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, much like a faun or satyr. His home was rustic, an untouched wilderness, and it was said that he lived in perfect harmony with nature. Later, during the Renaissance, the idea of Arcadia was often seen in all art forms--from paintings and sculptures to books and theater. It was considered to be an unspoiled and harmonious world, especially one uncorrupted by civilization. In other words, Utopia."
"Is Ophelia a Greek name, too?"
"I don't think so. Look it up real quick."
He runs over to his computer, types, and then says, "Wow. Listen to this. Ophelia was derived from the Greek word that meant help. It's believed the name was first used by a fifteenth-century poet named Jacopo Sannazaro for a character in his poem 'Arcadia.' Does that mean she looked up the meaning of her name, discovered what Arcadia was, and chose that to be the name of her perfect country?"
"Before I blew her up with one of your pore strips, I got her talking. She planned to kill Lorenzo and become queen. Then she was going to systematically dismantle the monarchy, starting by selling the Strait of Montrovia to the highest bidder. When that was done, she wanted to close its borders, shut down the port, sink all the yachts, and abolish gambling. All because her dad had cheated on her mom, and her mom had taken them to live in France where no one cared that she was royal."
"It would have been detrimental to the rest of the world if she had succeeded. Montrovia has always been neutral, like Switzerland," Terrance says. "So, we know what her plan was. She was going to sell the Strait, become even wealthier, and change the name of the country, which she would then rule because she had Daddy issues."
"I wish it were as simple as Daddy issues. There has to be more to the story, something that Clarice knew about. Otherwise, why assassinate her? Ophelia wasn't acting alone, so who was behind her?" My phone buzzes with a text from Ellis, letting me know that I need to get to my dressing room. "Crap. I have to go get ready."
"Wait," Terrance says, grabbing two swabs out of a box. "Open your mouth."
"What for?"
"DNA testing. We're going to find out if you and Ari really are twins."
A few hours later, Ari and I touch down in London and are quickly ferried to a waiting helicopter. A sleek black Maybach limo pulls up, and Lorenzo and his guards join us.
"Don't you look gorgeous," Lorenzo says, greeting me with a kiss and taking in my light-blue Gucci cluny lace dress with a black velvet waistband and little appliqued flowers. I even have my hair done up in a conservative French twist. He turns to greet Ari and then ushers us onto the chopper.
After touchdown, we are picked up by another car and driven a short distance to the Guards Polo Club where we walk a red carpet and have our pictures taken--again. Lorenzo's arm is wrapped around me, and even though things are weighing heavily on my mind, I find myself smiling--not for the cameras, but because of him.
Lorenzo and I chat with a whole bunch of people--some who I met previously in Montrovia and others who he introduces me to--and then he takes me to meet one of the professional players he knows and to see the team's ponies.
"I don't know much about polo," I admit as we're admiring the beautiful creatures. "Is it hard to follow the game?"
"Not at all. The game is played between two teams. Each team has four players, and the team with the most goals wins. You score by getting the ball into the net. Each time a team scores, they switch sides. The game is divided into six chukkers--or time periods--which are each seven minutes long. Did you know that I've been playing most of my life?" he asks.
"I read that was a passion of yours, but we've never really talked about it with everything that's gone on. I'd love to see you play sometime."
"Your wish is my command," he says, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "We had better go take our seats. The match is about to start."
I'm returning from a quick trip to the loo when I spy Daniel making a fashionably late entrance with a gorgeous tennis pro on his arm. They are posing for the cameras, but when he spots me, he drops the girl's hand and makes a beeline toward me.
I laugh as the Secret Service rush to catch up to him.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," I say by way of a greeting.
"Very funny." He takes a step back, giving my body a hard, lascivious look.
"You are such a boy," I tell him.
He's so completely different from Lorenzo. So crass, so bold, so cocky.
"How is the White House treating you?"
"Training is going really well. No distractions. My coach loves it."
"Hard to sneak girls in, I bet," I tease.
"Actually, yes, but don't worry; I can get you in." His blue eyes sparkle, and one corner of his mouth is pulled back into a smirk, showing off a single dimple.
"I'd actually love a tour of the White House. I mean, how cool would that be?"
"Well, next time you're in DC, you should come over. We can have a slumber party again. I'll braid your hair."
I ignore his slumber party comment. "So how is it that you managed to not only get away from your trainer, but also find such a lovely companion when you've been practically chained to the pool?"
"I had to be here. It's in my contract."
"What contract is that?"
He flashes me a vintage Cartier watch, and I immediately remember the hot commercial of him coming up out of the pool, wearing pretty much nothing else.
"Can I be honest?"
"I don't know, Huntley. Can you be?"
I give him a playful punch. "Hiring you for that ad was bad marketing on their part."
He's taken aback. "Why? Women especially love that commercial."
"Oh, I'm sure they do. I know I could describe it to you in great detail, but I have to admit, I never noticed the brand of the watch you were wearing."
"You're such a tease. I love it. I miss you."
He's being totally charming. It's a little annoying. But not. Because Daniel is incredibly hot. And those piercing blue eyes . . . don't even get me started.
"Yes, I can tell you've missed me. You know, you're really going to have to stop being so needy with all your texts and phone calls. It makes you seem desperate."
He looks confused. "But I haven't texted you."
"My point."
"Oh, I get it. You're in rare form today. You could text me, you know."
"Yeah, I could."
"Have you slept with him yet?" he asks.
"Same answer as always, Daniel."
"Which is no," he says, flashing both his dimples.
"Which is none of your business," I reply.
"Same thing. Are you here with him?"
"Yes, because he invited me."
"Staying at Prescott Manor, too?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"Perfect. So am I. Maybe we can bunk up."
"I'm not bunking up with you, Daniel."
He pulls me into his arms. "Admit it, you miss my dimple."
"You have two dimples. I have witnessed them myself."
He gives me a dazzling smile. "The second one is saved for special people."
"You are such a flirt," I say, not able to control my laughter.
"A sexy flirt?" he asks, moving closer and kissing both my cheeks.
"In your mind, yes. But you'd probably better get back to your date. Miss Tennis is pouting."
"Let her," he says with a wave of his hand.
"Are you sleeping with her?" I ask, wishing it hadn't slipped out of my mouth because, now, he's going to think--
"You jealous?"
"Horribly," I sigh with mock sorrow. "I'm not sure how I'll ever recover."
"I can think of a thing or two that might help," he says sexily. He looks over my shoulder. "Speaking of jealous, here comes Enzo." Daniel purposefully wraps an
arm around my waist and pulls me flush with his body. "Here's the plan--I'll punch him in the face, you kick him in the shin, and then we'll run away together and live happily ever after."
I laugh at his silliness. "While utterly romantic, there are a few flaws in your plan, I'm afraid."
"Like what?"
"His security. Your security. For me to run away with you, we'd have to flee from all of them. I mean, obviously, we'd be married immediately and need a long, lavish honeymoon, except that would mean no Olympics."
"Daniel," Lorenzo says, cuffing him on the shoulder. Then he studies us. "Why do I get the feeling you are conspiring? You two look--how do you say it? Thick as thieves."
Daniel and I both grin.
"We were planning our elopement," I admit.
"But, alas, I must get back to Miss Tennis." Daniel releases me from his grip. "But watch for my sign, Huntley, and we will make our escape," he says with a wink as he walks away.
Lorenzo's face is unreadable. His body language suggests jealousy, but his lips are pulled into a smirk. I think I confuse him.
Join the club. I confuse me, too. Because I shouldn't be anything to anyone.
