Page 4 of The Dauntless (Spy Girl 5)
I wash my face and then steal one of his T-shirts since I didn’t pack pajamas.
When I come back into our bedroom, which has two queen beds, Daniel shakes his head at me. “Oh, no. That won’t do.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, looking down at myself.
He gets up, grabs a light-blue dress shirt from the closet, and hands it to me. It’s the same kind of shirt I stole the night we met.
“That’s my lucky T-shirt, and I have to wear it tomorrow.” He grins at me. “Well, one of us has to wear it tomorrow.”
“Maybe it could be me. I have a pair of jeans in my backpack, but that’s about all I brought that’s appropriate.”
After I change shirts, he pulls me onto his bed.
I’m nervous I’ll have to fend him off, but he lies on his side, facing me, and says, “Lizzie and I hung out in Paris recently. It was”—he gets a faraway look in his eye—“like I could see my whole life all laid out in front of me for the first time. Us, living together in Paris. Lizzie has a beautiful pied-à-terre there. We made love with the lights of the Eiffel Tower as the backdrop. I’m talking no more Swiss bikini team, Huntley.”
“True love?”
“Yeah,” he says sadly.
“So, you’re heartbroken, too?”
“The fact that I haven’t made a single move on you should be a pretty clear indication of that.”
“I know. And I’m not sure if I should be offended or relieved,” I reply.
“I care for you, Huntley.”
“And I care for you.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” He kisses my forehead and then pulls me into a hug. The hug is tight and seems to be an attempt to comfort himself more than to comfort me.
He sighs and buries his head in my chest. He doesn’t cry, but his breathing is ragged, and I know his heartbreak and sadness equal mine. I hug him and gently stroke his hair.
His breathing evens, and I assume that he’s fallen asleep until he says, “Do you think we should do anything about it?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Storm the castle and take back what’s ours? Did you know that she’s moving in?”
“I mean, I assumed she would after they were married.”
“Nope. As of today, she will be living in the queen’s guest quarters to oversee a palace renovation as well as see to the wedding details.”
I think about the turret that Lorenzo was supposed to have redone in my honor. Our turret.
“Then we’re both screwed,” I say.
Once he’s asleep, I slip out of bed and go into the living room, my mind on the press conference.
I watch it again—first, with no sound, only to watch their body language, and then again, over and over, just to hear Lorenzo’s voice.
I look down at my left hand, thinking about how her ring couldn’t be more different than the one he placed on my finger. At some point last night, Lorenzo held it up and told me how it was part of a suite of jewels including a tiara that I would wear on our wedding day.
I grab my phone and do a quick search, knowing most of the royal jewels are cataloged online.
It takes me a bit of searching through the database to find a sparkling and delicate tiara composed of seven graduated heart-shaped designs that I recognize as larger versions of my ring.
I scroll below the picture to read the history.
The Arcadian tiara features over a thousand brilliant-cut diamonds and four hundred rose-cut diamonds and was a gift to King Lorenzo the Magnificent’s bride, the future Queen Marchesa Vallenta, on their wedding day. This suite also contained a matching diamond brooch, necklace, and earrings. Centuries later, King Alberto Vallenta, the great-great-grandfather of our current king, had the brooch remade into an engagement ring for his bride, Amalia Serafina. This ring features a twelve-carat rose-cut diamond wrapped in the distinctive flaming hearts design.
While I’m shocked by the name of the crown, all my mind can focus on are the words flaming hearts.
How fitting, I think, knowing that our love, unlike Alberto and Amalia’s, has already gone down in flames.
MISSION:DAY TWO
I wake up the next morning, tangled up on the couch with Daniel.
“What time is it?” he asks groggily, noticing that the sun is starting to rise.
I grab my phone. “Almost six. What are you doing on the couch with me?”
“I woke up and you were gone. Didn’t want you to be alone.”
“Didn’t want me to be alone? Or you didn’t want to be alone?” I tease.
“Both, probably,” he says seriously. “Will you order us breakfast? I need to shower and be at the pool in an hour.”
“Sure. The usual?”
“What’s the usual?” he asks, looking confused.
“Everything on the menu.”
“Hmm. How about a six-egg omelet with spinach, ham, mushrooms, and provolone; an order of French toast; some hash browns; and two glasses of milk?”
“Are you sure that’s enough?” I tease.
He takes me seriously. “You’re right. Better add a bowl of oatmeal and a side of mixed berries.”
“Uh, okay,” I say, secretly wishing I could eat that much food.
Just as I pick up the phone to dial room service, he sticks his head back out of the bathroom. “Chocolate chip pancakes and some orange juice sound really good, too.”
I order all his food, adding a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with hash browns for myself, my stomach still on European time and wanting lunch.
After fueling our bodies, we head to the convention center. Daniel is taken to the locker room to prepare while I’m led to a box suite by a couple of Secret Service agents.
“The First Lady will be here shortly, and Marlin will use this spot to relax in between heats,” one of them tells me. “Catering will bring food in throughout the day.”
“Marlin?” I ask.
“The First Son’s code name. Really, the sailfish is the fastest in the water with the marlin running second, but Sailfish just didn’t sound good, and he got pissed when we tried to call him Guppy.”
I laugh along with the agent and then take a seat by the windows overlooking the pool.
I watch Daniel’s first heat of the day from the box and am surprised by how poorly he is swimming. It’s obvious that the whole Lizzie thing is weighing heavily on his mind. The announcers go crazy, speculating what will happen if Daniel Spear doesn’t qualify and what that will mean for the American team.
Fortunately, he comes from behind in the race to just make it into the semifinals that will be held this afternoon.
He comes to the suite after his post-race ritual to refuel.
His blue eyes are still brilliant, but his defeated demeanor has added a darkness to them that I’ve never seen before.
“So you had one bad race. You made the next round.”
“This is all messing with my head. My times have been horrible. Give me something to swim for.”
“Me? How am I supposed to do that? Besides, you should be swimming for yourself.”
“She was going to be here to cheer me on.”
“And I’m here instead. I mean, I know it’s not the same but—”
“I need you in the stands for the next heat,” he interrupts. “My vision was that I would see her as I crossed the finish line and came out of the pool.”
“You want me in the stands? I don’t think—”
“Huntley, please help me,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion. “I need you.”
The stadium is full of fans cheering for their favorite swimmers, and Daniel is downstairs prepping for the semifinals, when Mike Burnes, the director of the CIA, magically appears in the seat next to me. And I’m pretty sure I know what he wants.
“I didn’t know you were a big fan of swimming.”
“I heard you wanted to talk to me.” He smirks.
“I do. I wanted you to know that I don’t appr
eciate you trying to use my friends. If you want something from me, please just call me yourself.”
“I am a little busy, running a pretty important governmental agency.”
“I’m glad that you are getting some well-deserved time off to come to this great sporting event.”
He glances down at the pool. “I’m actually here to enlist your help.”
“You could have just called. Daniel mentioned something about my biological father’s company.”
“Would you mind discussing it with me in private?”
“This is about as private as it’s going to get,” I say, glancing around at the mostly empty suite. “But we’ll have to do it later. Daniel is up next. I was just getting ready to walk down to the pool deck to wish him luck.”
Burnes lets out a heavy sigh. I respond by glancing at my dad’s watch to verify the time.
“Fine. I’d like to discuss a vote at the upcoming Von Allister Industries board meeting, covering the renewal of an important contract.”
