Page 5 of The Dauntless (Spy Girl 5)
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I probably don’t have clearance for that.”
“Actually, you do. Granted, it’s on a need-to-know basis.”
That means I’m probably only going to get half the story.
“Cool. Do I get a special card to carry around that I can pull out to impress partygoers?”
“I really need you to take this seriously.”
“Maybe you should take me seriously,” I fire back. “I get it. You think I’m some dumb kid who, through the luck of the genetic draw, ended up a billionaire.”
“I don’t think that. I’ve been very impressed with your ability to seamlessly glide through the upper echelon of the population. Everyone who has met you and your brother has been charmed by a combination of your good looks, smarts, and surprising social grace.” He glances at my T-shirt. “And, from what I’ve heard, your fashion sense.”
I pull the T-shirt I’m wearing away from my chest. “This is Daniel’s lucky shirt. That’s why I have to get down there. He needs it near him.”
“I thought you were dating the King of Montrovia.”
“Yeah, so did I until—what was it? Oh, yes. He announced his engagement to someone else.”
Lorenzo is exhausted. Broken.
The last few days have been a whirlwind of emotion—from the most breathtakingly exquisite love to the deepest depths of despair.
He’s in his study, pacing behind his desk, trying to figure out how to make things right.
Lizzie barges into the room with a designer in tow. Her face is flushed, and she looks happy. His mother is right. She would make a good queen.
“Oh, I hope we aren’t interrupting. We just needed to measure your quarters for the remodel.”
She introduces him to the designer, who wanders over to his chess set.
“Looks like you’re missing a piece. No worries. We’ll just get a new one.”
“No!” Lorenzo shouts, causing the woman to take a step back. “Nothing in my quarters is to be touched.”
“Very well, Your Majesty,” the designer says politely. “We will only need a word with you about the design ideas we have for the turret.”
Lorenzo covers his eyes with his hands, pushing them up his forehead and back through his hair, trying to keep from coming undone at the seams.
“I am calling off the renovations for the time being,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
“But I have a contract,” the woman says.
“I’m sure there is a contingency for what happens if one party wants to break it. Lizzie, please have Juan give her the name of our attorney when you show her the way out.”
A few moments later, Lizzie comes back in his office, finding him still pacing. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong?” He laughs, practically manically. “I like my home the way it is. It has too many memories, and everything is still so fresh.”
“Are you referring to your father’s death or your relationship with Huntley?”
“I can’t go through with this,” he says to her. “I can’t marry you.”
“You don’t have much choice at this point, Lorenzo,” she says. “Once your mother announced it to the world, we lost our choices.”
“I asked Huntley to marry me, and she accepted.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me that? I could have been in Omaha right now, watching Daniel swim.” She glances at her watch. “He’s about ready to race. I recorded it and was going to watch it once I finished with the designer, but I might be able to catch it live. Want to join me?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because Huntley is there.”
Her comment knocks the wind from Lorenzo’s chest.
Lizzie doesn’t bother to wait for his reply. She’s already grabbing the remote. The announcer is discussing the upcoming semifinals and how Daniel barely scraped his way into the heat.
The camera is panning the crowd when it stops on Daniel, who is strutting down the side of the pool, holding Huntley’s hand. He guides her to a specific spot and speaks to the person sitting in a front-row bleacher. The man gets up, and Huntley sits in his place.
“What’s he doing?” Lorenzo asks.
“She’s got on his lucky shirt,” Lizzie replies mournfully, her stomach feeling sick. “He’s seating her at the end of his lane, so he can swim the final lap straight toward her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I was supposed to be the girl he swam to.”
Lorenzo studies Lizzie’s face. “I’m sorry for being so surly.”
“It’s okay. I’m not at my best right now either. Your mother has my calendar booked down to the second, it seems. I thought I was prepared for this, but I’m not sure that I am.”
“Particularly the emotional side of things,” Lorenzo states.
“Particularly that.” She sits on the sofa in front of the television and watches Daniel dive into the water at the start of the heat. “This is too close,” she says, coming back to her feet. “Faster. Go faster! Eek! He’s pulling ahead! He’s won!”
She smiles broadly, proud of Daniel’s accomplishment, but her lips turn down to a frown very quickly, and tears fill her eyes when a soaking wet Daniel plucks Huntley from the crowd, gleefully pulling her into his arms and nuzzling his face in her neck.
Then he’s twirling her around in the way young lovers do.
Lorenzo can’t bear to watch. He leaves the room with no idea where he’s going, but soon, he finds himself at the staircase that wraps around the turret. Halfway up, he considers tossing himself over the edge but knows that would sort of defeat the purpose. Although, right now, he’s not sure the purpose he’s referring to.
All he can feel is rage. Rage at himself. Rage for not standing up to his mother. Rage for letting Huntley go. For not immediately following her to the ends of the earth to prove his love.
By the time he’s at the top, tears blur his vision. He gazes out the window on the cold and lonely sea, wishing the light would guide his love safely home.
He recites the poem he wrote for her over and over in his head.
Glimmering waters beckon,
Cliffs come into view.
The ocean kisses the shoreline,
As I dream of you.
Because the only thing he saw on the television that gave him any hope was the fact that she was still wearing the poem necklace he had made for her.
Daniel pulls me into his arms, his heart beating wildly. He nuzzles his face into my neck, and I can feel his relief. I can relate—my career and love pulling me in opposite directions.
It’s strange what we do in the name of love.
While he goes to the training room to do his post-race routine, I return to the suite, feeling like a bit of a wreck. Daniel’s emotional embrace brought all my feelings for Lorenzo back to the surface.
I’m trying to mentally prep to finish my conversation with Burnes. I know I need to be on my game
whenever he’s around. Instead, I find Daniel’s mother in the suite, alone, other than the two servicemen who protect her.
I let out a sigh of relief and drop my guard.
“He’s off, making mental mistakes,” she says to me. “But he pulled through in the end.”
“Thank goodness. You should have seen the heat this morning. He barely made the semis.”
“Why?” Her countenance hardens. “Did you keep him out late?”
“No. I’ve never been able to distract Daniel from his training. Probably why we’re just friends.”
Her harsh gaze softens. “I thought—it wasn’t you in Paris?”
“No. It was Lady Elizabeth Palomar.”
“But she and King Lorenzo just announced—” Her eyes widen with realization. “Oh.”
“It’s my understanding she is in love with Daniel but chose duty to her country over him.”
Daniel’s mother abruptly sits down. “He’s never cared enough—”
“About a girl to interfere with his swimming. I know. He’s very committed. What he and Lizzie had was brief but powerful. That I understand.”
She looks up at me, and I brace for her to ask about Lorenzo, but instead, she says, “Are you bleeding, or is Daniel?”
My hand reacts by touching my side, and I realize my wound must have split open when I threw my arms around Daniel’s neck. “Uh, I think it’s me. I’ll go clean up in the bathroom.”
She stands and blocks my way. “Let me take a look at it.” She turns to the servicemen. “Can you wait outside, please?”
As soon as they leave, I pull Daniel’s lucky T-shirt up over my side. The superglue that I used to seal up the wound I’d received during my last mission has come undone.
“This needs stitches,” Daniel’s mother says. “What did you do?”
It’s an innocent question. A doctoral question. I’m not sure what to tell her exactly, so I go with a version of the truth.
“I was being chauffeured in the back of an SUV that got T-boned on the passenger side, and I didn’t have on a seat belt—”
