Spy Girl (18 page)

“Let me know what you find out. Send me a heart if he’s a good guy and a broken heart if he’s bad. And pray for a heart, because I will be crushed if I have to kill him.”

Ari chuckles but then looks at me seriously. “Do you think you are good enough to kill a legend?”

“Retired legend,” I clarify. “And the answer to that question is absolutely.” I hear a car rumble into the drive. “Lorenzo is here. Shit.”

Ari speaks to his phone, asking it what to wear on a yacht in Montrovia. Numerous example photos pop up. “Designer heels and sunglasses with a teeny bikini.” He scrolls through more photos while I pull on a pair of white shorts and a navy sweater that looks nautical.

“Perfect,” Ari says.
 

“What are you doing today?”

He doesn’t reply, so I grab my bag and go to greet Lorenzo.

Ari follows me and says to him, “Huntley said you’ll be on your yacht this afternoon. Does that mean the two of you aren’t going to your cousins’ spur of the moment beach party?”

Lorenzo lowers his voice. “They wanted to have it on my boat and are a little miffed that I said no.”

“Why did you say no?” I ask.

“Because I wanted to spend time alone with you.”

I smile and so does Ari. This is good for our mission.

Lorenzo drives us to the harbor, a blacked-out SUV following us closely. The race traffic is bad as many streets are closed, but Lorenzo pulls through a parking garage and emerges at the marina. He parks, and we are escorted to his boat.
 

After taking off my shoes, I get a tour of his amazing yacht. It sports a navy steel hull with a white superstructure on top and is curvy like a racecar. The interior is made up of rich woods accented in stainless steel with lots of leather upholstery. It’s a combination of sleek, rich, contemporary warmth. It has six staterooms for guests as well as a massive owner’s suite and room for a large crew. It also features five levels of sundecks, a pool, nightclub, and numerous entertaining salons.

“It’s one of the prettiest boats in the harbor,” I tell him as we go to the top deck to view the charity races.

“Thank you. My father would love to hear you say that.”

“Why’s that?”

“He worked with Viktor’s father’s yacht company for the last two years having it built for my twenty-fourth birthday.”

“When was that?”

“Just three weeks ago. You are my first guest.”

“But I’ve seen pictures of you on yachts surrounded by women. There was one in the paper just the other day.”

“Not on this boat. You are the first woman, besides my mother, to step foot on it.”

“Well, I’m honored then.”

“I thought we could have lunch up here and then enjoy the sun on the pool deck.”

“That sounds perfect.”

He gives me a kiss. “So, how is my
beautiful Huntley today?”

“It seems she’s on the cover of the newspaper.”

“Yes, our publicist did mention that there are a lot of photos of us. Are you okay with that?”

I laugh. “Um, the question should be are you okay with that? I’m a nobody. No one cares who I’m with.”

“I do,” he says, kissing me again. “And I prefer you be photographed with me as opposed to another man. Did you remember to send the bombs to the castle?”

“I did—not that you gave me much time—and you need to stop calling them that. I’ll end up getting arrested.”

“You may get arrested if anyone sees you in this,” he teases, pulling a teeny white thong that looks too small for a Barbie doll out of his duffle bag. Good thing the Kates insisted on the Brazilian cut down there. “This is what you will be wearing.”

“I’m not wearing that.”

“It’s for bath time, not for yacht time.”

“Well, thank goodness.”

I look around at all the yachts in the harbor, each one packed to the gills with spectators. “Did you notice this is the only yacht not full of people watching the race?”

“I hadn’t noticed. I only have eyes for you.”

I laugh. “Really?”

“You talked me out of participating in the charity race. I’m not sure what kind of spell you have me under.”

“Love potion, probably,” I tease. “Ordered from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley.”

“Harry Potter,” he says, doing a great imitation of Dobby the house elf, which causes me to burst out in laughter.
 

I stifle my laugh when a sommelier brings us a bottle of wine, allowing Lorenzo the opportunity to taste it and deem it good enough to drink.
 

He holds his glass up and touches mine. “Love is the beauty of the soul.”

I recite the rest of the quote. “
Insomuch as love grows in you, so beauty grows. For love is the beauty of the soul.
”

“Do you believe that?” he asks, holding my gaze.
 

“I think love grows in us, but I don’t think love is always beautiful.” An image of my mother clouds my vision, but this time instead of watching her head get blown away, I see her eyes before she got shot, full of love for me. Not caring about herself, only wanting to protect me at all costs. It saddens me to know that she died worried for me. I feel like I let her down.
 

Tears gather in my eyes.
 

“Huntley?” the Prince asks, searching my face.
 

“Sorry, the answer to your question is
yes
. I believe love to be a beautiful thing.”

“Where did you just go?” he asks. I put my head down. I’m not supposed to let him in. I can’t, but he gently touches my face. “Tell me.”

“I was just thinking about my mother,” I answer honestly.

“How old were you when she passed?”

“Fourteen.”

“And your father?”

“They both died then.”

“Then what?”

“Boarding school. College.”

“So you’ve been on your own for a while?”

“Pretty much.”

He sets his glass down without taking a drink and pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head, and hugging me. “I will admit to knowing all that, but I wanted to hear it from you.”

“Let me guess, your security checked me out?”

“Yes.”

“Is that normal protocol for everyone you date?”

“No, but it is for the girl who saved my life twice. I want to know everything about you. Is it bad that I read their report?”

“My life hasn’t been very exciting, other than a few detentions for sneaking out after curfew, so I imagine it was a rather dull read.”

“You are well-traveled. That was the most interesting thing. Passport stamps from all over the world, even from a young age.”

What he says gives me pause, because this was not in my backstory. But maybe my real story is my backstory, just with a different name. I realize that this is a do or die situation. If what I say and what he read in my file don’t agree, he will know I’m lying, and I’ll end up in a Montrovian jail—or worse, sent home a failure.

“My parents traveled a lot for their jobs, and we often stayed for months at a time,” I reply, then quickly try to change the subject. “I particularly love visiting ruins and museums.”

“You mentioned that at the castle. What do you like about them?”

“When you combine the literature and art from an era, you get a good idea of how people of different time periods lived. It’s intriguing that at the core, their lives weren’t all that different from ours. There was good and evil. Love and hate. War and peace. Happiness and tragedy. I find that comforting.”

“How so?”

“Because someone else has probably gone through something similar to what I have, if not worse.”

“We still haven’t sealed our toast,” he says, handing me back my glass. “To love worth recording.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I say, feeling like I just dodged a very big bullet.

We have lunch then sit on the pool deck for a bit, enjoying each class of the charity races and then a practice session for the professionals.

We’re cheering for his favorite driver, who is out on the track, when one of his security detail brings a wrapped package and sets it in front of me.
 

My immediate thought is that it’s a bomb. I consider picking it up and throwing it into the bay, hoping it wouldn’t destroy all these yachts. I must have a panicked look on my face because the man says, “It’s a gift for you from a friend. We opened it, checked to make sure it was legitimate, and rewrapped it. Sorry, it’s not quite as pretty as when it arrived.”

“What is it?” Lorenzo asks as the guard retreats to his position.
 

“I have no idea.” I carefully open the box and pray they properly vetted it. When I take the lid off, I find the Judith Leiber silver crystal clutch with red and pink lips that I was coveting at the store today. “Wow.”

Lorenzo takes the card out of the box and reads it. “
You should never walk away from something you love, even if it’s impractical.
It’s signed with just a W. Do you know who that is?”

“I think so. William Gallagher. He was at the store when I was considering buying it. Do you know him?”

“He’s British.”

“That’s what he said. What do you know about him?” I try to make the question sound curious and not like an interrogation.

“He works for the government. Covert stuff.”

“Like a spy?”

“I believe so.”

“He was following me.”

“Why?”

“He asked me if we were going to the yacht party tonight. I told him I didn’t know. It seemed weird, you know? After everything that’s happened.”

He calls Juan over and asks him to find out why the hell a British spy is on his soil, if his government knows about it, and why he was following me.

“You have good instincts. You’re very clever.”

“Thank you. Um, do you think it’s okay if I keep the clutch?”

He laughs. “Did you really love it and not buy it?”

“Yes.”

“Then William and I are in agreement. You should have everything your heart desires, Huntley, my dear.”

X X
X

After an afternoon on his yacht, we head to the castle to take our bath and prepare for the party tonight.

I put on the teeny white thong and find him waiting for me in a mini euro Speedo type thing. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.
 

I remind myself that topless is normal here and fight the urge to cover my boobs. And although the other night there was some over-the-dress boob action that went on, this is the first time Lorenzo has seen them naked. It’s both awkward and stimulating.
 

He leads me into a palatial bathroom, which features a huge sunken tub large enough for a crowd. The water has been drawn. The bathroom glitters with ornate blue and gold metallic tiles and features a cathedral ceiling covered with paintings of mermaids, Greek gods, and elaborate sailing vessels—all supported by marble Doric-style columns.

“Are you ready to add the bath bombs?” he chuckles, holding up the bag.

“Why don’t you do the honors?” I suggest, sitting on the edge and watching his expression as they bubble and fizz.

“The water is turning very blue,” he says nervously.
 

“Don’t worry.” I grab the smaller bag of golden bars, get into the tub, and break them up under the faucet. “It’s not dye. We won’t go to the party looking like Smurfs.”

He laughs. “That is a relief. Would you care for some champagne?”

“I’d love some,” I reply as he pours me a glass. It’s French, dry, and tastes expensive.

He steps into the bath, sits down, and we both relax. It’s really quite nice, sitting close to him, mostly naked, all warm and sipping on champagne.
 

He wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I lean back into it.
 

“So are you only here for the week?” he asks.

“We leased the villa for a few months.”

“Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? It’s beautiful.”

“Would you ever consider settling in my great country?”
 

“I read Montrovia is very easy to visit, but living here is another story. Foreign real estate transactions must be approved by the government for anyone who isn’t Montrovian by birth.”

“You could always stay at the castle.”

“If you tell that to all the girls you date, there’s probably a waiting list.”

He chuckles, and it’s clear I’m amusing him. “Would
you
like to?”

“I would like to, but I won’t.”
 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not looking to be your nanny.” I cup water in my hand and pour it onto his chest with a grin.

Which causes him to do the same to me, the warm water gliding through my cleavage.

“What about a princess?”

I laugh—choke, practically, on my champagne.
 

“Ohmigosh, that usually works, doesn’t it? No wonder when I Googled your country all the images that came up were photos of you with different women. It seems tourism ranks second place by a mile.”

He takes a sip of his champagne, looking thoughtful. Probably trying to figure out how to make himself sound less of a cad. I mean they call him the Playboy Prince for good reason.

“If the papers are correct, there may be a royal wedding soon,” he says, finally, apparently deciding it’s better to just change the subject.

“That stands to reason, since your cousin got engaged yesterday in a very public way.”

“Why do I get the feeling you haven’t read the papers or seen the articles about us?”

“Because I haven’t. I saw the photo on the front cover of the local paper, and that was enough.” I move away from him and swim across the pool-sized bath.

“Why?” he asks, following.

“I’m not sure hats are a good look for me. I looked awkward.”

He pins me into the corner and kisses me. “You were beautiful. Did you get your invitation for tonight?”