Code Name: Tiara (Jameson Force Security 7) - Page 4

It’s not that I can’t choose to hold off on marriage and motherhood until after he dies—which I hope doesn’t happen ever—but my parents constantly bestow upon me the importance of succession to the throne and carrying on our lineage, which puts a lot of pressure on a young woman’s shoulders.

“You are a princess,” Netty replies with a chuckle. “And deserving of someone with a royal title. But you and I both know that options are limited if you’re shooting for that. Princes don’t grow on trees, you know.”

I spot a stray hair, lean toward the mirror, and pluck it efficiently with a slight wince. I’d rather be gored by a rhinoceros than pluck individual hairs out of my eyebrows, but a princess must do what a princess must do. The only reason I’m doing it now is so I don’t have to engage in this age-old conversation with Netty.

“I don’t want to wear the coral dress,” I command, tossing the tweezers down. “Pull out the navy-and-white-striped jumpsuit—”

“But that’s not dressy enough,” she insists.

I ignore her protest. “The navy-and-white jumpsuit,” I clip out as I stand from the vanity. “And my decisions are not to be questioned.”

It’s a brusque, cold response, and truthfully, she doesn’t deserve it. Netty stares at me with pink cheeks and bobs her head. “Of course, Your Highness.”

I grit my teeth. Netty has known me since the changing of my first diaper. She rarely addresses me so formally, and really only when I remind her of my station, which is really unlike me to do. But I’m stressed about this tea today with the Delmondes and the continual push for me to go down a path I don’t want to travel.

Pushing aside any sympathy for Netty, I turn my back on her. “That will be all for today. I don’t want to be disturbed until it’s time to get ready for the tea.”

“Shall I send your breakfast up or will—”

“No, thank you,” I say quickly but firmly so as to discourage further solicitations. “See yourself out, Netty.”

I harden myself against the hurt on her face. Netty has been my caretaker in one form or another since I was a baby. At first, it was to help my mother in any way necessary—a live-in nanny so to speak. As I grew older, it was to escort me to and from school and ensure I ate properly and did my homework, since my parents traveled a great deal as part of their royal duties.

I’m almost twenty-five now, and Netty’s job within the royal compound is to take care of me. That means choosing my clothes, making sure I eat, managing my social calendar, and generally clucking at me when I need it.

When Netty is gone and the door shuts behind her, I waste no time in moving to my bedside table where my phone has been charging overnight. I unlock the screen and send a quick text to Marius. We still good?

I glance out the huge balcony windows of my suite. From the uppermost elevation of Bretaria—the main island of our kingdom—the waters of the Coral Sea call to me. Mystic teal, lighter closer to shore but never deepening much, even a hundred yards offshore, due to the barrier reef that surrounds our land. Only past that does the water turn deep blue.

It’s January, the height of summer for our island sovereignty that sits about fifteen hundred kilometers from Brisbane, or roughly a two-hour flight via one of our family’s jets located at our private airport at the island’s southern end.

Bretaria is not only the name of our kingdom—a sovereign city-state—but also the name of the main island upon which we live. It’s eighteen square kilometers, which doesn’t sound like a lot until you remember that Monaco, also a sovereign city-state, is only two square kilometers.

Though it is by no means our family’s largest ruby mine, the original one sits on the north end of the island and still produces a hefty number of gemstones every year. We have other mines on the outlying islands, and I’ve visited every single one over my lifetime. It’s my family’s legacy, so of course, I’m intimately familiar with the operations—I’ve been schooled in such since I started talking.

The weather in Bretaria is near perfect. The high summer months of December through February hover in the mid-eighties, and our winter months never dip below the mid-seventies. Living on this island means you spend most of your days outside to soak up the warm breezes and sunny skies.

My phone dings, and I smile when I see Marius’s response. Already waiting for you. Bring breakfast.

Heart filling with joy, I text him back that I’ll be there in twenty minutes and scramble to my dressing room to find what I need.

Five minutes later, teeth and hair brushed and a swimsuit on underneath a T-shirt and jean shorts, I move with stealth through the palace.

Tags: Sawyer Bennett Jameson Force Security Romance
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