“Yes, you would have been so safe,” Jackson says dryly, bringing our dance to a sudden stop. His hands drop, and the areas of my body he’d been touching feel ice-cold now. “I imagine any one of those men protecting you could have stopped a sniper’s bullet fired from three buildings away.”
I blanch at the scenario, immediately dismissing it. “Who would want to kill me?” I demand. “I get I’m an ideal kidnapping target, but I’m worth more alive than dead.”
Jackson’s mouth snaps shut and he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t give me any plausible reason someone would want to kill me, but he also doesn’t give me any opportunity to push for an answer.
Instead, he nods across the way, and my gaze follows. It’s Marius, flirting with two women.
“If you and your boyfriend would like to go take that walk, I’ll be glad to escort you both. But you’ll need to pull him away from those women first.”
His tone sounds smug, almost victorious. Once again, I don’t correct him that Marius isn’t my boyfriend. I lift my chin and pin him with a confident smile. “Actually … I think I’d like to go home now if you can have the car brought around.”
Jackson inclines his head graciously. “As Your Highness desires.”
CHAPTER 5
Jackson
“I expected a bigger jet,” I mutter as I pull my suitcase out of the Bentley’s trunk. Like a 747, given the family’s wealth.
Not that the Bombardier Global 7500 is by any means a small plane. It has the capacity to seat fourteen and can fly up to sixteen hours, long enough to get us through the first ten-hour leg to Dubai. There we will refuel and pick up a new set of Bretarian pilots who already traveled ahead of time. Then it’s another nine hours to London.
I watch as Camille ascends the steps and disappears inside the aircraft. She’s totally ignored me since sliding into the car this morning for the short drive to the private airport. She looks like she’s ready to summer in the Greek Isles as she’s dressed in a pair of skinny white jeans, a navy-and-white horizontally striped shirt, and a pair of white tennis shoes. Her large, white tote bag is casually slung over a shoulder, as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. She’s got on oversized sunglasses and her hair is in a messy bun.
Looking at her, minus the $50 million plane she’s boarding, she almost looks… normal.
For the last two days, I’ve barely seen her, and when I have in passing, we’ve ignored each other. Ladd, Cruce, and Dozer went back to the States the day before yesterday to begin final preparations for the princess’s arrival. I stayed behind, as planned, to accompany her to London for her cousin’s wedding, and over the past few days, I’ve worked with Dmitri and the Bretarian security forces that will be making the extended trip to the States, including the man beside me, who’s going with us on the plane as Dmitri’s right-hand man.
Paul Regis has been in the king’s employ under Dmitri for the past four years. Even though there are men and women who have worked in security longer, Dmitri said Paul is his most trusted and the man he’s chosen to be my second to protect the princess. He’s former French Foreign Legion, and his specialty is hand-to-hand combat. Dmitri wanted him with me as my second in case an attempt is made on Camille. If she’s going to be snatched away from us, it will entail face-to-face, close combat to protect her.
“The princess had her pick of jets, but she chose something much smaller than the king’s, which is a 747.” I look over in surprise at Paul as he pulls his suitcase out of the trunk and shuts it. He gives a slight knock on the back, indicating to the driver it’s okay to leave. As the Bentley glides away, Paul and I turn for the jet.
“You mean to tell me the multibillionaire princess could have her pick of private planes, and she chose what would be considered a relatively dinky one?”
“She’s never been one for excess,” Paul says simply as he shrugs, but quite liltingly given his French accent. As if it’s a known fact to everyone in the world that she might be different from your standard royal.
I might have been getting an inkling the last few days, although my observations have been limited. While I’ve had almost zero interaction with her since escorting her home from the charity gala, I’ve seen her on a handful of occasions with her family. When in residence and not attending formal events with visitors or outside the palace walls, I’ve found King Thomas, Queen Juliana, and Princess Camille to be casual, laid-back people.
Camille tends to run around in these hot summer months in frayed shorts and T-shirts, and the only jewelry I ever spot her wearing are tiny gold hoops in her ears. While the king is not as informal, he doesn’t wear expensive suits, even when attending to business matters. Usually he’ll be in a pair of slacks and a button-down shirt that, while casual, I’m sure still cost an arm and a leg. The queen is equally casual in her clothing, although she favors sundresses and a bit more jewelry. The king and queen, in the interactions I’ve had with them, have been extremely gracious, open, and surprisingly humorous. I’ve even been invited to join them for evening meals as I’m a guest in their home, but I’ve declined, citing the need to continue working with Dmitri and his crew to iron out the minute details in our plans.