Gently removing her hand from my forearm, I give it a soft squeeze to show I appreciate her concern. “He’s getting ready to go into a medical procedure now. My mom is there by herself since my brother is deployed overseas, so I need to go to her. I’m going to have Paul take over my duties. He’ll stay in my room tonight, and of course, I’ll let Dmitri know. I probably won’t be gone for more than a day, so I’ll catch up with you in Atlanta.”
She’s shaking her head before I can finish. “Ridiculous. We’ll go to your dad right now in my plane. I can cancel tomorrow’s activities, as well as dinner tonight.”
“No way,” I proclaim, taking a step back.
“Why not?” she asks, stepping forward. “I have a plane at the ready that can get you there in, what …?”
“An hour and fifteen,” I mutter, knowing she’s going to use the expediency by which she can get me to Reagan National Airport as a selling point. From there, it’s a fifteen-minute drive to the hospital.
“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks, pointing back at my room. “Go pack up. It will take me about fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
I sigh, scrubbing my hand through my hair. “We don’t even have hotel arrangements. I haven’t been able to vet hotels in that area. I can round up the agents, but that’ll take a bit, especially the ones who are off, although I suppose I can get Ladd to send some on to DC who can step in—”
“Stop,” she says, and once again, she’s right in front of me, head tipped back with sympathy written all over her face. “I don’t need any extra protection. I doubt kidnappers are waiting at the hospital on the off chance I walk in. And we can stay at your parents’ house—we don’t need hotel arrangements.”
“At my parents’ house?” I repeat, one eyebrow cocked.
“Yes,” she says brightly. “You told me they live in a big, lovely old farmhouse. I’m sure there’s an extra room or two. Surely there’s an extra couch.”
Holy shit. This royal pain in my ass just invited herself to sleep at my parents’ house. Not that I wouldn’t have extended an invitation, but that’s just … rude?
No, that’s not it. Presumptuous?
Not it either. Charming?
Maybe.
Whatever it is, it doesn’t offend and I find it kind of cute. Her Royal Highness Camille Winterbourne has offered to sleep on a couch tonight so I can get to Mom as quickly as possible.
When I look back on this later, this will probably be the exact moment when I decided Camille’s not just a job anymore.
CHAPTER 9
Jackson
If this isn’t about the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever done, I don’t know what is. But here I am, walking into a hospital with a princess by my side, and not one person we pass has any clue.
Plans solidified quickly once I accepted Camille’s offer to use her plane. It was an incredibly generous offer, not just to get me here quicker but to give up a full day of plans she had in New York, including dinner with the deputy mayor. Kynan had no qualms with us diverting from the itinerary, if that’s what the princess wanted, as long as King Thomas approved.
We next had a conference call with Dmitri and the king. Dmitri was opposed to this deviation, but he’s not a spontaneous type of guy, so no surprise there. It was King Thomas, though, who made the final approval merely because it’s what Camille wanted.
Of course, we discussed security and felt this trip was low risk. We’d be heading straight from the private plane to the hospital, and I’d be handling sole duty for Camille’s protection while there. We decided to send Paul on to Miami to await our arrival, and Ladd arranged for some agents to be sent to my parents’ home to do a perimeter check since we’d be staying the night. They will stand outside duty for the duration of our stay. This was probably a waste of money given how off the grid we were going from Camille’s planned but private itinerary, but we had the time, and King Thomas had the money.
I’m tense as we traverse the halls to my father’s room. By the time we were on the plane just before takeoff, my mom updated me that they were going to place a stent to fix the issue, which was far less invasive than open-heart surgery. That at least knocked a level of worry from my shoulders.
We turn a corner, and I see my mother up ahead, waiting outside a room. I’d kept her updated via text on our progress to reach them, including when we pulled into the parking lot.
Despite being happy and relieved I’m here, and despite the fact she’s worried about my father, she can’t help but look first and foremost to Camille. My mom was shocked she’d be coming, incredibly touched by her offer, and then freaked out that a member of a royal family would be staying in the farmhouse. She was worried about fresh sheets in the guest room, to which I replied, “Don’t worry about that, Mom. Camille is going to sleep on the couch.”