“Deserved,” I admit. “I was avoiding you.”
Camille sighs and her face softens. “I’m really sorry about what my father said.”
“What he said doesn’t matter,” I assure her.
“But it does,” she insists, her hand squeezing mine. “He said you’re trying to take advantage of me, and I was so discombobulated, I didn’t think to defend you. I was more worried about defusing the situation and reassuring him that I’ll still meet my obligations.”
Those last words are almost spit out, as if they taste bad on her tongue.
Her eyes focus on mine. “I hate my life sometimes. I hate the expectations I have to live up to.”
My heart shreds for her. Not giving a fuck who might be watching, I lean in and press my lips to her temple, pulling back just enough to murmur in her ear. “You’re a strong woman. I admire you for sticking to those things rooted in loyalty and love of family and state. I know you hate it sometimes, but you’re important to the people here.”
Lifting my head, I find her eyes misting a bit, but she blinks any tears away. She is a strong woman, as I said, and she’s not going to display emotion in front of all these people.
“At least we have tonight,” she says with a sigh.
My gut tightens and I ignore her statement for a moment as I do a perimeter check. When I bring my attention back to her, I say, “Actually, we don’t.”
Camille’s entire body jerks and her eyes narrow. “Why not?”
“I’m leaving tonight,” I reply and it’s a struggle to hold my eyes on hers, because they immediately fill not with tears but with pain.
Fuck. I pull her in closer and explain in a low murmur at her ear. “It’s hard enough, Camille. It’s going to kill me to do it, but I just want to get out of here when it’s done. I need to rip off the Band-Aid, and so do you, so you can go on with your life.”
“And you can go on with yours,” she hisses.
I pull back to look at her. “It’s what we agreed on.”
“Right,” she murmurs softly, dropping her eyes to my chest. She doesn’t say anything more.
My chin lifts in another perimeter sweep. Thomas and Juliana are off to my left, Dmitri and Paul within two feet of them. People mingle, dance. Waiters pass out food. Those are the ones I keep a close eye on—the people who came in from the outside for this event. They’re all dressed in uniforms of black pants and white shirts with ruby-red vests and bow ties. The red wasn’t planned, but it definitely makes them easier to spot and track.
I pass over a group of five or six ladies, all wearing what I’d bet are millions of dollars in jewels and couture gowns. One of the ladies—an old matron with iron-gray hair in a chignon—talks animatedly with a tiny smirk, and I’d also bet they’re gossiping. She stops her chatter only to accept a cocktail from a waitress who expertly carries the fruity-looking concoction on a tray at her shoulder.
The matronly woman takes the drink, waves a dismissive hand at the waitress, and swallows a long sip before launching right back into whatever story she’s telling. My eyes start to move past the group, but the woman gasps and drops her drink, both hands clutching at her throat. Her eyes roll, foam pours from her mouth, and she crumples to the floor. The women surrounding her scream. Most of the crowd scuttles backward but a few rush in, including several agents.
I’ve seen enough, immediately searching the crowd to find the waitress who just delivered that drink, which was clearly poisoned.
Clearly delivered to cause a distraction.
I spot her, weaving in and out of the crowd that has become curious and is now squeezing in on the woman on the floor. The waitress is moving straight at Thomas and Juliana, and I watch as she puts her hand behind her back and starts to pull something from under her vest.
It slides out… a long, plastic shiv that would not have been found by the metal detectors and probably made it into the palace tucked in a secret compartment of a duffel bag or something similar.
Things happen way too fast, and I’ll have a hard time sorting it out during the debrief later. The first thing I do is look around me, turning Camille once in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin to make sure no one else is coming for her. We were told there is only one assassin, but I don’t trust anything that’s told to me.
I don’t see anyone making a move, so I release Camille and reach across my torso with my right hand for my gun. I vaguely note Leandra is there, at Camille’s side.