A Player for A Princess

“It matters not,” he says.

“Either way, I didn’t know the lady’s ring size. It was my only idea.”

He shrugs. “It will have to do. Now, which one did you say?”

“This one here, the rose-gold art-deco—”

“Ahh!” he clasps his hands. “An excellent choice, sir!”

I take that to mean I’ve just picked out the most expensive piece in the entire shop, but I don’t give a shit. Only the best for my girl.

“If you could just be sure it matches that size,” I say. “How soon will it be ready?”

He looks over my shoulder. “Will you be staying overnight? I can have it sized, polished, and gift wrapped for you by tomorrow morning?”

It’s not what I had in mind for our lunch date today, but I like the attention to detail. “What time tomorrow?”

We’re settled up, and I have the claim ticket in my pocket as I sit outside in the warm afternoon sun. Pulling out my phone, I notice it’s been more than an hour. Tightness moves across my shoulders, and I look up the street in the direction I last saw Zelda headed. She’d been so pretty in her halter dress. Her pale blonde hair was styled away from her face in that cute, messy bun, and I smile remembering how excited she’d been about a silly piece of tin.

Opening my messenger, I tap out a text. Did you get lost looking at ur first piece of jewelry?

Leaning back, I wait for her reply. A cool breeze sweeps through the courtyard, and I watch a slim woman with skin the color of milk chocolate dance to a classic Billy Joel song. “Zanzibar.”

Examining my palm, I try to dismiss the tightness in my chest at the delay in Zelda’s reply. It’s been longer than she said, but perhaps it took longer to transfer the money than she thought it would?

Looking again up the street in the direction I last saw her walking away from me, I don’t like the uneasiness settling in my

gut. I push off my knees and start to walk the direction she went. My hands are in my pockets, and I’m taking a leisurely pace. I’ll meet her on the way back. I don’t want her to think I’m going to be one of those helicopter husbands always checking up on her if she’s the slightest bit late.

I’m a block from where I was sitting, about to cross the street, when a black Mercedes cuts me off with a screech. Anger tightens my throat, and I’m about to shout at the driver when the door opens and Logan stands out of the driver’s side.

“Sir!” His voice is sharp, and a lead weight is in my stomach.

Pulling the rear door open, I’m in the car before he’s had a chance to say another word. “What happened?”

Freddie is in the passenger’s seat, and he turns to face me. “We’ve just received a communiqué from Wade Paxton.” His voice is grave, and the skin on my forehead tightens.

“What does it say?” I ask, my voice flat.

His eyes are full of concern, and he looks down. “It says, ‘When you’re ready to discuss terms, we’ll be waiting.’”

My voice is a notch below a shout. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” He turns his phone to me, and the image on the face almost makes me lose it.

“Stop the car!” I shout, and Logan immediately pulls onto the shoulder.

I’m out of the vehicle in a flash, pacing the small space between the car and the road. My hands are clutched in my hair, and all I can think is No, No, NO!!!!

On the face of Freddie’s phone is a grainy photo of my love sitting on a brown tile floor against a dirty beige wall. Her hands are tied behind her back, and a black sleep mask is over her eyes. Her pretty hair is messy, but what guts me is the palm-sized purple mark on the side of her face and the brown stain of blood on her mouth.

“Jesus!” I shout, bending at the waist. How the fuck could I be such a fucking idiot? How could I let her go alone like that to meet that bastard? “If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Sir?” Logan approaches me with slow, measured steps. “I’ve already alerted His Royal Highness of the situation, and we’ve gained access to the security cameras at the hotel where she went to meet that man. We’ll find her, Sir.”

I take a few deep breaths before straightening. Logan is in front of me, hands open at his sides, palms up. Freddie is behind him, nearer the car, and both share the same expression of concern mixed with quiet determination.

“We can’t let this happen to her.” My voice breaks, and my insides are a mixture of rage, fear, and desperation. “Take me to that fucking hotel.”