Whereas Ele recoiled with the moniker, he could tell Juliana reveled in the inherent power wrapped up in the title. She was in her element. She didn’t wear a crown, but like the name announcer, her outfit was fitted with a sash of royal colors.
She leaned in close. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, Mr. Davenport.” Straightening, she said for everyone close to hear, “Good luck.”
Then, he was being introduced to the crown prince. James looked a lot like Ele with his icy-blue eyes and dark hair. He’d never seen the prince in person, but there was something both regal and inviting in his bearing.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davenport,” James said before Tristan could greet him.
They shook hands. Tristan scrutinized the man in front of him. He might be paranoid, but he could swear the prince shot him a knowing glint.
Tristan looked beyond Jamie, searching for Ele, but the prince was the end of the line.
A softly spoken, “She’s not coming,” sounded next to him.
He looked back to James, but the prince’s attention had moved on to Rowan.
Disappointed, he continued walking to the bar where he ordered a seltzer water. He masked his letdown in false smiles and idle conversation. It was easier to pretend he was fine than admit disappointment, even to himself. With his opportunity to see Ele fading, he just wanted the night to be over.
“Why so glum, mate?” Rowan asked as Tristan attempted to slink out the side door an hour later.
“Just tired,” Tristan responded.
“All dressed up and no princess to impress, huh?” Rowan stated.
Tristan feigned indifference with a shake of his head. “When are you going to stop with the princess jokes?”
“When it stops bothering you, of course.”
“You’re a sick man, Skip.” Tristan made a big show of looking over Rowan’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, man, but the little princess hasn’t been able to take her eyes off of you.” He was totally messing with Rowan, but his friend scowled deep, twin lines forming between his eyebrows. Taken aback by the odd reaction, Tristan couldn’t resist pushing more. “Do you think she wears her tiara … all the time?”
Rowan looked like he was about to drop his shoulder into Tristan. Before Rowan could respond though, Tristan slipped out the door.
As he made his way toward the elevator, the bald man from earlier stepped up to him.
“Sir, the prince would like a word.”
Tristan followed him down a small hallway to another room. The door was open, and he ducked inside. The crown prince sat casually on a leather love seat. His arm was draped along the back of the couch, and his right leg was crossed over his left knee. The button on his tuxedo jacket was undone. A highball with two fingers of amber liquid dangled from his hand. He looked both nonchalant and imposing.
Tristan bowed slightly, as he thought was required of him, but the prince was quick to wave it off.
“No need for that here,” James assured him.
“Right,” Tristan responded, a bit unsettled. As comfortable as he was with Ele, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect from her brother.
Prince James nodded toward the chair across from him, and Tristan dropped into the seat.
James seemed content to study Tristan, so they sat in silence for a couple of uncomfortable moments, taking each other’s measure.
“I apologize for usurping Ele’s presence here tonight.”
“Sir?”
“She intended to come. Was quite looking forward to it, but I arrived in time from my official visit to the consulate. So, she had to defer.”
He couldn’t know what James knew of his interactions with Ele, and he didn’t want to be the one to give anything away. “It would have been good to see her again. I enjoyed touring her around St. Peter’s.”
James gave him a knowing smile. “And two days ago.”
Tristan sat stoically, void of expression. He’d thought his conversations with Robert were difficult to get through, but this took discomfiture to a greater level. MI6 agent versus crown prince. Instead of acknowledging his meeting with Ele, he simply waited for the prince to get to the point.