“I’m here, too,” a feminine voice said. “Sit down, Isabelle. Princesses don’t dawdle with their mouths hanging open wide enough to catch flies. You look ridiculous.”
Her mother, obviously.
Isabelle dropped his hand and sat immediately, her head lowered from the webcam video the older woman had so obviously set up. “Yes, Mother. Sorry.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Gordon frowned at the computer, then sat beside Isabelle. “You look beautiful, like always, Belle.”
Isabelle peeked at him, shook her head, then lowered it again.
She didn’t make a peep.
“Your admiration of our daughter is to be commended, Mr. Waybrook,” her father said. “I only wish you had admired her enough to keep her from this scandal in the first place, before you sought out your carnal pleasures in public. That might be conventional behavior where you’re from, but it isn’t acceptable here. Especially not from the future ruler of our country.”
Gordon flinched. “I’m sorry for that. I truly am.”
“Noted,” her father said.
Gordon almost wished he could see his face, so he knew exactly who he spoke to. “Are you truly willing to do whatever it takes to fix this? For Isabelle?”
“For her, I’d do anything, yes. She’s come to mean a lot to me, in a very short time.” He lifted his chin. “But I’d like to go on the record in saying this whole thing is ridiculous. She’s a grown woman. I’m a grown man. There was a consensual night or two between us. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“If she wasn’t a princess on the verge of a marriage, I might agree.” Her father’s voice hardened with every word spoken. “But she’s not average, like you.”
“Father,” Isabelle hissed, her cheeks flushing with color. “Don’t insult him.”
“It’s not an insult. It’s the truth,” her father argued.
“Enough,” the ambassador said. “We’re wasting time when we should be plotting how best to make this look good to the people.”
“There’s only one way for us to make this work,” the older woman said, looking at Gordon with a tinge of disgust on her face. “No matter how much I might wish otherwise.”
“Hold on,” Gordon said, holding his hand up. “I know who’s on the computer, even if I can’t see them. But can everyone else please introduce themselves and tell me your job? I feel the need to know who you all are before I obey your every whim.”
“You’ve already seen me, but I’ll play along. I’m the ambassador of Maldeva, and I need to save her from certain ruin,” the fat, bald headed man with the file said. “Before it’s too late.”
“I’m what you American’s call a PR person, and my name’s Mary,” the older woman said, her lip curled up so high it almost touched her black hair. “It’s my job to protect her image and help come up with the best possible spin on this whole thing.”
Gordon nodded. “I’m Gordon, and I was a Marine before I became a private security agent at Shillings Agency—where you hired me to watch over your daughter.”
“We should have specified how closely we wished you to watch over her,” the mother said, a touch of irony in her voice. “And we should have requested a photo of you. One look, and I would have vetoed your hiring. This was a disaster waiting to happen.”
Gordon laughed. “Fair enough, your majesty.”
“Enough,” the ambassador said. “Prince George is quite obviously out of the picture, as one would expect.”
Isabelle flinched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Gordon couldn’t deny the surge of relief he felt at the man giving up on the idea of marrying his Isabelle. “It’s his loss.”
Mary looked as if she was ready to kill him.
The ambassador sighed. “I don’t suppose you come from a rich family with a secret noble background…do you?”
Gordon snorted. “No. I’m pureblood American. My mom was a teacher, and my dad was a CEO. They’re both dead.”
“But you were an officer in the military?” her father asked from the computer. “Correct?”
“Yes.” Gordon drummed his fingers on his knee. “But I’m out now. I got out after I got shot in the shoulder.”