“What happened to the last guy?”
“He tried to kill the prince, and well . . . ” Pierre shrugged. “It ended badly for him.”
“I heard about that,” I whispered. “The man was killed shortly afterward.”
I started driving again. When we reached the prince’s villa, I could see colorful lights and hear loud music coming from inside. It looked like an actual nightclub from out here. Pierre signaled me to stop beside it.
“He wasn’t. The prince intervened and the guard was sentenced to life in prison.”
“Why not death?” I asked. If someone had tried to kill me, I’d probably want them dead.
“Eli is not a vengeful man. He doesn’t believe in an eye for an eye.”
My brows rose. “His father does.”
“His father does.” Pierre nodded. “His father ultimately had the guard killed.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I know you don’t agree with the way the king does things, but you can’t hold the entire family accountable for the actions of one man.” He set his hand over mine. “Think about what that would mean for you if people held you accountable for your father’s actions or him for yours.”
“They already do,” I said sadly. “Besides, I’m not holding him accountable for those things, I’m holding him accountable for his poor attitude.”
Pierre got out of the car. “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”
“I’d like that.”
“By the way, the prince wants you to attend the party.”
“I thought he got someone to serve drinks.”
“He’d like you there as a guest.”
I glanced inside. “That’s not my scene.”
“It’s a masquerade,” he said. “Great Gatsby attire.”
“Definitely not my scene. I don’t have anything to wear to that and masks lead to poor decisions.”
“I think that’s what he’s hoping for.” He smiled. “I’ll be there. You can always come for ten minutes, say you did it, and leave.”
“I guess I can do that.” I glanced at the house, my eyes on the strobing lights. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
Chapter 7
I’d been home for all of ten minutes when the doorbell rang. I walked to the door slowly, confused, and opened it to find Pierre standing outside holding a garment bag. He looked handsome in a tuxedo and stepped forward to hand me the garment bag.
“This is for the party.”
“Are you serious?” I took it in my hands and unzipped it to find a short black flapper dress full of frills, the kind that dance with each movement you make.
“I told you it was a Gatsby theme.”
“With masks,” I said, taking out the beautiful, black feather mask inside the garment bag. There was a short brunette wig behind it. “And wigs.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“This is dumb.”
“Now you can say you’ve been to one of the princes’ famous parties.”
“Yeah.” I laughed weakly. Except, I had been to one of his famous parties and I’d slept with him last time, which in retrospect was probably a mistake on my part.
“Ten minutes,” he said again, as if reminding me I didn’t have to be there long.
“Ten minutes.” I laughed, for real this time. “You actually expect me to wear this get-up for ten minutes?”
“I don’t expect you to. The prince does.”
“He wasn’t wearing a tuxedo at the pub.”
“He hadn’t changed yet,” Pierre said. “Which . . . there’s another thing I need to . . . ask you?”
“You sound confused about the asking.”
“He needs somewhere to change before he goes back in there to make his grand entrance and I thought maybe it would be a good idea for him to come here.”
“Here?”
“Well, he would have gone to one of our quarters to do so, but yours is the closest house to his, so it would make more sense. Thinking of it from a security standpoint.”
“A security standpoint. Right.” I took a deep breath. “I guess he can come here. I have two spare bedrooms with bathrooms.”
“Would you, um . . . ” Pierre licked his lips. “Would you mind giving me a key so he can let himself in? In case you’re busy.”
I glanced away and looked out the window, toward the party that was definitely happening. From here, I could make out someone in the garden, and she was wearing a similar dress to the one in my hand, so I knew this was real. I exhaled, walking over to the kitchen, grabbing the spare key, and handing it to Pierre.
“He gives it back tonight.”
“You have my word.”
With that, he left and I went to my room and locked the door. If Prince Elias was going to be in my house, my room would be off-limits. We called them villas, but they were more like miniature mansions in the guise of cute beach villas. The rooms were bigger than my one-bedroom apartment in North Carolina had been, with large sitting areas and large windows that gave view to the beach on the other side of the cliff. There were five in total. This one, which was the house I’d spent my teenage years living in, when I was home. My uncle’s, and the three he rented out, which essentially belonged to the royal family every summer.