Honor Bound (Honor Bound 1)

“My mother died when I was very young,” Clete said. “I was raised by my grandfather and my aunt and uncle in the States.”

“I see,” Mallín said.

“If you were born here,” the Virgin Princess announced, “and if your father is an Argentinean, then you’re an Argentinean.” She seemed pleased.

“No. I’m an American citizen.”

“No, you’re not,” the Virgin Princess insisted.

“I can’t imagine…” Mallín said. “How is it…?”

“I’ve never met my father,” Clete said.

“Henry, this is really none of our business,” Pamela said.

“Who is your father?” Mallín asked, ignoring her. “You say he’s a retired Army officer? What’s his name?”

“Jorge Guillermo Frade,” Clete said, hearing his grandfather’s acidic pronunciation as he spoke. “El Coronel Jorge Guillermo Frade.”

“My God, he’s a friend of mine!” Mallín exclaimed. “And, Cletus, if you don’t know this, he is not just ‘a retired Army officer.’ He’s one of the most prominent men in the country.”

“So I’ve been told,” Clete said.

“You’ve never met him?” Pamela asked.

“There is bad blood between my grandfather and my father.”

“How sad,” Pamela said. “But—I couldn’t help but overhearing—you’re going to meet him tomorrow?”

“Yes, I am.”

“He’s Alicia Valdez’s uncle,” the Virgin Princess said. “She introduced me to him on Independence Day. At the reception at the officers’ club.”

“Who?” Pamela asked.

“Alicia,” the Virgin Princess said.

“I really wish I had known all this,” Mallín said. “I can’t imagine what your father is thinking. You here, in my home, and…”

“If I have in any way embarrassed you, I’m sorry,” Clete said. “But I…I simply presumed you knew.”

“You haven’t embarrassed us,” the Virgin Princess said, walking across the room to him and touching his arm. “Has he, Mother?”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Pamela said. “It was a simple misunderstanding.”

“When I see my father tomorrow, I will make sure he understands that you didn’t know my relationship to him,” Clete said.

“Funny,” the Virgin Princess said, rubbing his arm and looking up into his eyes, “you don’t look like an Argentinean.”

Clete averted his eyes, which meant that they fell on the V of her dress, and into the valley between her breasts.

She’s no older than Beth. And her feelings for you are as innocent as Beth’s. Remember that.

“But you are, you know,” the Virgin Princess went on, her fingers still on his arm. “An Argentinean. It was a question in a political science examination.”

“No, I’m not, Princess,” Clete said firmly.

Pamela laughed.