Page 14 of Royal Darling
He shakes his head. “You’re just asking for trouble. Don’t you have any sense of self-preservation?”
My back gets up because for the first time in my life I actually know what I want—him—and I can’t have him. I pull out my phone. “As a matter of fact, I’ll text Lucas right now. He’s the one with the movie-star connections.” I type a little note I have no intention of sending because I am bluffing like a champ. I would never go through my brother for help finding a man. After he finished laughing, he’d likely send a servant to fetch me home and hide me away.
I lift my head. “Lucas has already agreed to meet me at the villa with my choice of wild comedic actor, grunge drummer, or a rebel royal from Denmark. Wow, he is better connected than I realized. Decisions, decisions. Hmm, rebel or not, I don’t need another royal, so the question is wild or grunge. What do you think?”
He snorts. “Bye, Emma.”
Crap. That didn’t work. I tuck my phone in my purse and say in an even tone, “Goodbye, Jackson.” I gather what’s left of my dignity and exit the boat. There’s a black Mercedes waiting for me in the distance. I don’t see my guards, but I know they must be here. They always ride with me. I hesitate, thinking I should wait for the guards, but I can’t bear to go back inside after Jackson called my bluff. I’ve never propositioned a man before and the rejection stings.
The moment I reach the dock, the crowd swarms toward me, firing questions in rapid English and French. Cameras with zoom lens, handheld TV cameras, and cell phones follow my slow progress.
“Over here, Your Highness! Over here!”
“Why did you run?”
“Do you have a secret lover?”
“Was Abdul cheating on you?”
They press in on me, shoving microphones in my face. Camera flashes blind me. My heart races. I go on tiptoe, looking for the guards, and I’m jostled off balance. I can’t find them. I should’ve swallowed my pride and gone back inside the cabin. I was so busy trying to make a dignified exit from Jackson I didn’t realize the greater danger was out here. I’ve never had to push through the press on my own.
“Excuse me, pardon, I need to get through,” I say and then repeat it in French. They close in so tightly I can’t move. For the first time, I’m actually scared in a crowd. I shove my hands in my pockets, duck my head, and attempt again to move forward with no luck. A man grabs my arm, asking if a servant helped me escape. I jerk my arm out of his grip and bump into a tall man, another reporter. “Please! I need to get through!”
I lurch forward a step, jostled by shoulders and elbows. The volume of questions rises, but I can barely make them out with the roaring in my ears. Suddenly two men dressed in black head straight for me. It’s Viktor and Oliver. I’m saved!
Viktor heads straight for me, and Oliver keeps going behind me. A hand lands on my shoulder and a fierce order rings out by my ear. “Back off!”
I whirl. That wasn’t Oliver. “Jackson! You…” I trail off in horror as Oliver takes Jackson to the ground and stands over him threateningly.
I throw myself between Oliver and Jackson. “Don’t hurt him! He’s a friend of mine.” I turn to Jackson, who’s glaring at Oliver. I can feel it even through his sunglasses. “Are you okay?” He looks like he attempted a disguise, wearing a hoodie, cap, and sunglasses, but I recognized his voice. And his scruffy beard, nose, lips, hands—all recognizable to me. There isn’t much I didn’t notice about him earlier.
“Fine,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. “That’s what I get for playing knight in shining armor.”
People close in on us, firing question after question, screaming both of our names, but Viktor and Oliver keep them from getting too close.
I impulsively grab him in a hug and beam a smile up at him. “You came for me.”
He sighs so big it parts my hair. “You’re a hazard to yourself.”
5
Emma
Jackson and I are quickly hustled into the waiting Mercedes. The damage is done—someone recognized him after I said his name in surprise. There are pictures of us together and pictures of him flat on his back with a guard hovering menacingly over him. The only thing we can do is flee the scene.
The driver pulls into the street, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Viktor is in the front passenger seat and I’m in the backseat, sandwiched between Oliver and Jackson. I turn to Jackson. “Thank you for looking out for me. I’ve never been so scared in a crowd before.”
He takes off his sunglasses and briefly meets my eyes before grumbling, “It was nothing.”
“Ma’am, you should’ve waited for our approach,” Viktor says. He’s been with me the longest, a no-nonsense sort of man in his thirties with short dark brown hair, a square clean-shaven jaw, and a large intimidating build. I know I can trust him to be discreet in all things.
“I agree,” I say. “I have no intention of repeating that mistake. So, should we drive around a bit, wait for the crowd to disperse, and then drop off Jackson—”
“Ma’am, this crowd isn’t going anywhere,” Viktor says. “They’re waiting for Jackson to return to his boat.”
“I’ll get whatever you need from the boat,” Oliver says to Jackson, “once you’re safely on the jet.” Oliver is newer to the family, so I can only hope he’s been trained for discretion. His blond hair is buzz cut, which makes his face look more angular and stern, though he’s probably only a few years older than me.
I glance at Jackson, who looks grim. I don’t want him to feel forced into anything just because he tried to help me. “The jet can take you wherever you’d like to go,” I tell him. “We can arrange for your boat to meet you there.”
