Page 3 of Stay Close
I let him go into the bright, cold afternoon. The trunk pops and I glance into the side mirror, reading a sentence along the bottom. The Sondish version of “Objects in mirror are closer than they appear,” I suppose. I should text Sara and let her know I got in safe—safe-ish—but I can’t look away from the reflection. Peeling off his jacket, Lucas Castillo folds the mess in on itself. Once discarded, he runs a hand over his collared shirt, looks at it and twitches his brows. More lemon-y slime.
When he whips off his tie and shrugs out of his holster, I suck in a breath.
When he goes for his top button my brain shorts.
I’ve been flown into this frigid kingdom to run a petty boundary dispute because I have an expensive education, multiple law degrees, and a lifetime of sitting at the head of the class with my hand up. All these have been vaporized by the sight of tanned abs under gray Sondish skies. Who needs the sun when the object in the mirror is burning my eyeballs? Where’s the warning for that?
Before my protection officer can rip the package, shake it out, and don a fresh shirt, a light wind skims the topmost layerof snow, sending powdery whorls into the air. I watch it travel across the park, headed in the direction of Lucas and his chiseled torso. Three, two, one…
He shivers, and I smile with the same innocent gratitude and surprise a child might exhibit if someone handed her a lollipop for no reason.
Lucas pushes his arms into the sleeves of his shirt, tugs it across his shoulders, and looks up, meeting my eyes in the mirror. I jerk my face forward, hands gripping the seatbelt, my face as red as the ink in my passport.
It’s been a bad day. It’s perfectly normal that I wouldn’t want to let my protection officer out of my sight. He was standing right out in the open and I was worried for his safety. These are all the things I will say, if asked. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to erase the mental images of me nursing him back to health in an abandoned cottage.
The images only become stronger when I have no external distraction, so I open my eyes and stare intently at my damaged nails. Sondmark already broke me. This is what comes of trying to look like I have my crap together.
Lucas slips into the car, dragging his seatbelt into position. “Ready?”
I’ve got a reputation at my firm. Fearless. Sharp. Take no prisoners. But I would rather repeat Constitutional Law than look him in the face. “Mm.”
Lucas merges into traffic and navigates us to the Summer Palace, the walls brightly illuminated against the dark skies fromits position above the city. Avoiding the gilded main gates, he approaches from a more ordinary entrance and scrutinizes the intense security protocols. He grunts in approval when our car is directed to a designated inspection zone and long-handled mirrors are used to scope the undercarriage. Finally, there comes a tap on the glass, and he rolls the window down to receive a map.
“Park there, enter here. Since you’re escorting a VIP, Her Majesty’s secretary,VrouwTiele, is your point-of-contact. She’ll give you more information when you arrive.”
Lucas gives a brief nod and drives on. As we wind around the grounds of the palace, my brain fires up again. “I haven’t said thank you.”
“No need. This is all part of the job, ma’am.”
“Edie.”
He nods. “When you’re settled, we need to go over security procedures. Black Swan briefed me about your mission.”
Mission? The word makes me sound heroic even if I’m not. Against the backdrop of a state visit and the negotiation of a historic trade agreement, I’m here to act as a neutral third-party arbitrator over discussions about a tiny rock in the North Sea, claimed by both Sondmark and Vorburg. It’s my job to determine final ownership, and I was chosen because I have no skin in the game. These countries are trusting me to put myself beyond the reach of bribery and partisanship.
Their trust is well-founded. For one thing, I’ve done this kind of thing before. I formed part of a team responsible fornegotiating the return of a pair of divine bells to the government of Seong after they were trafficked during the Second Poppy War. For another thing, I can’t be bribed.
Sara’s been after me to give up the phone number of one of the better-looking junior partners at Knickerbocker, Gouss & Astor for years. The bribes have gotten ever more lavish and, if I’d caved, I’d never have to make another meal or fold another article of clothing for as long as I live. But no—I am unbribeable.
We pull into a portico and a footman opens my door. I look at Lucas and he nods. “You’ll be safe. I’ll park, and then I have to meet with some of the senior security officers. Take some time to rest. I’ll meet you in your room in a few hours.”
You don’t need to worry.Those words, carried in his tone, don’t need to be spoken, but I suddenly feel like it’s the first day of college. It’s irrational to want to keep him with me. Completely ridiculous.
So I pretend I’m fine and offer the hand brake a tight smile. “See you soon.”
I’m ushered up some shallow steps to be met by a woman, about my age, nearing thirty, poised, and completely ordinary until she smiles.
“Welcome, Ms. Spencer. Your security messaged us about the incident at the airport. It must have been quite the ordeal.”
I shake my head. “It was only pie.” Instead of sounding like, “It could have been a ballistic missile. Luckily, it was only pie,”my words come out as, “I need somewhere to burst into tears even if it was only pie.”
“Oh. Oh dear,”VrouwTiele says, her soft accent wrapping me in unexpected warmth. She takes me by the elbow and looks around quickly. “Into the drawing room. You’re scheduled for a short meeting with Her Majesty the Queen in a quarter of an hour, but you look like you could use a—”
A place to completely break down?
“—a moment to compose yourself.”
I wave away her concern and see the three missing nails. I bite my wobbling lip.
