Secret’s out: I’m a security specialist. I work for a private security agency run by my father. We’re a team of executive protection officers hired to protect high-profile dignitaries, celebrities, and persons of interest on both American soil and overseas, when the opportunity presents itself—which, admittedly, isn’t as often as I’d like. I’ve been begging my dad to let me establish a satellite team in Europe for years. Because the thing about all the secrets I keep from those closest to me and the double life I lead is that nowhere ever feels like home. I figure I may as well spend my time some place exotic…like the streets of Paris, or the canals of Venice, or the mountains of Switzerland. So far, he hasn’t bit on the idea, but I’m holding out hope.
My dad reaches into his bag and pulls out a tablet. After a couple taps of his finger and flicks of his wrist, he flips it around for me, and I’m staring at a photo of Anton Bates.
All six feet, four inches of blond-haired, blue-eyed, star-quarterback goodness.
Remember what I said about sports romances?
Not. For. Me.
I repeat those three words over and over again in my head, even as the skin along the back of my neck prickles. I say a quick prayer that my dad doesn’t notice the rush of goosebumps that coat my body. How?Howdoes a photograph of the guy I dated all those years ago still have this effect on me? It’s pathetic.
I take the tablet and frantically scroll past the image, exhaling when the synopsis of the threats against Anton and our plans for mitigating them appears.
“There’s been chatter of an assassination attempt.” My dad speaks about the threat against Anton as if he’s telling me he had a bran muffin for breakfast. He’s detached. Nonchalant. “The palace in Penwick is asking for extra protection. They want our eyes and ears on the ground level.”
Not only is Anton a star professional quarterback here in the United States, he’s also the prince of a small island nation off the coast of Norway.
Yeah, the royalty trope?
Not. For. Me.
You see where this is going, don’t you?
“They’ve signed off on the cover story we’ve come up with for you.”
And there’s the spy trope…no bueno.
I sigh. “Which is?”
“You’re a freelance journalist who’s been hired to write an in-depth character piece on him.” My dad stares me down with one eyebrow arched, as if to say,It’s a good plan, and you know it. “You’ll have total access to him for the next month, conducting interviews and gathering info.”
“Do I actually have to write the article?” I’m a decent writer, but I didn’t go to school for journalism.
“If you want, or I can have someone else at the office do it based on the interviews and your notes.”
I give a noncommittal nod. I’ll figure that part out later. I scroll through the dossier. I know most of this stuff about Anton. I know his family. His mother, Queen Della. His father, the late king consort. A cousin, Duke. That’s the guy’s name, not his title. Though I guess he could be Duke Duke, which is kind of hilarious.
I know other things about Anton too. Things that aren’t listed in the write-up for my job. Like how he listens to Disney music before his football games. Or that he likes his eggs scrambled and on top of whole wheat toast. I know he’ll choose chocolate ice cream over vanilla every time. He also hates wearing socks, which I find strangely endearing. He’s a great listener, and he makes everyone feel like what they say matters. When he puts his belief in you, you start to believe in yourself.
No.
Not. For. Me.
I get to the bottom of the dossier and blink up at Lennox. “Does Anton know about any of this? The article? The fact that I’m interviewing him?”
“I’ve been assured that he’ll be looped in soon.”
He’s going to hate this. If he’s anything like me, our break up is still seared in his mind. He told me he never wanted to see me again. And now, surprise! A ghost from five years past!
“What about the threat? Is he aware?”
Lennox shakes his head once.
“He doesn’t know that extra security is being put in place?” It’s a question I already know the answer to, because it was the same five years ago when I went undercover and started dating him.
Here’s where I should clarify. I’m not really a spy. Not for most of my assignments, anyway. I’m more like a bodyguard. But Anton has a history of refusing extra security. His mother, Queen Della, hates that. She is who hires us, and it winds up that I’m kind of both spying on him and for him. It’s a whole mess.
“Anton refuses extra security measures, so Penwick Palace has stated, in no uncertain terms, that he’s not to be made aware of the efforts being made to ensure his protection.”
