“Mom?”
“I’m going. I’m going—”
“No. I wanted to say thank you.”
She always had my back whenever it came to things like this.
“I know you’re still planning something but—”
“Do you not know me at all by now, Odette? Normally, the moment you stop thinking I’m up to something is when I pounce. But with you, I plan on slowly bringing you around to my side. Even if it takes weeks.”
“Good luck with that. I told you, I’m not budging on this.” It was my life, not some game she was playing.
“We’ll see. Now put some emotion in that voice. I want to hear vibrato, darling.” She shook her hand in front of herself, a new dramatic accent coming up.
“You should have been an actress, Mom.” I shook my head, closing the box. “Or, at the very least, a high school drama teacher.” She would have fit either part perfectly.
“What do you think being a mom is? I play a dozen roles before breakfast.” She winked at me and opened the door, leaning out to yell. “All clear, gentlemen! The singerzilla is all yours.”
She stood outside the door, holding it open for them as they came back, hunched over plates of desserts. They all thanked her one by one as they returned, gleefully. She just winked at them. “I’ll come back to pick you up at eight o’clock. I need to pick up some things for tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Godspeed, gentlemen,” she said and waved to them and left.
I turned back to see them all waving. “I am not a singerzilla, am I?”
“Why don’t we start at the top?” my producer replied, clearly ignoring my question and putting on his headphones.
“Traitors.” And for cake no less.
“Of all the holidays I needed to experience twice, why did it have to be Halloween?” I whispered to Iskandar—my bodyguard while I was on this little adventure. “Why would anyone think dressing children as devils is fun?”
My comment was in reference to the woman who stood in front of us at customs and immigration and held her big-headed child. He or she—seeing as I couldn’t tell the difference at this point—was dressed in all red with little devil horns just staring at me over its mother’s shoulder.
“I do not believe the devil truly looks like that, Your Highness,” Iskandar whispered back, staring at me with his dark eyes. He quickly skipped over me to watch each person who came too close, which must have been stressful since everyone in this line was too damn close.
“Don’t call me that in public,” I muttered when a little witch—not an insult, but an actual little girl dressed up as a witch—glanced at us upon hearing ‘Your Highness.’ I just offered her a smile, and she backed away, hiding behind her mother’s legs, which in return caused her mother to look at me. She smiled and nodded to me, putting her hand on her daughter’s head.
Iskandar turned his back to them to speak to me. “Your—sir, you still have glasses and a hat on inside the building. They are very suspicious here, especially within airports.”
“You’re the one who told me to put on the hat and the damn glasses.”
“Only to get on and off the plane, sir. But now, you should just wait until it’s your turn to meet the customs officer. Go on. The line is moving.”
“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, stepping up again behind baby Satan. “I swear Arthur is just trying to torture me. If he is going to force me to come here, the very least he could have done was allow me to come as myself.”
“That would alert the press, Your—sir. And then you would be here on an official diplomatic mission, which would force you to stay in Washington DC and not Washington state.”
I wasn’t in the mood for his practicality, but then again, that was why Arty chose Iskandar instead of my choice of guard. Iskandar was only three years older than me, but I swear he had the soul of a sixty-year-old baron...and the hair of one, too. He was always uptight, stiff, and practical and a stickler for rules, order, and the monarchy. That was a trait most who came out of the academy shared, but even among his peers, he was given the nickname, Iskandar the Rock. He was dull and would not be moved unless it was by a force stronger than him. That force being those of higher rank. Unfortunately, my brother outranked me, which meant, whatever Arty ordered of Iskandar was of greater importance than whatever I wanted.
“How much did my brother tell you?” I asked, stepping forward in line again.
“Everything.”
I turned back to him. “Everything?”
He nodded. “He said he did not wish to do so, but should you forget your duty, someone would need to remind you what was at stake since he would not be beside you to do so.”
I cracked my jaw to the side. “My brother has gotten very good at politely insulting me.”
“You are up next, sir. Here’s your passport. Please answer their questions as we practiced,” he directed, stretching out his hand to give me my unofficial passport. My name here was Edgar DeLacour.
Handing him my glasses and hat before taking it, I turned back just as the guard called me forward.
“What is the purpose of your visit?” The man behind the glass asked, bored, as I slid my passport through his little reader.
“A woman,” I answered.
His eyebrow raised, and he looked at me. “A woman?”
“It’s a very long story, sir. But what can I do? I’m a romantic.”
“How long do you intend to stay?” The officer shook his head and looked down at my passport again.
“Until the woman agrees to marry me, or my family disowns me. Either way, it shouldn’t be longer than two months. I’ll be home by Christmas.”
He stared at me for a moment before his next question. “Are you bringing anything into the United States?”
“Just my achy-breaky heart.”
The woman in the booth next to him snorted.
The officer frowned. “Does that fit in a suitcase, sir?”
“With all my clothes? I doubt it.”
He looked me up and down, annoyed, before stamping the first page of my passport. “I pity whoever this woman is.”
“Why? I’m a very good catch,” I replied, taking back the passport.
“Good luck.” The other woman smiled at me.
“Thank you. I’ll need it.”
“Keep moving, Casanova,” the officer said, waving me through.
Nodding, I turned back to see Iskandar. Anyone else would think he was emotionless, but I knew him well enough to see the slight annoyance in his eyes.
“Friend of yours?” I heard the officer ask.
“My boss’s son,” Iskandar replied.
“Tough job.”
Wow, so everyone was out to insult me today. I walked ahead, hoping to enjoy my few minutes of relative privacy. However, the moment I reached the baggage claim, I saw a familiar freckle-faced, blond-haired palace guard already carrying my luggage. He stepped up to me and nodded. “Welcome, Your Highness.”
“You are not to call him that in public, Wolfgang. Sir or Mr. DeLacour is fine,” Iskandar stated, already behind me, giving me back my hat and sunglasses. “Is everything prepared?”