Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett
CHAPTER 21
Jackson
There are definitely two Camilles.
When I first got this assignment, I assumed there would only be one—a spoiled, bratty, entitled pain in the ass who would make my life a living hell.
She never turned out to be that.
On the contrary, throughout our travels in the United States, she proved to be genuine, humble, and down-to earth with a heart the size of Texas.
But now that we’re back in Bretaria, and I’m seeing her in her daily duties, I realize there is another Camille to behold.
Not a mere princess but a true representative of the crown. Someone who is stately, elegant, and gracious at all times. She is regal beyond measure and politically adept in all instances and yet refuses to let anyone treat her with less than the respect she deserves as a member of the royal family. On the business side, I’ve seen an inexhaustible work ethic, the ability to be magnanimous, but also the confidence to be ruthless when necessary.
She’s almost twenty-five going on fifty in her wisdom, grace, and abilities.
Every morning, I escort Camille to her private offices. I had my clothing moved into her room, and we get ready for our day together. That usually involves quality time in the shower, or me bending her over her bathroom vanity while she’s trying to do her makeup, but in the past four days since we’ve been back in Bretaria, no one has said a damn word about me coming out of her room every morning. The two agents stationed in the hallway each night don’t even make eye contact, and I’m not sure if that’s proper manners or if Dmitri has warned them all to mind their own business. He’s sort of inferred to me that as long as I do my job well, he doesn’t give a fuck what we do in our personal time.
The mere fact the king hasn’t thrown me in the dungeon probably means Dmitri is doing a good job keeping our secret.
In Camille’s private office, I take a chair in the corner so I am not a distraction. Sometimes I pretend to peruse my phone so she doesn’t think I’m bored, but I’m actually focused and attuned to her every action. I watch her take phone calls and meetings and direct her staff. Sometimes she meets with her father, either in his office or hers, and they often switch from talking about business to fond memories of something she did when she was a child. Thomas may be a little high-handed, but there’s no doubt he loves his daughter beyond measure.
I respect that.
Except for pressuring her to get married and have children. It’s ridiculous.
Antiquated.
Sexist.
More importantly, it sets her on a path to some destiny, hopefully filled with love and happiness, that doesn’t include me, and that chafes.
I asked Camille casually night before last just before falling asleep, “I know you wouldn’t, but what would happen if you gave all this up?”
“My father would designate someone else in the bloodline as heir.”
“That seems oversimplified,” I muttered in surprise.
“Yes,” she replied with a small laugh. “Very simple. But I’d never do it. It means too much to him, and it means even more to our people as the monarchy is sacred in Bretaria. And there’s so much good work to be done with our wealth and influence. After Jonesboro, I’m more committed than ever to build solutions.”
And if there was a sliver of hope hiding deep in my gut that she might walk away from the pressures and obligations, it died right there.
Three weeks ago, I would’ve laughed if you’d told me I’d be here frustrated and irate over the fact that I’ve started to fall for such a complicated woman. But fuck it all, I’m not the same man I was three weeks ago. Camille has changed me, and I don’t like the circumstances I find us in.
I’ll even admit it to myself, possibly my mother and maybe a few friends at Jameson after one too many beers, that if Camille were willing to walk away from her royal destiny, I’d take her back to Pittsburgh with me, and we would work on our own happily ever after, whatever that might mean.
But the reality is, Camille will never walk away from her duty, and if I’m honest with myself, I wouldn’t want her to. As much as I hate it, it’s one of the things I respect about her and I would never do anything to change.
So my days have been filled with bodyguarding … staying in proximity to her no matter where she is. In her offices, at the dining table with her parents, having tea with friends, and even one miserable dinner with a potential suitor her father had set up. I wanted to strangle the guy with my bare hands even though I could tell Camille was bored to tears and not interested.
The nights, though… they make up for the misery of the days. After Camille finishes dinner, always spent with her parents or some jackass they’re trying to set her up with, we meet in her room. There we do our damnedest to make up for the inability to be together during the day. We fuck like crazy at times, and sometimes I make love to her slowly. When we manage to exhaust one another, she falls asleep wrapped tightly in my arms.
It’s admittedly the best sleep I’ve ever had in my life.
Right now, I’m escorting Camille from her private suite down to one of the three palace pools. She has a lunch date with her best friend Marius, and then they intend to swim.
Apparently, I’m jealous of the dude even though by all accounts, he’s never going to have anything romantic with her.
At least that’s what Camille told me not long ago as she was shimmying into her swimsuit. I sat on the bed and watched, loving the fact that she doesn’t attempt to hide her body from me. Jealous, not really of Marius but of the fact that I couldn’t toss her on the bed and have my way with her.
Mark her as mine before she goes off to have lunch with another man.
I made some snide remark about her friend, something to do with me expressing my doubts that he could only want a friendship. I mean, come on—look at this beautiful woman. Sexy beyond imagination, smart, funny, caring.
Why in the fuck isn’t Marius trying to tap that?
Camille could have laughed at my insecurity. She could’ve chided me. She could have gotten angry and told me to grow up.
Instead, her eyes twinkled as she tied the top of her one-piece suit around her neck before sauntering over to me where I sat on the edge of the bed.
She then bent and kissed me… so very deeply that it conveyed a message. Marius was a nonentity in her life when it came to matters of the heart.
She then opened my fly, pulled out my cock, and settled between my legs to suck me off. It was a silent message that conveyed Marius is also a nonentity in matters of the body.
As I was coming down her throat with my hands gripping her head and my eyes rolling in the back of my own, I had the strange and devious urge to whisk Camille away from this palace, away from this country where she’s going to be made to give up the best parts of her life. I could smuggle her to a deserted island where we could live out the rest of our days in solitude.
It’s a pipe dream, of course, but that doesn’t mean I can’t wish for it.
We reach a massive solarium that I haven’t seen before and Camille precedes me inside. I follow her through winding paths of indoor plants and little tables one can sit at to drink coffee or a glass of wine, looking upward in awe at the almost three-story structure made of glass and wrought iron.
At the back of the glass sunroom are doors that lead out to the pool where she’s meeting Marius. I see him already waiting there at one of the outdoor tables with a large umbrella providing shade. A waiter pours sparkling water, and Marius looks every bit the rich playboy without a worry in the world.
He’s dressed in linen shorts, a white, short-sleeve shirt unbuttoned all the way, and European-style loafers. He’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, but I can tell his gaze is on Camille as she walks toward him. Over her suit, she has a loose-fitting, dress-like thing on—it’s big on her, which I prefer, but it’s also transparent so you can still see all her luscious curves underneath.
I can’t tell if that fuckwad is looking at her in that way, or if that smile on his face is just one of friendship.
He stands as Camille approaches, and they greet each other with kisses on each cheek. I move under a shaded overhang near the stone balustrade that curves around the veranda and set up watch.
Luckily, being the personal bodyguard of a princess in a warm climate means I don’t have to wear the suits I wore in the States. I’m comfortable in a pair of khakis and a white button-down shirt with my sleeves rolled up to mid arm. Same khakis Camille opened up less than half an hour ago before burying her face in my lap.
I shoot a victorious, smug smile at Marius, but he’s paying me no attention. He’s focused on Camille and whatever she’s saying now that they’ve taken seats at the table. I’m too far away to hear what they’re discussing, and I don’t want to, anyway. I’m confident I wouldn’t like the ease with which they communicate or the years upon years of friendship that serves as the basis for their easygoing ways.
Christ, I’m fucking jealous. Not of him having her in a sexual way, but of their goddamned friendship.
I want that with her.
Hell, maybe I will have that with her.
When I leave, can we continue a friendship?
I shake my head in answer to my own question and occupy myself with scanning the perimeter of the area we’re in. I know just beyond the veranda and the manicured lawns, past the rows of bushes and other plantings, there are dozens of security professionals patrolling the grounds. Camille is safe for now, but tomorrow might be another matter. The birthday party will be a test for us all.
It’s her laughter that pulls my attention her way. Marius is laughing too, and whatever has been said, it’s funny enough to have her holding her stomach.
Fuck, she’s beautiful when she laughs. I mean, she’s beautiful all the time, but when she does that, it lights me up from inside. There have been many times over these last two weeks I’ve seen that laugh, and it never gets old.
Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention, and I see Dmitri coming out onto the veranda from another set of doors to my left. Paul is with him, and both men wear a grave expression. My heart beats a little faster, and my eyes move back to Camille, staying there even when they reach me.
“She’s safe,” Dmitri says in a low voice. “There’s no new threat.”
Relief forces air back into my lungs, and I give him my attention. “Then what is it?”
“Paul will stay here with the princess,” Dmitri informs me. “I need you to come to the security offices.”
“Why?” I ask, unwilling to leave my post until I know more. I like Paul. Trust him, even. But Camille is my responsibility.
“Because this thing might be over,” Dmitri says, and I’m not prepared for the myriad of emotions that rush through me.
Mostly, relief that Camille is safe.
Regret that our time together will be shortened.
Mostly relief.
I nod at Paul, then back to Dmitri. “Let’s go.”
Glancing back at Camille, I see her focus is one hundred percent on her friend, and she doesn’t see me leave. Paul can fill her in later, but for now, I’m very interested to see what Dmitri has to show me.
We wind our way through the palace to the security offices. He leads me into his office and around his desk and points at his computer monitor. On it is the picture of a woman—beautiful, but disheveled with red eyes and mascara running down her cheeks. She’s blond, appears to be in her mid-forties, and based on the plain background, her direct stare into the camera and the look of utter defeat on her face, I’m guessing it’s a mug shot.
“Who is that?” I ask Dmitri.
“Colette Francine Winterbourne,” he replies, and my gaze leaves the monitor and snaps to his.
“Winterbourne?” It had been suspected the king’s first-in-line male cousin would be behind the plot, so the photo of a female is surprising.
Dmitri nods. “She was arrested a few hours ago by Europol in Brussels.”
That also gets my attention. Europol is the European Union Agency for Law Enforcement Cooperation. The potential kidnapping and assassination of the Winterbourne royals has garnered more than just Interpol’s interest.
“And she’s responsible for an assassination plot?” I ask dubiously. Because she looks… well, like a high-society matron who got caught on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
“She’s the wife to Wilhelm Winterbourne, the cousin who’s next in line to the throne should Thomas and Camille die.”
“The wife is responsible for this?” I ask incredulously.
Dmitri smiles wryly. “It took about six hours of hard interrogation, but they’re confident she’s the mastermind. She apparently was doing this for her son, who would be next in line after Wilhelm.”
“So her plan was to have Thomas and Camille assassinated, have her husband placed on the throne, and then what? Was she going to kill him, too, so her son could ascend?”
Shaking his head, Dmitri says, “She admits to setting up an assassination of Thomas and Camille but swears she had no intention of offing her husband.”
“And you believe her?” I ask, because I sure as fuck don’t.
Again, Dmitri shakes his head. “She was doing this all for her son. I doubt she was going to let her husband have a lengthy spin on the throne.”
I take my eyes off the woman on the screen. Women could be vicious. “Were the son and husband involved at all?”
“The police don’t think so. They were both interrogated, but all their cell phone records have been analyzed, and she’s the only one who had communication with the men being watched in Turkey. She’s denied their involvement.”
“She’d deny her son’s involvement even if he was in on it,” I point out. “After all, this was done for him. You can’t trust her denial.”
“I agree we can’t trust her on that,” Dmitri says and looks at me expectantly. “Regardless, we are at a crossroads.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Colette Winterbourne went as far as to pay a deposit for the job with the balance due on completion,” Dmitri explains. “She doesn’t know the details of when it will happen as she went through a middleman, only that it will happen before Camille’s twenty-fifth birthday. The plan is still in motion and will be carried out by one assassin.”
“Then have her call it off,” I grit through my teeth.
“We have a chance to take this entire operation.” Dmitri’s expression is hardened with resolution. “Get them out of the game. If they pass on this job, they’ll move on to the next.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I snarl. “You’re talking about playing with Camille’s life.”
“And Thomas’s,” Dmitri says softly. “And he feels like we should move forward with the birthday party. We know that’s when the assassin is most likely to make a move.”
“I won’t agree to it,” I bark. “And I won’t let Camille.”
“It doesn’t matter what you want, but Camille will have a say. Thomas will speak to her.”
The urge to punch Dmitri is strong. I also understand where he’s coming from, but my judgment is clouded because of my feelings. “This is ridiculous to even consider.”
“Jackson,” Dmitri says softly, his expression telling me he gets my dilemma. “We don’t know that the son or husband isn’t in on this. We don’t think they are, but if we don’t stop this in its entirety, Thomas and Camille will still be in danger. By arresting the hit man, we can find out for sure who was doing the hiring. You know it’s the best way to end this once and for all. It also sends the message to anyone else making a play for the throne.”
Christ, I know he’s right. But that’s like dangling Camille out there by a hook.
On the flip side, she’s going to be dangled, regardless. The party is going forward, except now we know there is a very clear threat. Before it was a lot of supposition.
“We know it’s coming,” Dmitri presses. “So now we can better prepare. We can station fifty guards around both Thomas and Camille.”
I’m not sure why he’s working so hard to convince me. If Thomas has approved we move forward, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Unless…
My eyes narrow at him. “You’re worried I’ll convince Camille to boycott the party or convince her father not to move forward.”
“Yes,” he says grimly. “I think you have the power to halt all of it. But I think you’d be making the wrong decision. Like I said, we can place an army around them.”
I shake my head, and Dmitri sighs.
“No,” I say, as he has misinterpreted my head shake. “You can’t place an army around them. That will only deter the assassin, and you want to draw them out.”
Dmitri smiles.
He knows I’m on board because I’m now pointing out strategies or really, the lack thereof.
“I’d still like to talk to Thomas and Camille.”
“To convince them otherwise?” Dmitri guesses.
“To make sure they understand my concerns. We can have Colette call off the assassin and let Europol and Interpol find him.”
Dmitri sighs. “Thomas was sending for Camille when I came to get you. He’s talking to her now.”
Son of a bitch. Part of this was to fill me in, but part of this was to get me away from Camille so her father can convince her this is the right play. Thomas doesn’t know the influence I might have over Camille, but Dmitri does.
Asshole.
I pivot and storm out of the office to find Camille and her father.