Code Name: Tiara by Sawyer Bennett

CHAPTER 24

Camille

Tears stream down my face as Paul drives me from the tarmac at the Bretaria airport back to the palace. Jackson asked if I’d see him off, and there was no way I was going to miss one more opportunity to talk to him, touch him, kiss or hug him. While it shredded my heart, I put on a brave face and went.

It took a few hours for things to calm down after Jackson shot the assassin, who we found out is an immensely popular contract-for-hire killer. But she clammed up and wouldn’t give us any information. She was taken into custody by the Bretaria police, and she’ll eventually stand trial for attempted murder. Maybe they’ll cut a deal if she gives up who hired her. Dmitri did tell me that she’s wanted in other countries, so there’s no telling what will happen when we’re done with her.

With no information forthcoming from the assassin, we had to rely on the information Europol had garnered from Colette Winterbourne, her husband, and their son. Over the last two days, they were all interrogated again, and all three submitted to lie detector tests. While the results are not admissible in any future criminal proceedings, the suspects were shown to be telling the truth that Colette orchestrated all this with no involvement by the husband or son. More importantly, Colette confirmed there are no further plans or payments made for any action against our family.

It’s a relief for sure, but it’s something I just cannot care about right now. Jackson is in the sky on my plane, heading back to his life.

Paul silently reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, offering it to me. I take it with a watery “thank you” and let it soak up the streams of tears.

I probably wouldn’t be crying if our farewells had gone the way Jackson and I both thought they would.

Based on our repeated declarations that this was a casual fling with a defined expiration date, I expected there might be a passionate kiss laced with regret and fondness.

I would have said something like, “You were the best casual fling I could have ever had. I’ll miss you.”

And he would have said something like, “I’ll never forget you, Princess. Take care of yourself.”

But that’s not what happened at all. Paul shook hands with Jackson and carried his luggage into the plane while I stood just outside the door of the Bentley we’d taken to the airport. Jackson leaned against it, hands going to my waist, and he pulled me into him. I immediately sank into his body, my cheek pressed into his chest, and I let him hold me for a long time. I tried to memorize the feel of him, the smell. I reveled in the safety his arms always brought me, and I listened to his heartbeat for the last time.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he finally said, and I lifted my head. “I’ve never met someone so right for me and so wrong at the same time.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, but my smile didn’t stay long. “I wish we could just go somewhere and without regret or consideration of others, start a new life.”

“That would be perfect,” he admitted softly, then bent his head to my lips. When he released me from the soft kiss, his expression was so very sad. “But that’s not our lives, is it?”

I shook my head morosely. “No, it isn’t.”

Jackson put his hand to the side of my neck, thumb under my jaw, and locked eyes with me. “I fell for you, Camille. Hard. Harder than I ever knew was possible. My heart is tied up, and it’s hurting like fuck to get on that plane.”

And that’s when my tears started. The minute he saw them, he cursed softly and pulled me back into him and held me while I cried.

Eventually, though, I pushed back enough so I could have his eyes again. “I love you, Jackson Gale.”

I half expected him to be embarrassed by that declaration, maybe even a bit spooked by the drop of the L-word. Instead, his face softened and he smiled at me. Both his hands came to my face, and he bent in close. “I love you too. And there won’t ever be another like you.”

I couldn’t stand it another minute. I went to my tiptoes, pressed my lips hard against his, and then tore myself away from him. Moving back a step, I crossed my arms over my stomach because it hurt along with my heart. I nodded toward the plane and saw that Paul had come back down and was standing at the base of the stairs to give us space.

Jackson looked so torn. At one point, I thought he’d scoop me up and carry me aboard, and I’m not sure I would have fought.

But ultimately, he smiled—the most beautiful smile he’d ever given me—and let it stay in place as he turned and walked away. I knew the minute it slipped because his shoulders hunched as he made his way to the plane.

Paul moved to my side as the stairs retracted upward and asked, “Would you like to stay and watch takeoff?”

I shook my head. “No. Let’s go.”

I’ve been crying in the back seat ever since, not even embarrassed that Paul is witnessing my breakdown. I don’t have the bandwidth to care because my heart is breaking and it hurts too much to think of anything else.

When we pull onto the palace grounds, I expect things to be quiet. But there are several police cars still there and agents milling about. What surprises the hell out of me is that my father is standing under the veranda as we pull in. He opens my door when Paul brings the car to a stop.

“What are you still doing up?” I ask him, sure that they would have retired long ago.

“I was waiting for you,” he says, holding out his hand. I take it and let him help me from the car.

My father studies my face. I’d managed to dry the tears but I’m sure my eyes and nose are red as beets. When I told him I was going to the airport with Jackson to see him off, my father seemed like he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure what. I know he regrets the way he treated Jackson, especially given that he saved our lives.

“Hard to say goodbye?” he guesses as he tucks my hand in his elbow and walks me inside.

I lean over, touch my head to his shoulder, and lift it again. “The hardest.”

We walk for a while in silence until we reach the foyer and grand staircase. I lift my foot to take that first step but my father holds me back, angling his body to look at me. “You love him?”

The question shocks me, and I have to ask, “You mean Jackson?”

My father nods, his eyes curious but also a little fearful of my answer.

“I love him more than I ever knew possible,” I tell him honestly.

Frowning, my father tilts his head. “Then why did you let him get on that plane?”

I tug my hand free from my father’s elbow and actually glare at him. “Why? Why?”

“Yes, why?” he repeats blandly.

“Because I seem to remember you yelling at him in my room not that long ago that he wasn’t good enough and he was trying to take advantage of me. You and Mother press suitor after suitor on me, and they’re all rich or have royal lineage. Why in the hell do you think I let him get on that plane?”

I expect my father to be chagrined.

Apologetic for sure.

Instead, he rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Camille … you do remember that your mother was neither rich nor of royal blood when I fell in love with and married her?”

My jaw drops. I’d not thought of that once. “But… that was a breach of…”

“Nothing,” my father points out. “Tradition is nothing but that. It’s not a rule or a law.”

“But you want me to marry a royal or at least someone wealthy,” I insist.

My dad tilts his head, lifting his shoulders. “Given the presence of anything better, yes, I’d prefer someone equal to your station. But I’m actually quite offended you wouldn’t think your mother and I would want anything less than true love for you.”

“Well, yes… I knew you wanted me to fall in love, but I thought it had to be someone equal to my station.”

Smiling as if he thinks I’m the most precious thing ever, he pulls me into his arms and says, “No one in this world could ever equal you, but if I had to take a guess, Mr. Gale is about as close to perfect for you as I can surmise.”

I take a few steps back from my father, my mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

“This is not something I’d joke about,” he grumbles, wrinkling his nose. “I did find the man in your bedroom, a fact I’m still not happy about. But I suppose—”

His words are cut off as I fling myself into his arms, so very grateful that he opened a gate for me.

But … it’s only one gate to the problematic fence surrounding us. I pull away, chewing at my lower lip in consternation.

“What is it?” he asks with concern.

My eyes lift to meet his. “It’s just… I don’t know that Jackson would want to come to Bretaria to be with me, to make this his home. He loves what he does. He’s good at it. He loves his country.”

“Does he love you?” my father asks, and it seems it’s a little late to be asking that, but I nod absentmindedly.

Does he love me enough to give up his life? That’s really what it boils down to.

The sudden realization that I’d be asking him to do something monumentally life-changing and to leave something he loves… I just… can’t.

I shake my head. “He’s happy where he’s at and with what he’s doing.”

“I’ve no doubt,” my father agrees. “But how do you know he can’t be happy here?”

I shrug. “He’s all about action and adventure. I don’t think the life of a royal would fulfill him.”

“You’ve never talked about it?” my father asks.

“Of course we haven’t talked about it. We never made it past the fact he wasn’t a royal and doesn’t have money, so he was unsuitable.”

“My dear,” my father drawls, “did you two even talk at all?”

My face flames, turning hot from the connotation. We did talk. Of course, we did. But we spent a lot of time not talking. That’s not something I want to admit to my father.

Instead, I refuse to get my hopes up over something that probably is not going to happen because Jackson wouldn’t want this life. I’m pretty sure I know him well enough to make that supposition.

“Let’s get you off to bed, and then I’m going to my own bed to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.”

I slip my hand in the crook of his elbow and take a step toward the stairs. I’m halted by his failure to move, so I glance up at him. He’s rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“You know,” he says slowly, as if he’s still playing things out in his head, “I could release you as heir.”

“What?” I gasp, and then immediately take stock of how that makes me feel. I shake my head. “No. I love Bretaria too much to give up my role in caring for it. Jackson absolutely understood that and knew that’s what would make me happy.”

My father’s eyes light up with delight. But he smiles again, this time as if he has the best idea ever. “Then how about a sabbatical?”

I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but the fact my father is unwilling to give up on the idea of me and Jackson together is heartening. “What do you mean?”

“You take some time away from Bretaria. Go to the States and spend it with your young man. Be free to live a life you never thought of having because of the responsibilities upon you.”

“For how long?” I ask dubiously.

“I’m a fit and healthy king,” he says, his chin lifted in pride. “It will be decades before I step down. Take all the time you want.”

I feel light-headed. While I couldn’t stay gone from Bretaria for decades, I would love the opportunity to see how my relationship with Jackson would develop. At the very least, I’d like to talk to him about the what-ifs and maybes. The one thing my father just did was offer me options.

Plenty of them.

Now I just need to see if Jackson is interested in exploring them with me. But he told me he loved me, so I have to trust that he will.

“I should go call him,” I say to my father.

He in turn makes a scoffing noise and looks at me with disappointment. “My dear… you would be missing out on the highest opportunity for romance if you didn’t get on a plane and follow your man to talk about this in person.”

“He has my plane,” I point out.

“It so happens I have a few of my own,” he retorts. “You may borrow one.”

“Now?” I ask incredulously.

My father shakes his head and once again tucks my hand into his elbow. He leads me up the stairs. “First, you need to get some sleep, as do I. Rest, and we’ll ship you off soon enough.”

“Should I call him or let it be a surprise when I show up?” I ask, almost giddy with excitement.

Chuckling, my father chides, “Where is your sense of romance? Of course, you show up as a surprise with no warning. Honestly, have you learned nothing from the way I romance your mother?”

I giggle and listen to my father elaborate on some of his better schemes as we ascend the stairs.