14. “Fight For You” - Jason Derulo
“Fight For You” - Jason Derulo
Henry: Meeting in my office in ten with heads of security.
Icheck the timestamp on the text. It came in nine minutes ago. It took me eight to locate my phone after I heard the ping. I glance in the mirror and run a hand over my hair before deciding it will have to be good enough.
The great room is dimly lit when I walk through, still void of any kind of holiday decorations. I scan my memory for anything pointing to Henry hating Christmas but come up blank. Then again, we haven’t exactly spent much time together in the past decade, so what do I know?
His office door is closed when I reach it, so I knock softly a few times. It opens immediately, and he stands back to let me in. My face heats from the memory of his last words to me, but if he remembers them, he gives no indication.
Placing a hand on the small of my back, he leads me to the large conference table.
I ignore the thrill that shoots up my spine at his touch.
I recognize Jameson and Roberts, who are already seated there.
They both stand and give a stiff bow when I approach.
There are two other men at the table as well, whom Henry introduces as O’Falloran and Ramos.
I shake all of their hands and offer a feeble smile.
I’m suddenly nervous as hell.
Henry indicates that I should take the chair next to him. “What’s the latest?” he says, directing his gaze at Jameson.
“Progress is a little slower than I’d like because we’ve run into a few snags. Around 25 percent of the windows in the west wing have been replaced, and teams are working on the installation of the biometric system, sir.”
“Very good. And the next step?” Henry asks.
“After the windows are completed, the plan is to move to securing the entrances. There have been some issues with structural damage, which is adding time,” Jameson tells him.
“Okay,” Henry says. “Do what needs to be done. No cutting corners.”
He’s already shifting his attention to one of the others, but before he can ask another question, I interject, “What’s the time frame on completing the west wing?”
“It’s hard to say at this point, Your Majesty, but I’m hoping we can have it done by the end of the year.”
“The end of the year?” We’re still in the first week of December.
Jameson nods. “That’s what we’re aiming for. It might end up taking longer, depending on what we run into. It’s an old building, and so far, it’s resisting security upgrades.”
I take a deep breath. It’s not his fault it’s taking so long. “And after the west wing is complete, I can move back in, correct?”
Henry straightens in his chair. The pen in his hand makes a sharp click. Jameson shoots him a quick glance before returning his attention to me. “That’s not advisable until we have the palace fully secured.”
“But surely if the residential wing is secure—”
“It’s impossible to fully secure the west wing if the rest of the palace is unsecured,” Henry says.
“But that will take months!”
Jameson nods gravely. “I’m afraid so. But rest assured, the teams we have in place are working around the clock to get this done as quickly as possible without sacrificing the quality of the work.”
I take a deep breath. “But surely—”
Henry places a hand on my leg beneath the table. “Relax, C,” he says, quietly enough that I’m the only one who can hear him. “There’s a good chance we’ll catch the guy first.”
He takes charge of the meeting again, this time turning to Roberts, head of Henry’s own security team. “Do you have anything to report?” He doesn’t remove his hand from my thigh. That small point of contact between us is stealing all coherent thoughts from my head.
Roberts clears his throat. “I’ve already shared everything of significance with you, sir.
But just to recap for the others in the room: The security at the Atlantis is the tightest in the country.
The only issues to date have been miscommunications among the security personnel and a possible press leak through the building staff. ”
“Do you have a list of suspects for me?” Henry asks.
The stocky man called Ramos pulls a sheaf of paper from the folder in front of him and slides it across the table to Henry.
Henry rifles through it, growing more and more irritated. I can’t focus on anything but the sheer length of it. There are five pages of names of people who potentially want me dead. Single-spaced.
One name jumps out at me. “Why is my cousin on this list?” I snap.
“He would inherit the throne if you and the Princess Royal were both eliminated,” Ramos supplies.
Eliminated. Like we’re nothing more than pawns on a chess board. “So Beatrice is in danger as well?”
“We can’t be sure, but we’ve increased her security detail just to be safe.”
I briefly close my eyes against the nausea. “And you actually think Benjamin might be behind this?”
“We’re considering everything a possibility,” Ramos says.
“How did you come up with all these names?” I ask.
“By making a list of anyone with even the slightest motive to want you dead. People who have sent angry letters or made threats, people who would gain politically if you weren’t on the throne, as well as those with personal vendettas.”
“Personal vendettas. What, like Salome Jenkins? She hated me for winning the spelling bee in third grade.”
Ramos blinks a few times before picking up a pen. “I’ll add her to the list.” He starts scribbling something on a notepad.
“She’s kidding,” Henry growls, increasing the pressure of his fingers on my thigh ever so slightly. He tosses the pages back to Ramos. “This list is impossible to work from. Why the hell is it so long?”
Ramos darts a quick glance in my direction before replying. “The press ran a story accusing Her Majesty of some unsavory things—”
“I know that. How is that relevant?”
“As a result, there have been more threats than usual made against Her Majesty, sir.”
I might actually be sick pretty soon.
The lean man with close-cropped hair Henry introduced as O’Falloran scratches his head before saying, “Her disappearance from the public eye has caused some outrage, sir.”
“I told you I should show everyone I’m fine.” I try to stand, but Henry’s fingers are still grasping my leg. He pushes me back into my chair. My stomach flops over, and the queasiness rises. I dig my nails into the back of his hand as hard as I can. He inhales sharply and clamps down harder.
“How close are we to getting this bastard off the streets?” he asks.
“Unfortunately, the room where the shots were fired from was clean, sir. We swept it three times and didn’t produce a single hair, fiber, or fingerprint.” Ramos looks disgusted with himself.
“Fuck,” Henry mutters. “He was prepared.”
“It looks that way, yes,” Ramos says. “I have someone who’s been deep for years, waiting for something like this, and he’s getting me a list of names of the best assassins for hire. Until we have something more to go on, it’s our best shot.”
“What about the limo? Were you able to get anything more from it?”
Ramos shakes his head. “Every mechanic on staff has been fired, with the assurance they’ll get their jobs back if we can verify they had nothing to do with the crash.”
I’m about to object again, but Henry’s hand is so close to my hip now that it doesn’t seem advisable.
O’Falloran clears his throat. “Is it possible this guy has given up? He hasn’t tried anything in a week.”
I fear for his neck, because Henry looks like he’s on the verge of snapping it. “I’d like to think that’s due to us having the best security in the country. This guy doesn’t strike me as one to ‘give up.’”
After a few closing remarks, Henry ends the meeting and they all exit, leaving the two of us alone. I’m about to excuse myself, not in the mood for more of his brooding anger, but he surprises me with a soft hand on my arm. “Are you up for a little adventure? I want to show you something.”
I open my mouth a few times before finally nodding.
He grins. “Dress warmly. I’ll meet you in the foyer in fifteen minutes.”
I expected to be taken to the rooftop terrace, which Henry presumably has had cleared. I did not expect to be led to the helipad at the other end of the roof. When we arrive, a chopper is there, blades already spinning.
I halt. “Please tell me you’re not about to fly that thing.”
“Relax,” he says, and tugs on my hand. “I’ve played a ton of video games.”
His grin is way too big as he settles me in the back seat, fastening my buckles before sitting down beside me. “Come on. You didn’t actually think I was a pilot, did you?”
I glare at him before turning my gaze out the window. “Where are we going?”
“Surprise.”
I want to tell him that his surprises suck, but the reality is that they’re always kind of amazing. We soon lift into the air, and my gut clenches in anticipation. It suddenly hits me: I’m actually leaving the penthouse.
We soar over the city, which is dotted with thousands of twinkling lights. Eventually, they give way to the occasional village marked only by traffic lights and the faint neon glow from pubs.
I lose track of time as we fly farther and farther from the city and the castle Henry has me trapped in. When we finally land, the time on my phone says we’ve been in the air for an hour.
It takes me a minute to orient myself when Henry helps me out of the helicopter. We’re on a deserted beach, inhabited only by some pieces of driftwood and large boulders. The air whips around us, but I’m too ecstatic to feel the cold. I’m finally out of prison.
I race down the sandy stretch, my arms splayed wide, not caring who sees me. Henry is waiting with a grin when I return.
“Happy to be outside?” he asks, hands in his pockets.
“Happier than you know.”
“Come on.” He reaches for my hand and leads me to a cluster of rocks that create a tiny sheltered alcove. Inside, a blanket has been laid out on the sand. A thermos sits to the side of it, along with two cups.
“What’s all this?” I ask.