17. Duke It Out
17
Duke It Out
Rose
I let myself be lulled into a false sense of security. But I make up for it. I move fast enough to make freaking Usain Bolt look like a tortoise. In less than a millisecond, I’m out of my front seat and positioning myself between Anton and a figure dressed in black who materializes out of the darkness.
“Who goes there?” I hold up my hands, prepared to fend off this attacker—whoever it is.
Anton steps up next to me, and before I can shove him backward, he says, “Duke?”
“Duke,” I repeat, dropping my fists. “Like your cousin Duke?”
“I see my reputation precedes me.” Duke chuckles.
“Or at least your ridiculous name,” Anton chortles. “Good to see you, man.”
Anton steps forward, and the men embrace. I take the beat to compose myself and come up with some sort of excuse for why I went all medieval knight with my, ‘Who goes there?’ pronouncement.
“Rose, what were you doing?” Anton turns to me, looking bewildered.
“I thought he was paparazzi.” My excuse is weaker than a square of off-brand toilet paper. “I have the exclusive,” I add, as if that makes it any better.
“Right.” Anton shoots me a befuddled look before turning to his cousin. “Duke, this is Rose Kasper. She’s my…exclusive interviewer.”
I shoot daggers at his teasing face .
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kasper.” Duke extends a hand, and I shake it. “Thought maybe Anton had hired some attractive personal security.”
I laugh, but it’s overdone and manic-sounding to my ear. Anton looks at me funny. Gosh, I am blowing this tonight.
“I don’t need security,” Anton says. “That’s the best part about living here. Normalcy.”
I glance between the two men, keeping my face neutral even as my mind flies to the question of why Duke is in town. The royal family isn’t expected to arrive for a couple weeks, when they’ll celebrate the holidays together.
Anton must be wondering the same thing. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Duke cracks a grin. “I came early for family Christmas.”
“Brilliant.” Anton turns to survey the parking lot. “Wait. Where are you parked?”
“I got dropped off.”
It’s a dodgy answer, and my senses immediately fire to life. What if Duke is the one who has it out for Anton?
I’m grasping for a reason to stay in their company, but Anton is oblivious. He’s directing Duke around to the far side of his truck. “Hop in.” He turns back to me. “You good?”
“Um, yeah. Great.”
“Thanks for attempting to rescue me from the paparazzi.”
“You betcha.” I salute. Why, Rose? WHY?
“Okay, then. Bye.”
“Toodle-oo.” Oh my gosh . The cold is turning my brain to ice. That, or the terror I suddenly feel for Anton’s safety is making me incapable of stringing together a complete thought.
There’s only one thing to do.
I hurry around to my driver’s side, and the second I’m in my car, I call my dad.
He picks up on the first ring. “What’s going on? ”
“Anton’s cousin, Duke, appeared out of the darkness in the parking lot at the River Foxes stadium. Did we know he was coming to town?”
Lennox curses, and I hear typing on the other end of the phone.
I glance out my window to where Anton is parked. He motions for me to go first out of the parking lot.
I attempt a casual smile, but I feel anything but casual or smiley right now. I was hoping he’d pull out first so I could discreetly tail him, but of course he’s being a gentleman.
Dang it, Anton. There’s a time and a place for being polite, and the moment when your life may be hanging in the balance isn’t one of them!
In his defense, he has no idea he’s in danger. Because I haven’t told him. Neither has anyone else. No wonder he despises his status as a royal. How’s he supposed to trust anything?
I pull out of the parking lot and pretend to head toward Cashmere Cove. When Anton goes the opposite direction, I crank my wheel.
“I can follow them back to Anton’s place if need be,” I say into the phone.
“No, no. Stand down. It’s not your job to be Bates’s bodyguard.”
“It’s my job to keep him safe. What’s the point of what I’m doing if not that?”
“You’re the eyes and ears on the ground, not the last line of defense.”
I frown. I don’t like the sound of there being a last line of defense. If someone gets to the last line, then it means they’ve slipped through the cracks.
Is that what Duke has done?
Instead of arguing, I say, “Run me through what you know.”
“Duke was in Washington D.C. He’s been the liaison between the U.S. government and the palace in Penwick. We knew that. We just didn’t know he’d arrived in Green Bay. ”
“Do you have any reason to believe he’ll try to harm Anton? Could he be the insider that our sources are picking up on?” I ask.
“That was my immediate thought. One hypothesis is that Duke is trying to stage a coup. He’s the spare heir, so if Anton is out of the picture, then he inherits the crown when it passes out of Queen Della’s hands. Penwick policy states that when the heir turns thirty, the crown turns over. It’s their country’s way of keeping fresh blood in a position of power and not letting leadership grow stagnant.”
I know all that from Anton. I also know about his relationship with his cousin.
“Duke and Anton were always close,” I muse aloud. “I can’t imagine he’d try to harm his own cousin.”
My dad scoffs on the other end of the line. “Don’t be na?ve, Rose. You know as well as I do that people have killed for less.”
I grit my teeth. “So, what? Do we have eyes on Duke and Anton? Or should I go after them?”
“I patched a message through to our contacts at the palace in Penwick. They have a direct line to Duke’s personal assistant, who’s also a member of the Penwick Security Force. He’ll be on guard. Duke will have no idea, but he’ll be under constant surveillance.”
“We’re sure that security agent can be trusted?”
Where was he tonight?
“He works for the queen herself, one of her most trusted men, so yes. He’s already been watching from a distance.” My dad types something on the other end of the line. I hear the clicking of the keys on his laptop.
“Where?” I instinctively check my rearview mirror.
“He dropped Duke in the lot at the stadium, according to the palace. He’s in constant communication with them.”
“Duke really has no idea?”
“I’ve been assured this agent is the best of the best. ”
I exhale. “Where does that leave me?”
“Your role hasn’t changed. We still need you around Anton and the River Foxes organization, listening in and keeping track of anything out of place. It isn’t out of the question that Duke would connect with someone who has access to Anton at work in order to get the job done.”
“Understood. Any other updates?”
“None except to say good work. You were on the ball tonight. Continue to prove yourself like that and show me that you’re the right person for the foreign affairs job, and it’s all but yours. I’ll be in touch.”
Lennox ends the call, and I drop my phone into my lap.
I spend the twenty-five-minute drive back to Cashmere Cove turning over the events of the day. It takes the entire drive for me to get my heart rate settled. Instead of going straight to The Downer, I pull onto Main Street. I let the sights of the quaint small town soothe me. The road is lit with a romantic glow emanating from old-fashioned streetlights. Christmas decorations were put up, so now, on the upper end of every streetlight pole, there’s a wreath of fresh greens. All the businesses lining Main Street are done up too, with lights tacked along rooflines and window frames.
I pull into the small alley parking space near Mood Reader and make the quick walk around the back of the bookstore, letting myself in through the rear door. The scent of paper and books immediately soothes me. I keep the lights off inside, enjoying the twinkling from the outside Christmas lights. I drop into one of the comfy chairs at the front of the store. I tap my foot on the ground and stare around the darkened bookshop. Eventually, I stand and start wandering through the rows of shelves, running my fingers over the spines of our books and pausing to straighten tipped copies and line up the titles on the nearest endcap.
I don’t know what’s the matter with me or why I’m so fidgety after the call with my dad. It’s good the team has a lead. It’s good they’re onto Duke. I should be grateful we’re two steps ahead of the person who’s likely at the root of Anton’s issues. I am grateful. It makes my job easier if we’re up against a known enemy. And that’s good because I want the position abroad. At least, I think I do.
So why does the thought of leaving Cashmere Cove and the bookstore make me feel like crying?
My phone buzzes where I stashed it in my back pocket, and I pull it out, expecting a follow-up message from Lennox with further intel.
Instead, it’s a text from Anton giving me the details for when I can come and hang out with him and his buddies. I enter the information into my phone, including the address to Poe’s place, where they’re meeting up on Friday night, and type back my response.
Rose
Thanks. I’ll be there. Should make for some good information for the article!
How’s Duke? Tell him I’m sorry I almost attacked him. I take paparazzi and the exclusivity clause in my contract very seriously. winking face emoji
Better to address my weird behavior head on. That, and I’m not above prodding Anton for more information about Duke.
Anton
Clearly. Thought it was going to come to fisticuffs there for a minute.
I smile down at my phone. Every once in a while, Anton will use super formal, old-fashioned speech patterns and vocabulary words. It’s the most charming thing. When we were dating, I teased him about it relentlessly, but I secretly love it.
Anton
Duke’s good. He left to check into his hotel. I’ll let him know about your mosquito-like tendencies…always buzzing around.
Rose
Hardy har.
I fiddle with my phone’s case as tiny bubbles pop up on the screen and then disappear. I picture Anton at his house, composing a message back to me. I wonder if he’s leaning over his kitchen counter, shoveling in a bowl of pasta like he used to do.
When his message pops up, it’s an attachment. I furrow my brow and stare down at my screen. He’s shared a Note with me that’s titled Sammy Rose .
I bite my lip and click on it. It populates with some sort of a list.
I read through it once, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Staring back at me are a bunch of things I like—or at least a bunch of things I used to like, once upon a time. My coffee order—large iced latte with oat milk and two pumps of caramel. My favorite Mexican restaurant in Mobile with an asterisk next to it. Down below, there’s a note that says:
prefers flour tortillas to corn tortillas and the spiciest salsa possible.
Beneath that, he’s made a notation about how I hate being cold. He’s written, Possible birthday gift idea - rice heating pad? below it, and my heart shatters at the sweetness of it all.
My favorite books are typed out in order. He’s got my favorite board game marked down as Yahtzee! with cribbage listed as a close second. There’s a note about how I prefer mini golfing to watching movies, and in parentheses, he’s written ( likes to be active rather than sitting still ).
He’s got a section about himself too. He’s titled it, Her Taste in Me(n) . And there, he’s listed:
Likes my hair longer on the top.
Prefers when I’m clean shaven.
A scruffy beard irritates her skin.
I remember the moment I told him that. I felt so stupid saying it, but we were kissing, and the way his whiskers felt against my cheek was taking me out of the moment. He never let his facial hair grow after that.
Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen him with a beard or anything resembling scruff in the years since.
Surely that can’t be because of me.
Can it?
My heart, the shriveled up, dysfunctional tiny lump of coal, sparks and begins to glow red as a warm ember inside my chest. My vision blurs with unshed tears, and before I can think twice, I tap the call button.
Anton answers on the second ring.
“What is all this?” My voice is watery, and I attempt to swallow down my emotion.
He’s quiet for a beat. “You said in the car you weren’t sure what you liked to do these days. You sounded sad about it, so I figured I could help. You liked these things once upon a time. Maybe you still do.”
The fact that he made this list at all, much less still has it after all the time that’s passed and the way I left things with him… “I-I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Anton’s low, steady voice rumbles over the line. I want to curl up in his baritone. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s something to me.”
“Are you…crying?” His voice is strained. “Shoot, Rose. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“No.” I wipe my nose and force my voice to be even. “I, uh…swallowed a bug.”
What’s one more lie ?
“It’s the dead of winter. Bugs should have migrated south by now.”
“Bugs migrate?”
“Yeah, Poe loves butterflies, and he was telling me about how—wait. Are you deflecting?”
I chuckle in spite of myself. “I’m fine, Anton.”
“If you’re sure.” He sounds hesitant. “I just thought this could be a starting point if nothing else. Maybe your tastes have changed, which they’re allowed to do, obviously. I mean, I know nothing about your taste in men these days, but…yeah.”
He’s fishing so hard I can hear him cast the line from here.
Something about that makes my chest ache, because I can hear what he’s not saying. Your taste in men is allowed to change.
What he doesn’t realize is I lied all those years ago when I broke up with him and told him he wasn’t my type. My taste in men is one thing that hasn’t changed. My taste in men is him. Always has been. Always will be. It’s the one thing I know for certain about myself.
But I don’t say that.
Instead, I whisper, “Thank you.”