36. Wes
It takes surprisingly little to organize the trip to Druvia.
Elio used my phone to text étienne, who immediately wrote back saying I’m welcome any time. So he let my friend know I’d be there tomorrow.
Since then, Elio has kept my phone from me. What’s worse is that the asshole turned it off silent, so I can hear every single notification that comes in. But I don’t know if they’re from Adrien or my mom or—
But no. Elizabeth wouldn’t be messaging me. She’s in some gilded prison, her brilliant mind crafting plan after plan after plan. There’s no way in hell she’ll let Elio get away with any of this.
He has to know that. And that chills me to the bone.
My phone rings shrilly, making me jump in alarm. “Jane Andrews is calling,” Elio announces, and my heart leaps.
This is the opportunity I need. This is how I get help. “I need to take that.”
Elio nods. “Elizabeth’s sister, right?”
Fuck.
“I’m going to answer it and put it on speaker,” he says.
I swallow hard. How the hell am I supposed to do this?
Elio shows me the screen of my phone so I can see that he’s answered. I guess it’s showtime.
“Jane!” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal rather than manic. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi, Wes,” she says, sounding nervous. “I hope it’s okay that I’m calling you out of the blue.”
“Of course!”
“I’m sure you know that Lizzy and I—”
“Yes,” I say, interrupting before she can fill Elio in on how they’re currently estranged. “I know.”
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of her, but her phone seems to be off,” Jane says. “That’s not normal.”
Shit. I’m going to have to lie to Jane. I force myself to laugh. “Yeah, Elizabeth flew to Monaco yesterday and left her phone on the plane. I’m sure it’s long gone. Whoever found it must have immediately turned it off.”
“Wait,” Jane says. “She’s in Monaco? In her message the other day she said she was staying in New York for a while—”
“Things changed!” I say quickly. I don’t want Elio to hang up on Jane. I can’t lose this chance. “You know how Elizabeth is—always able to get Clint on her side.”
“Right,” Jane says. “Can I talk to her?”
“She’s in the shower,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. But a Hail Mary of an idea has floated to the front of my mind. “By the way, Elizabeth mentioned her friend Lydia. You grew up with her, too, right?”
“Lydia,” Jane repeats, and I hope she understands that I’m actually referencing the youngest sister from Pride & Prejudice. “That rings a bell.”
I have never been more grateful for my mother’s insistence I know all things Austen than I am right now. “She said Lydia and George are big F1 fans, and I wanted their address so I could send them something. But I’m not sure how to find it.”
Elio shoots me a quizzical look, and I give him a cheeky grin before shrugging in a way that I hope communicates ‘This is all very innocent and not at all me telling Jane in a very vague and roundabout way that you’ve kidnapped Elizabeth and Stas.’
Not that Lydia Bennet and George Wickham were kidnapped. But they did disappear together, and Wickham was Mr. Darcy’s friend at one point. I’m really hoping Jane can read between the lines.
“Got it,” Jane says. I want to throw my hands up in the air, the way I do when I get out of the car to celebrate a win. “I’ll track that down for you.”
“Amazing,” I say. “So, what else is going on with you? How’s the family?”
Just then, a loud clatter comes through the speaker, followed by the sound of a child screaming.
“I’m so sorry, Wes, I have to go,” Jane says.
“Mom duty calls.”
“As ever. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Take care, Jane.”
Elio takes the phone back and I brace myself for whatever is about to happen. The worst, probably.
So when he says, “Only you would think about sending merch to a fan in the midst of a situation like this,” it takes everything in me to refrain from jumping up in victory.
The next afternoon, I land at Druvia’s airport with my passport, a suitcase, a wallet full of cash, and an envelope.
When Elio told me I’d be flying commercial and alone, I was overjoyed.
But then I quickly realized he was sending me here blind and bound—no phone, no credit cards, and no backup.
All I know is that someone will pick me up at the airport, and that when I have the opportunity to hand the envelope to étienne’s dad, I have to take it.
This has all moved so fast that I doubt Jane has made much headway. Even if she were the most connected woman in the world, it’d be hard to find Elizabeth and Stas in such a tight time frame.
I look around the arrivals lobby for someone with my name on a sign and am entirely shocked to find a familiar, smiling face in the small crowd.
“Beaumont!” I yell the same way I did back in Monaco since I need to convince him I’m completely fine and not terrified. I hustle over to my friend, who matches my energy, crying “Grant!” before giving me a hug accented by a firm pat on the back. “Welcome to Druvia.”
I’m very aware of the eyes and cameras trained on us—and I’m sure étienne is, too. We quickly head out to the parking garage, flanked by a security team, and pile into a sleek SUV with tinted windows and diplomatic plates.
We chat amiably on the drive, and I do my best not to seem anxious—it’s not easy to manage, especially when it dawns on me that I’m not being escorted to a hotel, but to the palace.
After my bags are whisked away to my rooms, plural, étienne asks if I need to rest or freshen up, but I just shrug.
That’s how I find myself receiving a tour of the city-state in étienne’s 1961 Jaguar E-Type.
“I’m no stranger to European vistas,” I say from my spot in the passenger seat as we pass stunning architecture nestled against a dramatic, mountainous backdrop. “But this is really something.”
“It’s not too shabby, right?” he says, smiling. With his wind-tousled blond hair, designer sunglasses, and dark blue linen button-up, he looks like some throwback movie star.
étienne pulls over at a scenic overview on the side of a steep gradient that he tells me is going to be one of the most challenging hill climbs in the next Tour de France, then kills the engine. “Wes, why are you here, alone?”
My stomach does a very large somersault. “What do you mean? It’s summer break. Where else should I be?”
“In bed with your gorgeous girlfriend,” he says, a glint of amusement in his eyes. But there’s a note of concern in his voice that I don’t miss.
“She’s busy,” I say, hoping it sounds casual. “Plus, I’ve never been here before. I figured it was time.”
My friend hums. “It’s just like you to pick the weekend of my father’s birthday, when there are a ton of visiting dignitaries in town for the masked ball.”
I still can’t believe Elio is making me do this when everyone at the event will be wearing masks. Why not get one of his goons to do his dirty work? Why go through the trouble of kidnapping two people and blackmailing me? But I can’t blow this. “You know me. Can never pass up a good party.”
“What mask did you land on?”
“Oh, it’s super sexy,” I say, trying to keep the conversation light. “It’s black and has this gold design on it.”
I expect étienne to laugh, but instead, he looks stricken. “What has Elio asked you to do?”
My jaw drops.
“Don’t lie to me, Wes,” étienne says. “I suspected something was up the second I got a message from you that used proper capitalization. But when you said you wanted to come here when you could be spending your break with Elizabeth, I knew something wasn’t right.
The only reason I can fathom is that Elio fucking Rocca has done something. ”
It would be so simple to tell étienne that he’s right. That Elio sent me here, that he has Elizabeth and Stas, that I need help.
But is this a trap? Is it possible étienne is working with Elio? If I spill my guts to him, will he throw me off this completely deserted and highly treacherous mountain road to my inglorious death?
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“There’s no masquerade, Wes,” étienne says gently, his eyes kind. “It’s a detail we only gave to our person on the inside Elio’s operation. It’s how I know Elio sent you here—I assume against your will.”
Well, damn. But also, thank fuck.
“Do you really think I’m capable of being a villain?”
étienne laughs. “After the way you terrorized me at Suzuka? Absolutely.”
I messed with his head during that race.
I had more pace, but waited to overtake until I knew his tires were in too bad of shape for him to get past me again.
He thought he was going to end up on the podium, but I stole that from him at the last minute.
The fact that he still considered me a friend after that is pretty incredible. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
étienne grins over at me, but then switches back to the more serious topic.
“Elio has been running a criminal enterprise for decades. From what we know, he started with trafficking drugs and has diversified his business over the years. He’s a master manipulator, has absolutely no moral compass, and will do anything for more money and power.
And he’s had claws so deep in Stas and his family that it was hard to know whether or not he had them in you, too,” étienne says.
“I can help you, Wes. But I need you to trust me more than you fear Elio.”
I want to believe that I can. But how am I supposed to know for sure?
étienne could be a Grade-A liar. It wouldn’t shock me to learn that how to gain trust and manipulate your friends is something young royals specialize in.
But I also know I can’t trust Elio. Even if I do what he asks, I have no guarantees that he’ll actually let both Elizabeth and Stas go.
I can’t take the chance that he might not.
So I look at His Royal Highness étienne Beaumont, Crown Prince of Druvia, and I tell him everything.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll make sure you can hand that envelope to my father.”
“What?” I yell. “Are you usurping? Are you a usurper?”
“No,” he says, laughing hard. “I am in no way ready to be king. But since we don’t know what Elio’s plan is after the envelope, the hand-off needs to happen. We can ensure proper security and protections are in place.”
I exhale heavily.
“Don’t worry, Wes,” étienne says. “It’s all going to work out.”
The next day, I take a shower and shave.
I put on the tux, but not the mask. I go to the state dinner, where I sit next to a Dowager Countess from Spain.
Not even her genuinely great tale about going on a date with a rockstar that turned into a six-month trip around the world in the ‘70s can quell my nerves.
The envelope sits heavy in my jacket. I just want it gone.
I think back to Montréal and Elizabeth’s cool, commanding voice telling me I’m not allowed to be nervous.
Though the memory doesn’t have the exact same effect in a ballroom with a painted ceiling, wainscoting edged in gold leaf, and a gleaming wooden floor, I still breathe easier.
And when the King of Druvia takes the stage and begins his birthday address, a focused calm washes over me.
As the speech ends, étienne excuses himself so he can be a safe distance away from us when the hand-off happens, just in case. Then, I walk up to the King of Druvia.
“Wes Grant. You’ve always been trouble.”
I almost laugh. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
He grins in the same way étienne does. “This time, at least, I don’t think it’s your fault.”
“Oh, it’s never my fault, Sir.” He laughs, a rich, warm sound. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard it.
Since my back is to the majority of the room, I watch as the king’s eyes sweep the place before he asks me an innocuous question about the racing season, buying time for his security team. Finally, he nods.
I take a deep breath and pull out the envelope. The cream paper is thick and luxurious, sealed with blue wax.
“Don’t worry, Wes,” the king says. “We’re going to get this bastard once and for all.”
He takes the envelope and I brace myself for whatever scene from a James Bond film might unfold around us. But nothing happens.“Happy birthday, Your Majesty.”
As I walk away, every muscle in my body relaxes. I did it. My part in this is over. I’m heading to the bar to ask for a heavy-handed pour of very expensive Scotch, when all of the lights in the ballroom go out.
There are gasps and shouts, the sound of crystal shattering.
A loud sound cracks through the room.
I don’t even realize I’ve reacted until I’m on the floor.
But I am.
Because that’s what you do when you hear a gunshot.