Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A s Rome walked with Sofie into the Palace Hotel, every one of his nerves was tight. The extra guards who’d followed them from the house were two steps behind them.
He was still pissed about the flowers.
He’d spent an hour trying to find who’d sent them. All he’d found were dead ends.
The stalker was here in San Francisco. Rome could sense it.
Just like he could sense the bad vibe in the air.
Cameras clicked. Sofie, dressed in pants a color between gray and purple, and a pretty, billowy blouse made of shiny purple fabric, waved to the cameras. She looked elegant and beautiful. Her hair was out today in a gorgeous fall of strawberry blonde.
He wanted to scoop her up and carry her away.
What he hated most of all was the fact that the glow from their night together had dimmed. He saw a hint of fear in the back of her eyes, the stress in her body.
But she didn’t want to let her fans down. Or her charity. She waved and smiled graciously.
He hustled her into the hotel. Built in the late 1800s, the place was grand. He felt like he’d stepped into an emperor’s palace, with all the cream marble, arched ceilings, and enormous chandeliers.
There was a small line of people working its way into the luncheon. The charity luncheon was being held at the Garden Court restaurant. It was the main restaurant of the hotel, and on the first floor, but it was closed to the general public for the luncheon today.
The extra guards broke off to take up their assigned places. When a couple spied Sofia and started forward to talk to her, Rome scowled until they stepped back.
“Rome! That was rude,” she whispered.
“Don’t care. Your security is my main concern.”
“I don’t think that couple was my stalker.”
He grunted.
“You look so good in a suit.” She pressed a hand to his chest, a private smile on her lips. “I miss seeing the tattoo though.”
“Cameras and keen eyeballs,” he warned.
She winked and stepped back a little.
He liked seeing her more relaxed. “I didn’t tell you that you look beautiful.”
“But you prefer me naked?” Her voice was a low, private whisper.
He leaned in. “Yes.”
She shivered—that sexy, little wiggle that he loved. Finally, they reached the doorway to the Garden Court, and he watched her put on her princess face and straighten.
“Let’s do this so we can go home,” she said.
Home. He liked the sound of that.
It was even more opulent than the lobby, with a huge, curved-glass ceiling arching above. The chandeliers dangling overhead were even larger. There were some jewelry pieces displayed under glass on pedestals around the restaurant.
Rome walked a step behind Sofie, staying quiet and unobtrusive. This crowd was wealthy, and comfortable with bodyguards. He earned a few gazes. Some just gave passing glances, others barely seemed to notice him, and a couple of well-dressed women shot him speculative looks.
He ignored them all. He kept his focus on Sofie, and continued to scan the large room.
Sofie started talking with some people, but soon a blonde woman stepped up to the microphone at the front of the room.
“Welcome to the Stevens Charity luncheon.” The woman had a fancy British accent.
“I’m Chantal Lockwood, your host for today’s event.
We’re extremely happy to support the Victoria Foundation and the Glittering Court jewelry exhibition.
I am very honored to welcome our special guest and a friend of mine, Princess Sofia of Caldova. ” There was a round of applause.
Chantal Lockwood smiled at Sofie and Sofie waved.
“Please, take your seats and enjoy the luncheon,” Chantal said.
Sofie leaned into Rome. “Here we go.”
He followed her to the head table. He held the chair out as she greeted the other guests.
“Sofia, you look wonderful.” Chantal Lockwood swept forward in a cloud of perfume and kissed both of Sofie’s cheeks. “You always do.”
“As do you, Chantal. Well done on today, the place looks fabulous.”
“All the better for raising lots of money for our charities.” Chantal squeezed Sofie’s arm. “Enjoy.”
After Sofie sat and Rome leaned over her shoulder. “I’ll be to your left.” He nodded his head.
She glanced at the grand columns off to the side and nodded.
“Have fun,” he said.
She turned her head, shooting him a warm look. “I’ll be counting down until it’s over and we can get out of here.”
The look in her eye told him exactly what she was thinking about.
Hell . He fought the urge to touch her. He headed to the spot near the columns where he could watch.
The luncheon started, uniformed servers bringing out fancy plates with fancy-looking food on them. There were some speeches on the various endeavors of the charities. Everyone wanted to talk with Sofie. She shook hands, smiled, chatted.
As the food was served, there was a talk on the history of royal jewelry from some expert. They referenced the famous tiara that Sofie would wear to the gala.
Rome scowled. Wearing a tiara like that was like painting a goddamned target on her.
He still had that bad vibe. He scanned around. Those fucking flowers had unsettled him. He scrutinized everyone—the guests, the waitstaff, the charity organizers.
“My God, we need help!”
He glanced sideways down the row of columns and through some glass doors into a side room. A man had collapsed on the tiles, and a frantic middle-aged woman was crouched over him.
She looked at Rome. “Help him!”
Rome didn’t move. He spied the closest server. “Hey, there’s a medical emergency.”
The young man jerked, almost spilling the drinks on his tray, then spotted the fallen man. “Oh, God. I’ll get help.” The man raced away.
Rome looked back at Sofia. She was still chatting, but he saw that some of the tables closest had heard the ruckus.
He met Sofie’s gaze and gave her a slow nod. She relaxed, and turned back to her table.
Then he sensed a presence behind him. Something sharp jabbed into the back of his jacket. A knife. Fuck .
“Should have helped the guy,” a man drawled. “Then we would’ve taken you down the easy way, without an audience.”
“I don’t go down easy.” Adrenaline spiked in Rome. He breathed through it. He’d been trained how to use it.
Sofie . He wouldn’t let them have her.
Rome whirled. He swung at the man, but the guy dodged. They rammed into each other, shoving for advantage.
Rome felt a flash of the knife at his side, cutting through his jacket and shirt.
Fuck .
Suddenly, the woman who’d been crouched over the fallen man leaped onto Rome’s back, wrapping an arm around his throat.
Screams broke out in the restaurant. People had noticed the fight.
Rome prayed that Sofie stuck to the plan he’d drilled into her.
He rammed the woman into a column. He saw the man who’d collapsed was rising. He looked perfectly fine.
Rome grabbed the woman over his shoulder and tried to pry her loose.
“Who are you assholes?” he growled.
“Nobody,” the woman said. “We were just paid to keep you busy.”
His gut knotted. Suddenly, the screaming increased. Rome turned and saw smoke rising in the center of the tables.
Dammit, smoke grenades.
In the chaos, he found Sofie. She looked worried, her face pale. She took a step toward him, but he shook his head.
The woman on his back shifted, and then Rome felt a prick in the side of his neck.
Fucking hell. He managed to rip the woman off and threw her. She hit the first attacker and they collapsed to the floor in a tangle.
Dizziness hit him. His legs weakened and he went down on one knee. The smoke was thickening through the Garden Court.
People were panicking.
“Go!” he roared. He hoped Sofie heard him. His consciousness wavered.
He saw her. She hesitated.
“Now!” She was the target, and now he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
Something rippled over her face, then she spun and ran.
Rome tracked her as she dodged around tables, then she disappeared into the smoke.
The edges of his vision went black, like slime crawling in.
He slumped sideways and hit the tile floor.
Sofie .
She was his last thought as darkness poured in on him.
* * *
Sofie kicked off her shoes and sprinted across the smoke-filled restaurant.
Every step away from Rome was painful.
A sob lay trapped in her throat. He’d gone down. He must be hurt.
Her eyes were blurry with tears.
He’d drilled her on the hotel layout. She needed to get back to the lobby and find their other guards—Mike and Dan.
People were screaming and panicking. She got jostled by the crowd and she wasn’t sure where she was. Dammit, she’d left her handbag—and phone—behind on her chair.
She saw a door and slipped through it.
The marble-lined corridor was empty. This wasn’t the way to the lobby. Biting her lip, she hurried along it, looking for another way out. She found a stairwell and opened the door. She heard loud voices echo behind her.
Keep moving . Rome had warned her not to let herself get trapped. She started up the stairs. He said if he was incapacitated or they were separated, she had to run and find the other guards.
She hadn’t realized how hard it would be to leave him behind.
Please be okay, Rome. Please. He meant more to her every day.
She rounded the landing, puffing.
Almost there.
She heard a noise, footsteps.
She froze. She had no idea if the person in the stairwell was friend or foe.
Screw it . She wouldn’t be trapped in a damn stairwell. She shoved open the door and exited on the next floor.
She spotted a sign. This level contained a ballroom and meeting rooms. She thought about the hotel maps Rome had made her memorize. That meant she was one floor above the lobby. The place was empty and silent, and a little creepy.
Right . Find the elevator and get down to the lobby level. Then find her guards, alert security, and call Norcross.
She reached the elevators and pressed the button. Nothing happened.
Dammit . She stabbed the button multiple times. It wasn’t working.
She whirled and tried the first door she found.