Unfaded Glory (25 page)

“Oh, God, Damara.” He buried his face in her hair. “What happens now?”

“We keep doing what we've been doing, just together. I need to hold an emergency election. Do you think Renner will let you stay as my personal protection?”

“Is that what I'll be to you?”

“You'll be my husband. You're the prince of Castallegna. If I'm the Jewel, you're the Heart. Because you're my heart.”

“How easily you speak of these things.”

“With the same ease with which you speak of death, I speak of life.” She pulled away from him. “Are you saying that you've changed your mind?”

Her heart would shatter in a million pieces if he did.

“No, Damara. I just... I'm a mercenary.”

“You're a ranger.”

“And I can be neither as your husband. What will I do as a dethroned prince?”

“Mostly whatever you like. Are you sure you're not having second thoughts?”

“About you? Never. About me? I just... Remember how I told you I break things?”

She laughed. “You're not going to break me. Haven't you learned that by now?”

“I'm still afraid that all this darkness inside me is going to hurt you.”

“All it's done is protect me, brought us to the here and now. I love everything about you, Hawkins. Not just the shiny things.”

“Yeah, but you've got more heart than common sense,” he teased her.

“I don't think that's a bad thing.”

“No, Princess, it's not. You're absolutely perfect.” He kissed the top of her head.

The helicopters landed and men in black tactical suits swarmed the area, surrounding them.

Byron was suddenly in his element, taking charge of the commandos and directing the flow of people.

He was so much more than he believed himself to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I
T
TOOK
A
DAY
to organize the special election, and Damara waited until the news outlets that had so faithfully covered their love story arrived. She wanted all the world to see who and what Castallegna had become.

This transition wasn't meant to be some small, quiet affair. It was a rebirth, and it deserved all the accolades and celebration that came with that.

Once again, she found herself facing the press with Byron Hawkins by her side and Sonja fielding questions.

As much as she'd disliked the woman upon first meeting her, that had all changed. She was very good at what she did, and Damara liked to think she'd convinced her to use her powers for good—at least when she was working for Damara. Together, they could push and pull at the flow and feel of a room until they got exactly the reactions and the questions they wanted. That was no small feat.

One of the first questions: “Italy wants to know what happens now.”

She smiled. “Right now? We wait.” Her answer was met with some low-key laughter. “That's most of governing, I think. Waiting. The ballots are being counted and tallied. Soon we'll know who our new prime minister is going to be and we've replaced key positions on the Council.” Damara took a deep breath. “At this time, I'd also like to thank those who took such an active role in our struggles. Italy, the United States and the hardworking officers of Interpol.”

“Are you on the ballot, Princess Damara?”

“No. I'll continue to serve my country and work for social change and equality, but prime minister is a job for someone who is not a Petrakis.”

“We've heard some of the people on the street have been writing your name into the ballots.”

“When my father first told me of his dream to bring Castallegna to democracy, he said that having a royal in any government position would be no true democracy at all. I believe he's right,” she answered.

“What about the ranger?” was the next question.

“Was it all just a sham to get the world to look at Castallegna?”

“I won't deny that I needed the world to see what was happening in my country. But as you can see, my husband is next to me. If it were a sham, I'd be addressing you alone.”

“This is for Lt. Hawkins—Prince Byron. How does it feel to have a hollow crown?”

Byron flashed an easy grin. “It was never my crown to start with. As a ranger, I fought for freedom. How could I do any less for my wife?”

She melted and smiled. “He doesn't need a crown to be a prince.”

“I'm sure you both know the story of the princess and the marine. That ended poorly. What do you see for yourselves in the future?”

Damara didn't know how to answer that. Thus far, she'd fielded most of the questions and she wanted to know the answer to this one, as well. She knew he wanted to be with her, but what was that going to be like?

“Happily ever after. That's how this stuff works, right? I got the princess.” His mouth curled into that sexy grin.

“All due respect, that's not a real answer. It's romantic, but it doesn't address where you'll live, or how long until you get out of the service...”

The room was suddenly heavy with tension and expectation. Damara thought it was strange they'd been talking about the evolution of a government, a great day in history, and all they cared about was the love story.

“I think that's the best part about it, ma'am,” Byron supplied. “We don't know how that's going to work out, but believe me when I say it will.”

And she did. Damara utterly believed that it would.

Cameras started flashing fast and furious and she knew it was because of the way she was looking at her husband—as if he set the sun in the sky. For Damara, he did.

He took her hand and kissed it, eyes meeting like the slow draw of mercury. Everything she felt for him flared and burned. The lust, the instant slam of need that ricocheted through her every time he touched her, the joy of knowing that he was hers and the love that was so deep it was part of her on a cellular level. She didn't care who saw it.

There was a tap on her shoulder, and someone handed her an envelope.

“This is the moment we've all been waiting for,” she said into the microphones. “Before I open this envelope that tells us who our new prime minister shall be, I wanted to share with you my first and last act as ruler of Castallegna. Before me is the bill ratified by the Council that will make us a democratic nation. All that's left is for me to sign it into law. This was my father's dream. This is my dream. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

Byron's hand was firm on the small of her back, almost as if he were holding her up. And maybe he was. It was his solid presence and only him that kept her from crying as, with only her signature, she changed the future of her country.

In that moment, she felt her father's presence as keenly as her husband's. He'd be so proud.

She looked around at the members of the Council and the press as she smiled. “It is my great honor to turn this government and sovereignty over to those who will do it best, the people of Castallegna.” With that, she scrawled her name on the documents, signing away her royalty and her privilege.

A cheer went up and the cameras were still rolling. All around the world, people saw the princess and the ranger give a country back to the public.

She'd done what she'd set out to do.

“Thank you, Byron. I couldn't have done this without you.”

“It's what you were born to do. You would have found another way.” He quoted several of their earlier discussions back to her. Damara kept insisting that no matter what, she would have found another way.

“But another way wouldn't have put us here.” The press was still recording everything, but she didn't care.

“Open the envelope, Princess,” Sonja encouraged.

Damara wondered who the people had chosen and when she read the name, she smiled. “It is my pleasure to introduce to you the new prime minister of Castallegna, Hamdi Naserdine.” He'd been her father's right-hand man, an advocate for human rights. She'd spent many evenings in her youth sharpening her political skills on his.

He was a distinguished gentleman, and had sharp eyes that seemed to see everything. When he came forward, she didn't hesitate to kiss both of his cheeks.

“I know Castallegna is safe in your hands.”

“Our hands, Princess Damara. Our hands.” He accentuated the point by taking her hands and holding them tight. “But after your honeymoon.”

She wanted to say that she couldn't possibly leave, but he was right. From the questions they'd gotten today, the world was still very much interested in the love story.

It would be easy for another faction to move in and try to break this fragile freedom. If the Russians and Americans wanted their ports, others would, too. She wanted to be there, to start programs and education, but Hamdi would make a place for her. And taking a week or two with Byron wouldn't be any great torture.

She could go with him to Texas and help him bury his ghosts the same way he'd helped her bury hers.

And in doing so, she could secure future media interest and keep the world eye on Castallegna as she grew and prospered in relative safety. Then the Americans would have their base and their safe houses, and she'd have an ally, as well.

Her suspicion was proved correct when the next question posed was, “Where are you going on your honeymoon, Princess?”

“Byron hasn't told me.”

“Some parts of a marriage shouldn't be open to the public, and that's one of them.” He winked and took Damara's hand.

She wanted this to be about Castallegna, not her marriage. So she said, “Without further ado, the prime minister would like address the press.”

Hamdi took the microphone.

* * *

“I
T
STILL
FEELS
WRONG
to be leaving at this stage, but I know logically it's what I need to do. Even if it's only for two weeks,” Damara said as they were boarding the plane.

“Damara, if you want to, you could hide out at your mother's house for two weeks. You don't have to come with me.”

“Yes, I do have to come with you to Texas. There's no way I'd let you do this on your own. After all you've done for me? All you've given up for me?”

“I haven't given up anything for you but my fear, Damara. You changed me, helped me start to heal. Before I met you, I never could've faced Belinda.”

“You know that for her, this isn't facing some demon. She's getting another piece of her husband by meeting you.”

“I know, and I'm still not sure how I feel about that.” Speaking with Belinda Foxworth seemed pointless—it would just be an experience in pain and learning to rip old wounds open with new weapons.

Byron was sure her invitation to visit wasn't one he was supposed to accept. Not that Belinda would be insincere, but it might have sounded good at the time and she was probably wishing she could take it back, pluck it out of the air like a fly ball and put it back down in the dirt and dust where it belonged.

“I'm sure you're afraid, hopeful, aching and maybe a little excited.”

“I'm all of those things and more. How do I tell a woman I'm sorry that it's my fault her husband is dead? I'm sorry that I got to live the life he was denied? I'm sorry that her children don't have a father? I'm sorry that she doesn't have a husband?” he questioned quietly.

“Maybe just like that, if those are the things you need to say to her. But if she felt that way, I don't think she would've invited you to visit the ranch.”

“But I want her to. I need her to be angry with me.”

“Haven't you punished yourself enough?”

“It doesn't seem right that I get this life. I get to be with you and he's gone. Dust and dirt.”

“He's not gone. He lives in her. In his children.” Damara paused for a long moment. “He lives in you. Not just in your nightmares, but in the piece of you that wants to do good in the world, the piece of you that wants to honor what he sacrificed.”

Byron was uncomfortable with that. It sounded too much like praise. He owed the man a debt of honor, and he had no idea how to repay it.

So he changed the subject. “What's the first thing you want to work on when we get back?”

Her face brightened. “Education for women.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“Not yet, but I might have brought some reading materials.” She pulled out an overstuffed attaché case.

“Only you would bring work on your honeymoon,” he teased.

“And only you would understand.” She smiled.

“That's because I know I'll get what I want later.”

“You think so?” She flushed.

He reached out and traced a finger down her cheek. “I know so.”

“It's a good thing I don't have to be a princess anymore.” She nipped at his finger. “I'd never get anything done.”

“We seemed to get plenty done.”

“But it was hard. So very
hard,
” Damara teased him back.

“You're as bad as I am. You know that, right?”

She laughed, and the sound was music to him. He didn't think Damara would ever be his. He didn't think retirement would suit him. And yet here he was, utterly content with overseeing Damara's security detail personally.

He couldn't help but think about Austin Foxworth again and the life he hadn't been able to live. Damara seemed to sense his retreat into his own head and was content to let him be while she worked.

He liked that she understood that about him and the peaceful silence they could share together. Each moment didn't have to be filled with inane chatter. They could just be.

The flight was interminably long, and Damara was her usual self. She swore she wasn't tired but fell asleep with her papers still in her lap. Byron spent the rest of the flight thinking.

Thinking about what had transpired, what he would say to Belinda.

When the pilot announced they were landing, he had a moment of sudden panic. He couldn't do this. More important, he shouldn't be doing this. He should let sleeping ghosts lie.

Only he supposed Austin wasn't a sleeping ghost. He was a very real presence, and the weight of Byron's guilt was still drowning him. He owed it to Damara to try to put this to rest.

He was glad they'd kept this part of their trip a secret. He didn't want this pain, the remnants of Austin's life, on display like some poor pinned insect under glass.

Damara's hand was tucked into his, and he didn't realize how much strength was in her little hand. He'd thought it before, but the point was driven home over and over again. She kept surprising him. This time it wasn't because of how much she'd done—it was what she didn't do. She was just there, and somehow that shored him up, filled in the holes where the darkness would have been.

Part of him wanted to believe it was some higher power telling him that she could survive him. It was okay to want her, to need her, because she was made of sterner stuff.

When the car turned down a long winding drive and finally pulled up in front of a large house, there was a woman standing outside waiting to greet him.

She was petite, like Damara, but blonde. She was wearing frayed jeans and cowboy boots, with two little girls clinging to her legs.

Damara released his hand slowly. “Go on. You can do this.”

When he got out of the car, he didn't know what to feel first. Everything crashed into him at once.

As did Belinda Foxworth. She flung her arms around him and hugged him tight.

He would've stood on ceremony, he would have kept his distance, but she wouldn't allow it. Her embrace was scalding and soothing at the same time.