Unfaded Glory (9 page)

The car stopped in front of a large Victorian on Broadway. He'd expected they would've decided to house them on base at Fort Glory. It would definitely be safer for Damara. And it would also make press access more difficult.

* * *

THE
HOUSE
HAD
BEEN
decorated, as well. There was a candle in every window and a large wreath hung on the door.

He didn't want to be here. There were too many ghosts, and his head was already full of them.

A familiar face greeted him when the door of the car opened.

Caleb Lewis. Somehow, he'd become one of Glory's finest. He was in a police uniform.

“What the hell is that, Lewis?” Byron laughed, nodding to the uniform. “It's almost Christmas, not Halloween.”

Caleb shrugged. “I don't know, man. It just happened. I could say the same to you. I guess military school did wonders for you. I know it was great for my Friday nights.”

“You went, too?” He had a hard time imagining one of Glory's golden boys in military school.

He snorted. “Hell, no. But with you gone, I had more of a chance at getting a girl to say yes to a date with me.”

Byron appreciated the easy camaraderie. The meaningless banter that welcomed him home without judgment. Caleb was one of those who'd never judged him, never slunk to his locker needing what he could provide and then talking about him behind his back.

He'll never be anything.

He was just born bad.

“So they put you on princess duty?” he asked, trying to rouse the shades from his mind.

“I requested it. Figured you could use a friendly face.” Caleb shrugged it off.

“Where's your partner in crime? You and India were always attached at the hip.”

“She's actually my partner. She's getting doughnuts from my sister's shop. She decided the princess had to have doughnuts.” At Byron's expression, he added, “Yeah, I don't know. It's a girl thing, I guess.”

“We both know India's not really a girl. Brimstone on wheels, maybe. But never just a girl.”

Caleb grinned, but he didn't say much else. He realized he hadn't introduced Damara when he felt the weight of her presence at his back.

“This is Princess Damara Petrakis of Castallegna.”

“The Jewel of Castallegna.” Caleb smiled. “It's a pleasure to welcome you to Glory.”

“It is truly an honor. Thank you.”

She was every bit the perfect princess, and Caleb was dutifully and predictably charmed.

And Byron was pissed off.

He didn't want her to be so likable and gracious, and he definitely didn't want Caleb to be charmed or charm
ing.
Jealousy he had no right to feel flared like a canker.

“Let's get her inside,” he grumbled.

“You've got eyes and ears everywhere, Hawkins. There's a couple of guys posted at various places on the property—it'll be a revolving post. They're camped out above the carriage house in back. Your people chose this house because of the underground tunnel that leads from the main house to the carriage house. Glory P.D. will be doing hourly drive-bys to make sure everything is as it should be. We're not going to let anything happen to either of you.”

“The princess has been trained in Krav Maga and can use any weapon you give her.”

“That's definitely sexy.” Caleb grinned. Just when Hawkins was seriously considering punching him in the face, he said, “India kicks my ass all the time.”

“I knew you guys would end up together. She might be the only girl who ever told me no.” Hawkins smiled.

“No, we're just friends. But that doesn't mean I don't like it when she's tough.” Caleb turned to leave. “Fair warning. The house has been wired up with surveillance. So no running naked around the garden at night.”

He got into his patrol car and drove away.

“Is he a friend of yours?” Damara asked.

“Yeah, I guess he is.” Byron had never thought about it before, but he supposed out of anyone in Glory, Caleb was his friend. He hated being back here, hated being home. But Caleb wasn't so bad.

And he guessed the people in Glory weren't all awful, if taken on an individual basis. It was when they started going off in groups and committees that they were a problem.

“No, what I mean is, can we trust him? If something happens, is he someone to seek out or avoid?”

Byron thought about it for a moment. Caleb Lewis was one of those people you definitely wanted on your side. He'd heard that he'd enlisted in the army just so India wouldn't be deployed alone. “Remember what I said? Don't trust anyone but yourself.”

“And remember what I said about needing help?”

He did at that. “Yes, Princess. You can trust him.”

“I love the house.”

“You haven't even been inside.”

“No, and I don't need to. I know I'll love it. The architecture is lovely.” She looked down. “And the brick sidewalks.”

She hurried up the walk.

“Let me go inside first and do a security check before you get all Martha Stewart.”

“Thank you for telling Officer Lewis that I could hold my own. I appreciate that.”

She picked the strangest times to say the most unexpected things.

“It's the truth.”

“Yes, but no one else has ever seen that truth but you. So it's important to me to thank you.”

He watched her for a moment longer than necessary before going inside and giving the house a perfunctory scan.

“You can come inside.”

Two cell phones sat side by side on the counter. When one rang, Byron answered it.

“You made yourself right with this yet?” Renner asked him.

“No.”

“Fine. I'm sending a file to the phone. It's all the other candidates in the area. Choose one.”

The line went dead.

The thought of trusting Damara's safety to someone else didn't bring the relief he'd thought it would. He scrubbed his hand over his face.

“What's wrong?”

“Renner said he has some other candidates.”

“Oh.” She walked up the stairs to explore the second floor.

He supposed it was funny that he'd chosen that word to describe her actions—
exploring.
It was something she liked. Something she was damn good at, he thought, as memories of her “explorations” washed over him.

For shit's sake, it was only one night. Why couldn't he forget it?

He looked down at the phone and the blinking icon that indicated he had a text.

Hawkins downloaded the file and quickly scrolled through every name on the list. None of them met with his approval. None of them could keep Damara safe.

He clicked on Renner's number and called him back.

“Made a choice so quickly?”

“You know damn well I didn't. What the hell is this?” Did Renner want the mission to fail? That list couldn't have been what he meant to send.

“It's what I said it was. It's the list of those operatives available to take your place.”

“None of them are good enough.”

“I know that, but you wouldn't listen to me.”

“Point taken. I'll do it. But this in-love act? How long do we have to keep it up?”

“I don't know. To keep her safe, you're probably going to have to marry her.”

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Byron meant to sound forceful, but he sounded much higher-pitched and maybe even slightly crazy.

“It's the fastest way to citizenship. Otherwise, we'd have to put it through committees and votes, granting her asylum. It's the only way.” Renner sighed. “Is it really such a task to be saddled with a beautiful, accomplished woman?”

“I don't want this, and I don't want her,” he reiterated.

“Then you're the only one who doesn't.”

He heard a gasp and looked up to see Damara still on the stairs. She'd heard what he said.

“Damara,” he began, but he knew there were no words that could soothe the hurt he'd just inflicted.

She shook her head slowly, eyes wide and sorrowful. Her full lips set in a grim line.
No,
she mouthed and trudged slowly up the stairs.

“Heard you, did she? Make your choice now. Either do this with full retirement benefits after this is over or come ride a desk.”

“I said I'd do it,” he snarled.

“Good. I don't want to hear any more about it.”

The line went dead again.

He cursed. Why did he even care if she heard it? Then maybe she'd stop looking at him as if he were some kind of hero. If he was honest with himself, he liked how she looked at him, even though he knew it was fleeting. It wouldn't last. The sword of Damocles had fallen and sliced clean.

Byron saw the other phone on the counter, and he supposed it was as good an excuse as any to follow her upstairs. She should have it on her person at all times.

He picked it up and headed up the stairs.

He found her in the master bedroom, sitting with a book, but he knew she wasn't reading. She stared at the page blankly. It was upside down.

Byron took it gently out of her hands and put it down next to her, then replaced it with the cell.

“You need to keep this on you at all times.”

“Thank you.”

She didn't look at him. She stared at the phone the same way she'd stared at the book.

“Damara—” he tried again.

“No.” She held up her hand. “We will not discuss it again. You will call your Mr. Renner. You will tell him what happened in Barcelona. He will tell Kulokav, and they will not want me any longer. My brother will disown me and force the Council to decree an end to my line of succession. Then I will find another way to help my people.” Her gaze flashed up to his face. “And we'll be rid of each other.”

“Damara, what's stopping him from doing that anyway?”

“I knew it was a risk when I ran. The original plan ensured that I'd have support in the world theater, and Castallegna is too small to risk trade sanctions. Or so he explained it to me. I didn't know the man who saved me would be the one chosen for this duty. Or that it would be against your will. Go. Call him. I will find another way.”

“There isn't another way.”

“You told me yourself not to trust anyone but me. So I do. And
I
will find another way.”

There was something about the tone of her voice, the way she held herself, it made him cringe away from her like a roach running from the light. Yet it drew him closer, too. Her strength, her surety of self, he'd never known another woman like her. He couldn't trust himself, but he couldn't trust anyone else, either. He'd rather she be with the devil he knew. “You're stuck with me now, anyway. I already told him I'd do it. There's no one else.”

“Which he already told you. It's fine. You don't have to change your mind just because I heard you say that you don't want me. You've made it abundantly clear.”

“That's not it at all, Damara. Not at all.”

“It doesn't matter what it is.”

“You were right, okay? I'm not going to abandon you.” He realized that must be how she felt, and he wouldn't do that to her.

She didn't say anything else. Instead, she lay down on the bed and turned away from him.

He didn't know what to say to her, what to do to make it better.

Byron picked up the book and sat down in the chair where she'd been. His job was to protect her and watch over her, so that's what he'd do.

No matter what it cost him.

Maybe if he kept her safe, all the lives that she changed, all the lives that she'd save, would be worth Uganda. Or at least grant him a quieter corner of hell.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
DON
'
T
WANT
THIS
and I don't want her.

Damara didn't need to hear that over and over again in her head for it to make sense. She'd already processed what it meant, but that didn't stop her stupid brain from playing it on a loop. Maybe it was a self-defense mechanism. If she heard it enough times, it would root out whatever silly things she'd thought about she and Byron together. It would help her remember to keep her distance.

But it did more than that. It crushed the air out of her chest.

It hurt.

So what if no one ever wanted her for herself? It wasn't the end of the world. The sky was still blue; the earth still turned.

Her denials rang hollow in her ears. Right now, she was good for something. And that was putting on this show to thwart Abele. It would have to be enough.

Damara had it better than so many. She had wealth. She had privilege. She would always have a roof over her head, food in her belly, and that was a lot more than many.

But that didn't stop the hollow feeling that chilled her insides.

She'd passed the rest of the night without speaking to Byron, and he didn't make any further effort to engage her, so it was startling to hear his voice calling her name.

“Damara?”

“I'll be down.”

“Sonja White is here.”

The piranha with too many teeth. Before facing her, Damara pulled on her princess armor by brushing her hair, straightening her clothes and doing her breathing exercises. When she descended the stairs, she felt almost like herself again.

Until she saw the way the blonde woman talked to Byron, the way she angled her body toward him, used every opportunity to brush against him.

And who wouldn't? Byron Hawkins was heroic and handsome with his dark hair and sharp eyes. His broad shoulders like Atlas that lifted up the world.

That didn't stop it from irritating Damara to no end.

“Good of you to join us, Princess.”

She didn't know if Sonja meant to be condescending, but Damara didn't care for her tone. As if she'd kept them waiting some unreasonable amount of time. She was the Jewel of Castallegna—if she deigned to take hours to prepare herself or decided not to see the woman at all, that was her prerogative. She was royalty. Even on American soil.

“Good of you stop by without invitation,” Damara returned with a genuine smile. Genuine because it pleased her to put the woman in her place.

Sonja appeared startled and off her game. Another mark in the win column. Then Damara felt just the slightest twinge of guilt. The woman had been hired to help them. Damara wouldn't be difficult just because she was jealous.

Even though she
really
wanted to be.

She sighed. “I'm sorry. Jet lag makes me cranky, and I'm still tired.”

“I completely understand.” Sonja nodded. “I'd be more than cranky if I'd been through what you have. You really do have such an amazing story. Everyone wants to hear about it. Have you seen the news?” Sonja handed her a clipping from the
New York Times.

It was a picture of her and Byron. The moment she'd put her hand on his chest to keep him from doing bodily harm. They both looked every inch the parts they were supposed to play. She was a fairy-tale princess and Byron was Prince Charming, the hero. The way she looked up at him, her emotions were written all over her face.

But so were his. Woe be to anyone who'd dare try and hurt her.

It was such a contrast to what he'd said to Renner on the phone.
I don't want her.

“That looks like good publicity,” Damara agreed. She wanted to take the clipping and fold it up, to keep it to remember what it was like when she still dreamed of fairy tales.

“Every news outlet in the country has picked up the story. There'll be the press junket today, and we need to start thinking about a publicity tour.”

“Whoa, hold on. How am I supposed to protect her if we're doing some publicity tour?”

“They'll come to you.”

“This hiding her in plain sight stuff is harder than it looks.” Byron sighed.

“We'll make her face so recognized and well loved that no one would chance hurting her.”

Byron was sacrificing so much to be there, especially by revealing who he really was. He was losing everything. Damara wanted to say something to him that would make it okay, but she knew there was nothing.

“And we need to start planning the wedding.”

“Excuse me?” Damara almost choked.

“The wedding. You have to get married. It's the only way to expedite citizenship. I thought Mr. Renner told you.”

“He did,” Byron said. “Let's just worry about our immediate needs. Press junket. What do you need from us?”

Damara was floored. She hadn't realized that she was actually expected to marry him. And yet the idea wasn't horrible.

Or it wouldn't have been, if he hadn't said he didn't want her.

She didn't have to ask if it would be a marriage of convenience, or inconvenience as the case happened to be. It didn't matter. This would have been her life one way or another. Any man she married would have been doing it for any reason in the world except for loving her.

“Damara?” Byron asked, jerking her from her thoughts.

“I'm sorry. I didn't hear you.”

“Do you feel up to be fitted for your wardrobe? If not, we can just do hair and makeup for the junket,” Sonja repeated.

Damara gave a wan smile. “That's fine. I'm a princess. I'm used to it.”

“Better you than me,” Byron replied.

“Oh, no, you'll be fitted, as well. You need new uniforms, as befits your status and rank.”

Byron paled, but he didn't say anything.

“Are you sure he needs to be in uniform?” Damara tried to help.

“Ladies love a serviceman in uniform. He'll fit the archetype. All of the women will want to be you, and all of the men will wish they were Byron. They'll want you to succeed just because of that.”

Damara nodded.

“The rest of my staff will be here in—” she looked at her watch “—twenty minutes. We'll order in lunch and we should be done by dinner. Just in time for the junket.”

It occurred to Damara that he knew everything this would entail. It was why he'd wanted to say no. And she'd pushed. She'd pushed so hard with no care for what it did to him. She'd told herself it didn't matter because she had to save Castallegna, but it did matter.

It mattered a lot.

There was a reason he wasn't a ranger anymore, a reason for the haunted look in his eyes. It wasn't her place to make him face anything. He'd already done so much for her.

She wanted to tell him that, but she didn't know how.

Instead, they were both silent as they were led their separate ways to get ready for the fittings.

Damara endured stoically; this wasn't a new experience for her, being poked and prodded by strange hands with various materials and designs being shoved in her face.

She still didn't care for Sonja, but she was content to let her do her job. Even when she dragged out a selection of paste tiaras. Damara understood she had to play this a certain way for the camera and for the people.

When the rep would have chosen a larger one, Damara opted for the smaller. “The larger one is too big. When I do a public meet and greet, I like to give them to one of the children.”

Sonja blinked. “You're kind of diabolical, aren't you?”

“Why would you say that?” Damara cocked her head to the side.

“That's brilliant PR.”

“It's not really about the PR. It's about telling girls that they are all princesses.” Damara was determined to give not only the men of her country more power but the women. She shouldn't have to make a marriage just to keep people from hurting her. She should be free to love who and where she would, give of her body as she chose, not for some office. And her countrywomen should be free to do the same. If there was any PR, it was to get that message out.

“Even better.” Sonja sighed and directed the staff to leave and finish assembling the princess's wardrobe. “Can I ask you something?” she asked when they were gone.

“Of course,” Damara answered. What was she going to say, no?

“I know Renner told me this was a PR thing, but is there actually something between you and Byron?”

Her question was like nails on a chalkboard; it scraped down her back and burrowed into her spine. “Not really.”

“Because of him or you?”

“I only said I'd answer one question,” Damara demurred.

“Okay. Back off. I get it.” Sonja nodded and held up her hands in surrender. “You can't blame a girl for being curious.”

“You're more than curious,” Damara said.

“You're right—I am.”

She regretted adding that last part, but she had to be honest. “I don't have any hold on him, but it wouldn't do for Prince Charming to get caught banging the PR rep, would it? Talk about a fractured fairy tale.” It wasn't her place to warn off the other woman—Byron could do as he liked. He didn't belong to her.

Even though she wanted him to.

The thought of him with Sonja cut her deeply, but it was just one more thing to push down deep so she didn't have to feel it. This was stupid; it had only been one night. And maybe he had saved her life, but that didn't mean they needed to spend their lives together.

“No, of course not. I know how important this is. Not only for you. This could make my firm. I'm not going to throw that away for a man.”

“Good for you.” She meant it sincerely.

Sonja cocked her head to the side. “Now, you really meant that, right? It wasn't a thinly veiled fuck off?”

Damara laughed in spite of herself. “No, really. I think it's wonderful that you're able to prioritize your life so that your value is more than just your ability to breed heirs.”

“I can't imagine what that's like.” The woman made a face.

No, Damara was sure she couldn't, and she didn't want to talk about it anymore. She had to get control of herself for the junket. “So what should I wear to this junket?”

“The pink skirt and sweater set. It will set off your hair and skin tone. It will also make you look more innocent. I wish you had your engagement ring, but if your first appearance is without it, there will be more buzz when you start wearing one.”

Damara nodded, glad that Sonja was back to business. Engagement ring. She supposed if she was a citizen of the United States, she couldn't be queen of Castallegna and qualify for asylum. She didn't want to give up her country, her citizenship. But she supposed if that's what it took to meet the end goal, that's what she'd do.

“I'll get ready then.”

“Do you need any more help?”

“No, I can do it. Thank you.” She waited for Sonja to leave and dressed. She went toward the master bath to apply the cosmetics that had been left out for her. The makeup artist had wanted to help, but Damara liked to do it herself. It was a sort of ritual that soothed her nerves. She used to watch her mother put on her lipstick before events, and it was something they'd always done together. She missed her so much. It was a way to be close to her and to hear her mother's wisdom when she was frightened or afraid. Unfortunately, Byron was already there. He stood tall and resplendent in his uniform.

He was clean-shaven, his hair clipped and cropped. His jaw looked harder, his shoulders broader. Yes, there definitely was something about a man in uniform, but this one especially because she suspected it was so very hard for him to put it back on. She was torn between wanting to rip it off him and demand he do salacious things to her, and pulling him softly against her breast and telling him everything would be okay.

At first, she thought he was talking to someone on the phone, but he was talking to himself in the mirror.

“I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move further, faster and fight harder than any other soldier. Never shall I fail my—” He broke off, and his fingers curled into a fist as his eyes closed. “Never shall I fail my—” Byron tried again, but instead of finishing the sentence he put his fist through the mirror.

Glass shards exploded everywhere.

He swore.

Damara knew she should leave him with his ghosts, but he was in such obvious pain. She wouldn't leave a dog like that, so she certainly wouldn't do that to a man. And most definitely not to a man who'd done so much for her.

He didn't need her, he didn't want her, but he was getting her. Mindless of the glass crunching beneath her pink heels, she went to him.

Damara turned him carefully away from the remains of the mirror so he'd look at her.

Tears shimmered in his eyes, but she knew he'd never shed them. She of all people understood the futility of tears, the perception of weakness, but sometimes they could wash away the sharpest edge of the pain.

Instead of speaking, she embraced him. It wasn't a soft or kind sort of touch; it was an assault. She dragged him down to her so that he could bury his face in her hair, and she clung to him as if she was the one adrift.

His arms tightened, and he curled his big body around hers.

He was whispering again, and she couldn't understand what he was saying, but that was okay. It wasn't for her—she knew that. She'd hold him like this until he said whatever it was that needed to come out.

“And complete the mission though
I be the lone survivor.
Rangers lead the way.”

Byron didn't let go. He just held her hard and tight.

But when it was over, it was as if it had never happened. Just like the night he'd made love to her. It was a moment taken out of context from the rest of existence.