Royally Endowed, Page 5

  There are photographers outside Ellie's graduation. Not a large group, just three, but they're there. I guide Mr. Hammond towards the door of the gymnasium, where a student volunteer is waiting to exchange our tickets for paper programs.

  The journalists shout questions as we pass:

  "Mr. Hammond, is Prince Nicholas coming to the ceremony?"

  "How do you feel about Olivia's pregnancy? Is the baby the Prince's?"

  "Mr. Hammond, when's the wedding?"

  Eric's good about it. Doesn't react, doesn't even turn his head. As I lead him to his seat, he asks quietly, "Olivia's not really pregnant, is she?"

  "No."

  "Is it always like that? The reporters?"

  The corner of my mouth pulls up. "Usually, it's a hundred times worse."

  I stand in the back during the ceremony, eyes on the crowd, watching the late arrivals and early exits of the people coming and going. When Ellie gives her speech, I know the moment that she spots her dad, sitting beside Marty. Her words pause--just slightly--and for a second her face is slack with disbelief. And then she smiles. So happily.

  And even though we're inside, the day seems even sunnier.

  Marty says he'll walk back to his place after the ceremony and says his goodbyes outside the school. But when Tommy goes to get the vehicle, Ellie's dad says he prefers to walk back to the coffee shop--it being such a nice day and all.

  So I text Tommy to meet us at the diner and then follow Ellie and Mr. Hammond from a decent distance--giving them space for privacy, but staying near enough to reach them if I have to.

  Ellie takes her gown off and drapes it over her arm, swinging her diploma and hat in one hand. About halfway home, the pavement clears out a bit and I hear Mr. Hammond talking low and seriously to his youngest daughter.

  "You looked beautiful up there today, baby."

  Ellie gives a short, self-conscious laugh. "Thanks, Dad."

  And then he looks longer, his eyes growing sober and wet. "You look beautiful every day. Just like your mom."

  Ellie's chin dips. "I'm sorry. I know that upsets you."

  And her saying that seems to upset him even more. Mr. Hammond pauses at a tiny park, a patch of green with a few benches and a pathway that connects to the next street. He guides Ellie to a bench and sits down, and I hear him say there are things he needs to tell her.

  I don't listen after that. I stay alert and focus on the surroundings. I keep them in my sight, but I block out the conversation--because that's part of the job too. The only way this works without making people crazier than a box of frogs is if those I'm protecting can still carve out some piece of privacy for themselves.

  No matter how up-close and personal we have to be, some things just aren't our bloody business.

  After a while, Ellie stands while Mr. Hammond stays sitting.

  "I've already lost your sister. I don't want to lose you too," he tells her, sorrowfully.

  And there are tears leaking from Ellie's eyes when she hugs him, even while she begs, "Don't cry, Daddy. You haven't lost Olivia and you're not going to lose me. We love you and we know how hard it is . . . how sad you are."

  And then I hear Eric Hammond's deep voice, as he wipes at his face with a tissue and reaches out to pat Ellie's arm. "I'm gonna try, baby. I promise, things will be different from now on."

  I won't hold my breath. It's a promise often made but, more often, broken.

  They walk back over to the pavement, side by side, and that's my cue to fall into step behind them. As they continue home, Ellie looks back at me--but I don't make eye contact, I turn my head to the street. Because I don't want her to think I know or care about what just passed between her and her father--I don't want her to feel embarrassed.

  As they walk up to the front of Amelia's, a blaring red Volkswagen Beetle convertible with Ellie's friend Marlow behind the wheel pulls up and double-parks in the middle of the street. She honks the horn and cups her hands around her red lips--the same shade as the car.

  "Let's go! Weekend at Bernie's!"

  Based on what I overheard, their classmate Bernie Folger is hosting a graduation party at his parents' shore house in Wildwood, New Jersey. Before she can ask, I'm already telling her, "You can't go alone."

  That's when Tommy steps out of the diner door onto the pavement.

  "Tommy can come with us!" Marlow shouts. "I'll even let him drive, 'cause I'm a fucking sweetheart like that."

  Tommy meets my eyes--and we both nod. Ellie hugs her dad goodbye and turns to me, shyly shuffling those white strappy heels.

  "Well . . . I'll see you tomorrow, Logan."

  Then she's scurrying to the car and climbing into the back. On his way to the car, Tommy swings past me, tapping my arm. "Mr. Hammond has a visitor. Inside."

  He slips into the driver's seat and the three of them take off.

  I open the door for Mr. Hammond and follow him into the coffee shop. And that's when I catch sight of the redheaded visitor Tommy mentioned.

  The 4th Earl of Ellington rises from his chair.

  He smiles the only way he knows how--warmly--while extending his hand. "Mr. Hammond, my name is Simon Barrister. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'd like to speak to you about a business venture that may be lucrative for both of us."

  Eric Hammond shakes the Earl's hand. "What's your business, Simon?"

  And Lord Ellington's blue eyes sparkle. "I'm hoping that it will be . . . pies."

  Ten months later

  A ROYAL A WEDDING IS a major event on any day, but when the royal getting married is the former Crown Prince who gave up the throne for an American girl he couldn't live without? It's a madhouse.

  For men like me, it's a high-octane event--my senses are sharp, on high alert. The place is packed with press, aristocrats, dignitaries, celebrities galore. This is what we do--these are the moments that our training and strategizing prepare us for.

  Security is planned out months in advance in a war room--like preparing for a battle. Everyone knows his role; everyone has a position. Tonight, my focus in on Prince Nicholas. Although he's never far from Olivia's side, there's another man who's assigned to her--Tommy. Olivia, now a princess and a duchess, shimmers like a pretty disco ball--all white silk and jewels. And Nicholas's smile shines brighter than the tiara on her head.

  "Happy" has left the building--and tonight, at the dinner celebrating his royal matrimony, the prince is nothing short of ecstatic.

  Though my eyes are scanning the room, I know where the couple is at all times. So when Nicholas raises his hand and calls me forward with his fingers, I react right away.

  "Sir?" I bow.

  "We're going to retire to our rooms shortly, but Olivia is concerned about Ellie."

  I've been keeping tabs on her too--all night.

  At this moment, she's at the bar, undeniably delectable in a champagne-colored silk gown that hugs her in all the right places.

  Or . . . the bloody wrong ones, as far as I'm concerned.

  One eager-eyed, posh lad after another is offering her drinks, asking her to dance or trying to impress her with their lofty pedigrees.

  Fucking sods.

  And she's putting the eighteen-year-old legal drinking age in Wessco to good use. Marty's there, laughing and drinking beside her--and her father too--though he's not imbibing. Despite my doubts, he hasn't touched a drop for ten months--not since Ellie's high school graduation. He's working his program, going to meetings even here in Wessco, staying sober. Good for him--for all of them.

  "Ellie's been assigned security; they'll make sure she's all right."

  I checked on who was covering her for the night, to see for myself that they were top-notch.

  Olivia glances at her sister. "But you know her better--she'll listen to you. If she goes out after my dad goes to bed I'd feel better if you were with her."

  I meet Nicholas's eyes. "We won't be leaving our rooms for the evening . . .," he winks at his bride, "possibly for days. We'll both have peac
e of mind if you're on Ellie detail."

  I hold up a hand. "I'll take care of it. Don't give it a second thought."

  "Tell me, Ellie Hammond," Henry says, "are we legal yet?"

  Ellie grins, lifting her martini glass. "Eighteen, officially."

  Prince Henry, Nicholas's younger brother and now Crown Prince of Wessco, lifts a brow. "Good God, you're practically a cougar." Then he sighs, looking at her. "Pity, you're also practically related to me now. And while many of my ancestors wouldn't let that slow them down, incest really isn't my bag."

  Ellie nods once. "Bummer."

  "But," Henry holds up a finger, "that doesn't mean we can't have a fantastic time. I'm going to show you the best bits of Wessco. The good, the raunchy and everything in between. What do you say?"

  She's bubbling with excitement. "I say, count me--"

  "Out." I step up to them. Firm and final.

  "Your sister wants you to go straight back to your room," I tell Ellie.

  "She'll be with me," Henry says.

  As if he doesn't realize that makes it so much worse.

  "Your brother specifically said not to leave Ellie with you."

  Henry looks offended and searches around the room for his royal sibling. "That tosser . . . no trust anymore." He shakes his head. "Lucky for us, my brother and her sister will be completely preoccupied with their own entertainments. What they don't know won't hurt them."

  This is a dicey situation. On the one hand, Prince Henry is my boss--he outranks Nicholas now. On the other hand, he's reckless, self-destructive and irresponsible--and his shiny new title hasn't diminished those traits. So, there's no bloody way in hell I'm leaving sweet Ellie in his care.

  "I beg to differ, Your Highness."

  And a look comes over his face, a slight bit of shock at being challenged mixed with a shadow of respect. Because while Henry has multiple moral deficiencies, a failure to view himself and his own shortcomings isn't one of them.

  He's a royal fuck-up, but he owns it.

  "I'm taking her to The Horny Goat, Agent St. James, not charging into battle. You and the rest of security are welcome to accompany us. We'll have a few drinks--or a few dozen--sing some songs and all will be well."

  "Oh, that sounds like so much fun!" Ellie claps her hands. And she turns those heartbreaking eyes on me. "Can we go? Please?"

  A simmering amusement rises in Prince Henry's expression as they wait for my answer. Because he's also a shit-stirrer. It's what he does--what he lives for: stirring up all the shit, then sitting back and watching everyone slip in it.

  "Come on, Logan," Ellie whines pleadingly.

  Henry loops his arm around her shoulders with a taunting grin. "Yeah, come on, Logan."

  Bastard.

  Two hours later, Ellie Hammond, the younger sister of the new Duchess of Fairstone, and the future King of Wessco are on a karaoke stage at The Horny Goat pub. Together. Bouncing around and singing "I Wanna Be Sedated" by the Ramones.

  There goes the fucking kingdom.

  Thank Christ that Evan Macalister, The Goat's owner, managed to keep the press out. After the song ends, the pair return to the bar, hailed by the shouts of Henry's lads. A tall, curvy brunette has been attached to the Prince's hip all night--she latches to his side, whispering in his ear.

  I've kept a tally of the alcohol Ellie's consumed--three martinis at the dinner reception and four whiskeys neat at the pub. She downs a fifth one like water.

  "You're a Viking!" Henry encourages her.

  "Vikings!!!" Ellie shouts.

  When the Prince calls the bartender for another, I push my way through the crowd to Henry.

  "She's had enough," I tell him quietly.

  "She's fine." He waves his hand at the air.

  "She's just a girl," I insist.

  Ellie takes exception, poking my arm with her finger and slurring. "Hey! I resent that. I'm a matter adult. Mattur. Ma-ture." She tilts her head, gasping. "Oh my God, I just realized that except for one letter, mature and manure are the same word! That's so weird."

  I turn back to Prince Henry. "Like I said . . . more than enough."

  He leans across the bar towards Ellie, holding up two fingers. "Ellie, how many fingers do you see?"

  Ellie squints and strains, until finally she grabs Henry's hand and holds it still.

  "Four."

  "Brilliant answer!"

  "Was I right?" Ellie asks hopefully.

  "No--if you'd gotten it right, I'd be really concerned." Then he bangs the bar with his palm. "Another round!"

  That's when Ellie slides clear off her stool. I catch her before she hits the floor, but just barely. And then I glare at Henry.

  "Mmm . . . perhaps we have reached our quota for the evening." He puts his hand on Ellie's arm, lifting his chin a little as he says, "It's always important to be able to actually walk out of the pub on our own two feet. Dignity and all that."

  Ellie's head lolls on her neck until she rests it on my shoulder, her puffs of breath brushing my throat. "M'kay."

  The palace is quiet as the threesome--Henry, Ellie and Henry's female companion--stumble down the halls to Ellie's suite, giggling and whispering as they go. I get the door for them and they collapse onto the chairs and sofa in the sitting room.

  Henry watches Ellie and his eyes seem clearer than when they were in the pub. "Who's up for cards?" he asks, checking his pockets. "I've got a deck around here somewhere."

  His brunette pouts unhappily. "I'm getting tired, Henry."

  And it sounds like his shagging for the night is in jeopardy.

  He gestures towards Ellie. "I can't just leave her. She could Janis Joplin in her sleep--Nicholas would literally kill me, and I'd have no choice but to let him."

  Ellie shakes her head mournfully. "Janis Joplin--what a voice."

  And she starts to cry.

  "It's just so sad."

  She covers her face with her hands, sobbing now. "She loved Bobby McGee so much!"

  Fucking hell.

  When I'm done with Henry, there won't be much left for Nicholas to kill.

  To keep myself from committing a capital offense, I volunteer, "I'll watch her, Your Highness. I'm on shift all night, and Prince Nicholas wanted to make sure I looked after Ellie."

  His eyes dart to me then back to Ellie.

  "I don't know . . ."

  Ellie raises her head, her crying jag finished for now, then stumbles up next to me and wraps herself around my arm--sighing against it, smelling it, practically humping it.

  "You can leave me with Logan, Henry. He's my hero."

  Henry cocks his head suspiciously. "Is that so?"

  "Totally." Ellie sighs, petting my arm. "My pretty, pissed-off guardian angel."

  Jesus Christ.

  The blond prince holds my eyes--judging my worth--the way men do. I don't look away; I don't blink. After a moment, Henry nods, smacks his palms on the arm of the sofa and hoists himself up.

  "Well, that's good enough for me."

  Ellie claps her hands.

  "Yay!"

  And almost falls into the fireplace.

  I guide her into an antique chair.

  Henry makes a show of bowing to Ellie, picking up her hand and kissing the back.

  She giggles. "Thank you for tonight."

  He drops down to his knee. "Did you have fun--the best time of your whole life? I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

  Ellie nods, all giddy and loose-limbed.

  "It was the very best! I love it here and you're going to be an awesome king."

  And a strange look falls over Henry's face. Sad, wistful. "You're a good-hearted girl, Ellie. You should leave this place as soon as you can."

  The next time he blinks, that jester's smile is back in place. Henry holds out his fist. "Welcome to the family, sweets."

  Ellie tries to fist-bump back . . . but misses and almost pops Henry right in the nose.

  Laughing, Henry holds Ellie's wrist and taps their fists
together.

  Then he stands, nods in my direction, loops his arm around the lady and strides out of the room.

  "Hey Logan?"

  "Yes?"

  "When's your birthday?"

  "June seventh."

  "Oh."

  "Hey Logan?"

  "Mmm?"

  "How old are you?"

  I answer without thinking. "Twenty-three."

  "Huh."

  It's been going this way for half an hour. Ellie sits on the paisley antique sofa, staring into the empty fireplace, with me beside her. I took her shoes off a while ago but she's made no move towards the bed. It's better for her to sit upright anyway.

  "Hey Logan?"

  "Aye?"

  "What's your favorite color?"

  "I don't have one."

  "Everyone has one."

  "Blue."

  "Light or dark blue?"

  Again, I answer without thought. "Light blue."

  Blearily, Ellie turns her head to me, her long lashes blinking slowly.

  "My eyes are light blue."

  My mind stutters for just a moment.

  "So they are."

  In the time I've known Ellie Hammond, been near her, I've tended to look everywhere but at her--that's the job. But at this moment, just a few inches away, there's nothing to see except her.

  And so, I look.

  Her neck is elegant, her shoulders straight and small-boned. Her skin is smooth and creamy, with a natural rosy flush to her cheeks. Her brows are fair and arched, her eyes round and deep-set--intelligent with a touch of mischievousness. And she has freckles . . . an adorable dusting of light freckles kissing the bridge of her dainty nose.

  "Hey Logan?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't feel so good."

  And there it is. I've been expecting this.

  "Yeah. Don't worry. As soon as you puke your stomach inside out, you'll be feeling loads better."

  Her petite features scrunch. "That doesn't sound like fun."

  "No."

  For a few moments, the only sound in the room is Ellie's quick, harsh breaths.

  And then, "Hey Logan?"

  "Yes?"

  "Where's the bathroom?"

  She covers her mouth and her whole body convulses in a heave. Quickly, I lift under her arms, helping her stand, and guide her to the loo. As she steps over the threshold, she lurches towards the open toilet, hands braced on the seat, and a deluge of rejected alcohol spews from her stomach.