Take the Key and Lock Her Up (Embassy Row #3)(20)

Paris really is a beautiful city. Maybe someday Jamie and I can come here together. Someday when he is healthy and strong and we’re both safe. He’d like it, I think. The history, the food. Jamie likes everything. He is always able to see the good. Even in me. And that is maybe his only weakness.

“If you will look to our left,” the guide says, “we have turned onto a street where you might find your own countries, but here, in the heart of Paris. Many call it Embassy Row.”

I turn my head and watch the buildings streak by, but I don’t try to recognize the flags, read the signs. I’ve only had a croissant to eat, and the cup of coffee that I forced down an hour ago rebels inside my stomach. I want to be sick. But I’m surrounded by people taking pictures and smiling and enjoying the cool air and warm sun. I’m in one of the world’s most beautiful cities, but I’m not lucky. When we pass the Eiffel Tower, I don’t even see it.

The bus is almost at a bridge. We’re slowing down. Some people will hop off here, I know. Others will hop on. Tourists will make this loop all day around the city. My ticket is good for twenty-four hours, but I have to get off. I can’t stay here, sit here. Wait. I’m through waiting.

I have someone to meet.

So I bolt out of my seat and down the twisty stairs. The bus is just starting to move again when I jump, landing on the sidewalk.

There’s an intricate railing along the bridge. Tourists and lovers lean against it, looking down at the river below. It really is a beautiful day, I have to admit. The wind blows through my hair, a slight chill to the breeze, but I feel cozy inside my new cheesy sweatshirt.

Maybe that’s why, when I hear the voice, I don’t immediately turn. It’s like I’m hearing it in a dream.

“Grace?” the voice comes again, and that’s when I know it’s true. But even so, I’m not quite sure it’s her.

It has to be, though. This is the time. The place. So I force myself to look beyond the plain denim jeans and sensible shoes—the lightweight trench coat she wears belted around her tiny waist. She’s in a ball cap and dark glasses. No makeup. And still people look. Some even stare. No matter what, she is an absolutely beautiful woman.

Right now, she looks like a movie star, but even I don’t really think she looks like a princess. Ann’s one of the most recognizable women in the world, and yet no one here seems to recognize her. It just goes to show how people always see what they want to.

After all, who would expect Princess Ann of Adria to be standing on a sidewalk in Paris, absolutely alone? It’s what I asked, but even I didn’t think she could do it—would do it. But she was my mother’s best friend. And now she’s one of the few people in the world who I might bring myself to trust.

“Are you … ?”

I look up and down the sidewalk, eager and afraid.

“It’s safe, Grace.” She takes a step toward me, then stops, as if she’s afraid to move too fast, as if she already knows how far and how fast I will run if given any excuse.

“I’m alone,” the princess says, but I’ve already seen them, the two men who linger at the end of the bridge. I spin and spy two more on the opposite side. I turn on Ann, glaring.

“I’m as alone as I can be,” she clarifies. “I have men with me, it’s true. They are my personal guards, Grace. They’re Dominic’s men. He trained them. He trusts them. I literally trust them with my life. Please let me trust them with yours.” I wait a minute. Silence. “There’s no way I could come alone. It was bring them or not come. So I brought them. I thought it would be okay to bring them.”

She seems so sincere, so sad and so … scared. She’s one of the most important people in Europe and she’s afraid, I can tell. At least I’m not the only one.

“Trust is harder than it used to be,” I say, and Princess Ann slips closer.

“And it never was easy. Was it, sweetheart?”

My mom used to call me sweetheart. Ann doesn’t have the right, but I can’t say so. When I brush away a tear I didn’t know I’d cried, I’m just surprised that I still can.

“Grace.” She’s closer than I realized. She’s almost touching me. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

I shake my head and take a step back. “I’m okay,” I say, bristling. I need to make myself as small as possible. Even here. Even now. I vow to never be a full-sized target ever again.

“Grace,” she snaps, pulling me back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” I tell her. It’s like she’s asking me if I’m sure I don’t have any homework. But no one ever asks me that. Ever. They’re too busy inquiring if I might need any more stitches.

“I’m fine,” I say again, but Princess Ann doesn’t look like she believes me. Maybe my bathroom hairstyle isn’t quite as convincing as it seemed at the time.

“And Jamie?” the princess asks. “Where is he?”

She looks up and down the length of the bridge. She scans the river’s banks.

“He’s not here,” I say, and I can see she’s honestly surprised and … something else. Disappointed?

“Then where is he?” she asks.

“Not here,” I say again, as if that really should be answer enough.