Page 28 of Some Like It Scandalous (Going Royal #2)
The older man looked uneasy, his mouth compressed, his jaw tightened, and he smoothed his tie—a nervous habit he repeated twice since Armand had sat down. “Were you aware of Prince George’s visit to Belaria last year?”
Armand knew his brother’s itineraries. They were always filed with his office, Gretchen kept updates in the calendar so he knew what country and time zones his brothers were in.
“This is related to his work with the Pulshkyn Party?” For all of George’s jet-setting ways, he did occasionally become passionate about a cause.
The Pulshkyn Party in Belaria was a small political movement seeking to preserve Belaria’s cultural and environmental heritage—and stop foreign companies from plundering them.
“Washington thinks so.” The agent flipped the file to another page.
“During his time in Belaria, the prince attended a dozen rallies, thirty-two coffee meetings, and donated in excess of one million dollars to the Pulshkyn Party’s movement.
He was photographed with Bogdan Zhabin, the head of that movement. ”
George’s growing notoriety in the region was the primary reason Armand ordered him to leave Belaria. They couldn’t afford the press coverage or the backlash—particularly the two bombings of Andraste factories on the border.
“Sir, in the last six months, the Pulshkyn platform and rallying cry has become a return to their roots—to their monarchy. They want to put you back on a throne.”
Rumors had filtered through the reports about that wrinkle—rumors Peterson confirmed the day before.
Armand had instructed his executives and agents to play it down—particularly since he had no intentions of accepting a throne his great-grandfather was deposed from.
“Yes, I am aware. These movements crop up from time to time in the destabilized areas of the former Soviet Union. It will pass.”
“That’s the rub, sir. Our analysts don’t see it passing anytime soon.
At nearly every appearance of the Kachusov family in the last six weeks, Pulshkyn supporters have picketed and staged demonstrations—and the banner they are using features you.
” As if he’d been waiting for this moment, the agent gestured to the television and a series of images played out.
The demonstrations seemed to begin peaceful, but always ended in violence.
Armand’s face plastered to banners. The Russian placards read “Long Live Andraste,” “Bring the Andraste Home,” and even more disturbingly, “Belaria Needs Her Czar.”
“Then the threats are directly related to this.” It didn’t take a genius to put it together.
It also explained the threat to Anna. A bachelor grand duke offered an ideal—a royal couple could be a dream, particularly if it promised issue and security for the royal line.
He should never have forced that meeting with her.
If not for his own need to see her again, she would be safe.
“Would you please make sure my security director Peterson receives a copy of this—particularly the photograph of Markov?”
“Of course. Sir, if you don’t mind the suggestion—I think you should keep a lower profile for a bit, perhaps take a vacation of your own far away from the limelight?—”
Armand rose and shook the agent’s hand. “Thank you for your concern. We have dealt with threats like this before and no doubt will again.”
No, if anything, he needed to raise his profile.
Draw the attention to himself—take the spotlights off Anna, George, and Sebastian.
So far none of the threats seemed aimed at his mother, but he would increase her security nonetheless.
The agent offered to walk him out—however, Armand’s security detail was large enough they’d parked in the subbasement beneath the FBI’s office.
In the car, he made a few phone calls—including one to verify Anna was still safely tucked away in the Petersburg Tower.
“Country club, sir?”
“Yes. Call Mr. Prentiss and let him know we will meet him there.” Armand dialed his secretary.
“Gretchen, good morning. Would you put a phone call in to Nikole’s agent, Valeria’s, and Zoey’s as well.
I would like all three in attendance next week.
Yes, I received the memo that our launch had been delayed.
Take care of any expenses with flying the ladies in—they can stay in our suites at the Beverly Wilshire. Very good.”
He rang off and stared at his phone. Anna’s number was the third on the list. She wouldn’t care for the changes to the scholarship fund launch, but the renovations at the concert hall and security concerns required a few extra days.
Time enough for him to remove her as a target.
Richard caught the ball on the rebound and sent it slamming toward the wall.
Armand pivoted and nailed it with a backswing.
They played silently, only the sound of the ball thwacking off their rackets or rebounding off the wall filling the court.
He shut off all the distractions—the security standing around the court, placed in obvious positions with their black-suited backs to him.
He closed down the niggling desire to call his security to check on Anna, or better still, call Anna himself.
He shut it all off. Sweat soaked through his shirt and stung at his eyes. His lungs burned as he twisted, turned and caught every volley Richard lobbed. But it all halted when Richard missed his swing and the ball bounced off the safety glass behind him.
“Two-one.” Richard tucked his racket under an arm and walked over to claim the water bottles from the wall holder. He tossed one to Armand underhanded and unscrewed the other to drink. “So, how did it go last night?”
Armand took his time draining the bottle. “It was fine. Another game?”
The attorney stared at him. “Fine? You stalk the woman? You talked about her for years and then conspicuously avoided any mention of her for longer? Then you demand she meets with you and move her into the penthouse? And it was fine? ”
Bouncing the ball once, Armand pointedly took aim and sent the ball at the wall. Richard barely caught it and drove it back. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Playing.” He smacked it hard and sent it up and flinging back. Richard jerked hard to the left and smacked it on the rebound.
“That woman had more on her mind than just talking—what happened?” Like a bulldog with a bone, Richard wouldn’t let it go.
“We talked about her leaving.” Armand nearly missed and his hamstring burned as he overcompensated.
Flexing his toes inside the shoe, he and Richard danced side to side, slicing, cutting and backhanding the ball.
Every hard slap of the ball to his racket loosened the landslide of tension sitting on his chest.
“Couldn’t have been easy.”
“It wasn’t.” He’d thought it would be—hashing it out, hearing it from her exactly why she left him all those years ago.
But that scar turned out to be hiding a bloody, festering wound.
He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to keep her close, make up for all that lost time, and he never wanted to see her again—because if she wasn’t with him, she wasn’t in danger.
The conflict oozed through him like a cancer, eating away at his good judgment and common sense.
However, Richard didn’t seem satisfied. “And?”
“And nothing.” Armand’s turn to miss the ball, he swore and paced around in a circle trying to catch his breath.
“Yeah, I see your nothing and call bullshit. What happened?” Richard picked up the ball and held it hostage while he took another drink.
“It’s not important.” He dismissed the whole matter with a wave of his hand.
Richard snorted. “You know, I can stand in front of the press all day and spin the ‘they’re just good friends’ line all you want—in fact I just did. But you’re not fooling me.”
“Let’s play.” He didn’t want to discuss it, not even with Richard.
“Yeah, okay—we can play when you stop playing aloof prince.” His oldest friend bounced the ball once, then twice, but didn’t serve. “Talk to me.”
“It doesn’t matter, Richard. In a few days, we’ll have the situation sorted out and she will go back to her life and I will go back to mine.
” Perhaps a ski trip—or a cabin on top of an icy remote mountain—as far from sunshine, California and Anna as he could.
It would take some time to get her out of his system again, but he’d managed it once.
“Man, what are you doing?” Richard rarely fell back on slang unless he was genuinely concerned.
“I am fixing what I shouldn’t have broken.” Armand eased the pressure on his hamstring and stretched.
“So, what happened? She tell you no?”
“No.” Armand shook his head and walked over to claim another bottle of water. “She said she loved me.”
“That’s great.” Richard patted him on the back but halted when Armand gave him a baleful look. “Well, isn’t it?”
“No. Anna isn’t cut out for this life—for the responsibilities and requirements.
She certainly doesn’t need to be in the line of fire.
Like I said, in a few days, we’ll have it sorted out and we can all go back to our lives.
” He snatched the ball out of Richard’s hand and set the water bottle down. “That will be the end of that chapter.”
“You love her.” Richard’s words cut through Armand and he missed his serve.
“Damn it.” He blew out a breath.
“Yeah, you definitely love her. You don’t curse. You never miss a serve.” Richard caught the ball and bounced it against the ground, catching it. “So…what happened?”
“I love her more than my own life, but I don’t trust her.” He stared at his best friend. “She has one foot out the door. She hasn’t wanted to be here from the beginning—and if I hadn’t been an ass, she wouldn’t still be there now. And she needs to be out the door. It’s safer for her.”