Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
She and I chatted about the things I’ve seen in London the last few days, and she sighs with pleasure. She traveled a lot with Dad when he was active duty and always loved exploring new countries, but they haven’t been able to do that in a long time. My dad had a heart attack about five years ago, and both of them are living a rather sedate lifestyle these days. They have a large piece of property outside Arlington where Mom raises chickens and Dad putters on an old car now and then. It’s actually the retirement they’d dreamed of, but I know Mom would love to travel again. Maybe I’ll take some vacation time and surprise her with a trip somewhere.
The call was great, but just as we were wrapping up, I heard my dad yell in the background, his gruff voice booming. “Ask Jack how the babysitting job is going?”
He then erupted into guffaws, and I had to grit my teeth to not say something assholish, which wouldn’t have been cool because it would’ve been my mom who got the brunt of it. Her tone was apologetic as she murmured, “Don’t listen to him. I know he thinks he’s funny, but you and I know he’s not.”
While my mom generally chooses not to get between me and my father, she doesn’t agree with him about the flack he gives me around my choice to leave the navy. She also knows my dad isn’t saying what he does to be funny, but rather as a backhanded jab. I pushed down my anger, told her not to worry about it, and we said our farewells.
My eyes skim the dance floor where Camille stands with a group of women, including the bride, gearing up to dance to the next song. Apparently at a wedding such as this, everyone brings two outfits: one for the nuptials—a classic British dress with a fancy hat and winter overcoat—and one for the reception, just two shades away from nightclub attire. When we returned to the hotel after the ceremony, Camille went up to her room and changed.
She came out in a dress that nearly had me swallowing my tongue. It was strapless, formfitting, and rose high above the knee. The champagne color worked fantastically with her golden skin acquired from the sun over the Coral Sea. Her strappy sandals were the same color, and I was worried about her ability to walk in them given that the peg on the heel was so thin and delicate looking. So far, though, they’ve held up under her dancing as if made from steel.
Camille’s hair, which had been up in an elegant twist, now hangs in loose, wild waves around her bare shoulders. Ladd, Cruce, and Dozer teased me mercilessly about how hot the princess is and how much of a chore it would be to watch someone who looked like that, but she transcends being hot tonight.
She’s truly stunning.
And while I still work hard to maintain a reserved distance because she is my ward to protect, I don’t feel an ounce of guilt for appreciating what I’m looking at right now.
I instantly go on alert as I watch “The Creep” circle the edge of the dance floor. I’ve had my eye on him all night. This guy, who Paul advised is actually high up in the British royal lineage, has hit on Camille a few times tonight. At first, it was just conversation, but as the alcohol flowed and he outdrank her, whenever he’s approached, he’s a little too close, his smile is a little too big, and he leans in a little too suggestively.
As his behavior worsened, there came a time I thought he was crossing a line, so I started to walk that way to tell him to back off before I made him back off. I was stopped by Paul’s voice through my ear mic, crackling from a shoddy frequency, but I understood him clearly. “Let her handle it. She’s capable.”
I stopped in my tracks and watched.
And sure enough, Camille adeptly put distance between her and The Creep by saying something that I could tell was meant to be polite but was also designed to cut him off. She then pretended to notice somebody over his shoulder who was calling her. No one was there, of course, and I couldn’t hear what she said, but it was clear she was excusing herself from the conversation and without any doubt it was over. She smoothly walked away, and I was proud of her.
Since then, I’ve kept my eye on him. He’s tried a few more times to weasel into her space, but she’s usually surrounded by people, so it’s been difficult for him to grab too much of her attention. If he does, she’s talked her way out of his presence each time.