I walk first into my dad’s room and immediately note he’s awake, propped up in bed and watching TV.
SportsCenter.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, and his head rolls on the pillow to swing my way.
He smiles wanly and his voice is gruff. “Your mom said you were coming.”
“You had a heart attack,” I say in a teasing tone. “Of course I was going to come.”
“You were working,” he grumbles, hitching himself up in the bed and giving me a pointed look. He doesn’t mince words. “You shouldn’t have left your post.”
You mean, I shouldn’t have left the military.
I sigh, because it’s Dad’s backhanded way of reminding me he thinks I made a grievous mistake and screwed up my life.
“It’s not a post in the civilian world,” I tell my father, not holding back the bite in my voice. “Our company makes accommodations for family emergencies.”
“Of course it does,” he says. I know he’s not feeling too bad because his tone is snide, and I can tell he’s itching for a fight.
I deflect. I don’t feel like getting into it with him. I nod toward Camille who has come in behind me and stands politely at the door, hands clasped before her. “Dad… this is Princess Camille.”
My dad’s gaze moves to her, and he smiles and nods politely, then looks back to me. “The babysitting job, right?”
I blow out an exasperated breath, but before I can shut him down, Camille steps forward so his attention goes back to her.
“On the contrary, Mr. Gale, I’m not what one might equate to a child needing someone to watch over them.”
My dad flushes at being called out by not only an absolute stranger but one who is royalty.
Camille’s tone is kind, but you can tell she’s going to make a point when she asks, “Did you know that the FBI and Interpol have a congregated list of the world’s highest-value targets? It includes those who are wanted criminally, as well as those who are at risk to be targeted by criminals.”
“I… um…,” my dad stammers.
She continues on without giving him the opportunity to decide if he knew this fact or not. “Did you know that on the top ten list, I’m number three, right behind the world’s two most wanted terrorists?”
“Um …”
I watch amazed as she moves to the side of his bed and smiles down at him. “Our royal house only accepts the absolute best in the world to have the privilege of serving on my security team. Your son was picked to be the number one man to guard me. And just to be clear, we pay far more than babysitting wages.”
It’s with conscious effort that I close my jaw, which was threatening to fall all the way open, because Camille just point-blank lied to my father. There’s no such list, although Camille is right… her father pays far more than babysitting wages to keep her safe.
Still, I can’t help but be satisfied as my dad apologizes. “No, of course not. I didn’t mean it like that, Your Highness.”
“Please, call me Camille,” she insists sweetly.
“Camille,” my father says with a nod. “I certainly didn’t mean any offense.”
Of course, he did. My father meant to offend me. He meant to poke at my life choices, but he didn’t expect to get poked back by a princess. His abrupt apology in the face of such impoliteness is actually his military experience coming back to him, as he was fairly high up and handled many a foreign dignitary.
“No offense taken,” Camille says, and then I’m stunned when she grabs the chair by the wall and drags it to my dad’s bedside. “Now, you must tell me all about your time in the navy. Jackson told me how you commanded a destroyer, and it sounds so exciting. Coming from a country that has no military, you simply must tell me all the details.”
My dad stares at her agog, and because I know him so well, I can see all over his face that he’s flattered by her attention but also fully aware he’s being handled in such a way that he has no choice but to go with the flow.
Camille glances at me and then nods pointedly at the other chair as if to say, Sit your butt down, Jackson, and let’s enjoy this visit.
I do as commanded by Her Royal Highness. I sit back and enjoy watching Camille handle my father for me.
I could fucking kiss her for this.
But I won’t.
For the next fifteen minutes, Camille and my dad chat like they’re old friends. My mom comes back in and I give her my chair. She shoots me a questioning look that says, “What the hell is going on?” I shrug in return.
We stay for another hour until my father yawns and my mom tries to shoo Camille and me out the door.