“Father,” I gasp, appalled he would cut Jackson so low. “That is unbelievably rude.”
“He will never have my blessing to marry you,” my father snaps at me. “Never.”
“I don’t want your fucking blessing,” Jackson says quietly, but his words pack a punch. I gasp at his own level of rudeness. My father turns to face him, and Jackson stands with his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “And I have no intention now or ever to ask for her hand in marriage, so you can get off your high horse, Your Majesty.”
Damn, that hurt. I know it’s true and I know the reasons why, and he’s not wrong.
But goddamn, that hurt.
He laid it out succinctly so my father can stop his blustering. I take my father by the arm and lead him toward the door. “You have nothing to worry about. This is casual, and Jackson and I have agreed to go our separate ways. We agreed to that from the beginning.”
“Of course he’d say that,” my father grouses as I open the door. “You can’t trust anything he says or does. He only wants one thing and—”
“Sex, Your Majesty,” Jackson calls out, and I cringe. “It’s sex. Not the throne.”
Grimacing, I push my father harder out the door as he curses over Jackson’s last words. They were totally unwarranted and only meant to provoke.
“Father,” I say sharply, getting his attention. “Leave this alone. I’m begging you. This is something I’m doing for myself, so let me have it. After we take care of this assassin, Jackson will be gone, and I’ll start working on finding a husband. I promise.”
That mollifies him. He deflates, and the fight goes out of his eyes.
Holding the velvet box for me to see, he says, “I’ll give this to you later.”
“Okay,” I murmur, pinching the bridge of my nose. A headache is brewing.
When my father leaves, followed by four agents, I turn back into the room and close the door. Leaning against it, I take in Jackson as he rifles through the suitcase he’d left open and on the floor on his side of the bed. He pulls out some clothes and straightens, bringing his eyes to me.
I manage an awkward smile. “That was… well, awful.”
The laugh that comes out of him isn’t one of amusement. It’s cold and flat. “It’s fine. I’m glad he reminded me of my place.”
“Jackson,” I chide, refusing to believe he’d take my father seriously.
I step toward him, but he turns away, marching into the bathroom. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today to get everything set for the party. Going to take a quick shower and head out.”
“But… but… who will watch me?” I ask.
“I’ll have Paul cover. You’ll be fine.” His words are dismissive as he disappears into the bathroom.
My heart is heavy as I move back to the bed, sitting on the edge. Because that was the beginning of the very end of us.
CHAPTER 23
Jackson
Camille once said that this party would be a ridiculous spectacle, and she wasn’t joking. Originally, the plans were to use a combination of indoor and outdoor space on the palace grounds where party guests could spread out.
Dmitri and I nixed that plan, knowing there would be too much vulnerability having guests outside. The palace grounds are immense, and while they’ve been sealed off as effectively as possible, it doesn’t mean someone can’t get in. It could be that someone is already on the premises and has been bought by the lure of a lot of fucking money. It would only take a well-executed smuggling plan to bring in a high-powered, long-range rifle, and someone could set themselves up in a treetop with a clear line of sight to put a bullet through either Thomas’s or Camille’s head.
No way is this party going to be held outdoors.
There is a mass scramble, and a lot of grumbling, to figure out logistics. But for fuck’s sake, this palace has thousands and thousands of square feet, so it can’t be that damn hard to pull three rooms together to fit the exclusive guest list of almost two hundred people.
After the debacle this morning with King Thomas bursting into Camille’s room, I’ve thrown myself into ensuring security protocols are enacted with the utmost precision and dedication. All off-site personnel and contractors coming onto the palace grounds from the outside—florists, caterers, and such—are subject to random searches and have to agree to the same in writing. Those are being carried out now and will continue, even through the party.
Explosives-detecting dogs have been over every inch of the palace, and more agents are going room by room searching for weapons that could’ve been smuggled in or hidden. I’ve spent hours today moving about the palace, talking to the security personnel, conducting my own random searches, and testing out the metal detectors to ensure they’re working properly. I’ve done this over and over again, not because I’m afraid somebody has missed something but because I don’t want to see or deal with Camille after what happened in her room this morning.