Her father swatted away her concerns. “The outcome would have been the same.”
Nyssa clasped her hands together under the table, feeling small and knowing her voice was even smaller. “I’m ready to come home now.”
Father shook his head. “You cannot. Prince Marius extended his visit to America to spend time with you.”
“I’d forgotten.” Prince Marius of Riodan. Their neighbor and closest ally—an island and country they could count on for help, if Father would ever ask for it. She had already lost the help of the American government; she could not afford to alienate the prince as well. She had to see him.
A storm cloud passed through her thoughts. She needed to do more than see him; she needed to secure his affection. Not falsely. An honest effort to get to know Marius, to make him a friend, and to openly evaluate the possibility of a courtship would be her course.
Perhaps … perhaps with time she could put the memory of Tatum’s kisses away and take her place as a princess of both Zimrada and Riodan. She closed the lid on the box of chocolate turtles, leaving the rest uneaten, un-enjoyed like her relationship with Tatum.
“Very well. I will be ready,” she replied.
Chapter Sixteen
Tatum adjusted his tie. Private security work was an interesting vocation. One day he dressed as a Bedouin, and another he looked like he was ready to hostJeopardy!Wearing a charcoal-gray suit, a white shirt, a black tie, and sporting a freshly shaven face, he would blend in with the other security details working the exclusive restaurant.
Caroline’s catered to the wealthy who desired privacy with separate dining rooms. Heavy wooden doors that locked from the inside allowed the rooms to be secured from the inside.
Tatum both liked and hated the idea. He liked that he could lock someone out, but hated the idea of being trapped. Earlier that day, a staff member had given him the rundown on emergency exits, procedures, and noted his sidearm in the log. The guy didn’t ask if he had other weapons, and he didn’t volunteer the information. Packing more iron than the other guy knew about was never a bad idea.
After the tour of the location, Tatum rode in the limo to pick up the prince. He wasn’t staying at the same hotel as the princess, and for a moment Tatum was disappointed. Even a glimpse of Neese would hold him over until he could find her on her home turf.
Execute the plan.
As far as princes went, Prince Marius from Riodan wasn’t too bad. He went over his plans with the princess of Zimrada for the evening with Tatum. Nothing spectacular. A quiet dinner of seven courses. Nothing that would sweep the princess off her feet.
Tatum was thrilled, though. He would finally meet the princess. Well, probably not meet her, as security personnel were supposed to blend in with the drapes. If all went well tonight, she would remember his services to her neighboring country when he and Nelson gave their presentation to the royal family.
Marius fidgeted with his cufflinks. He caught Tatum watching him out of the corner of his eye. “I am sorry. I did not think I would be nervous tonight. I have known this woman since she was three.” He wiped at the moisture accumulating on his forehead. The interior of the vehicle held steady at sixty-eight degrees. The guy was stressing out.
It wasn’t Tatum’s place to offer dating advice to a prince. Yet he couldn’t help but feel for him. Six months ago, he would have offered a noncommittal grunt and let him sweat it out. “Women aren’t intimidating when they are three. It’s when they grow into women that they scare the tar out of us.” Tatum glanced towards the prince and then checked traffic behind them for any sign of a tail.
The prince laughed. “I’m not sure how I feel about a bodyguard who is intimidated by a beautiful woman.”
Tatum allowed himself a smile. “You didn’t say she was beautiful.”
“I did not know how beautiful she was until I caught a glimpse of her at the ball the other night.”
“Ah,” was all Tatum could say. He understood what the prince was saying, and yet he wondered what took the man so long to figure things out. Perhaps he’d been blinded by her advisor. Neese had ducked away from Marius pretty quickly—much to Tatum’s benefit. He doubted the prince knew the part he played removing Neese from the ball. That was probably for the best. And since the prince was now interested in the princess, everything had worked out for the best.
Tatum asked the driver to take them to the side door of the building. He’d arranged to have a host meet them there instead of at the front. Sometimes, a simple change could foil an assassin’s first attempt. Tatum liked his chances inside the private dining room much better than on the street.
The host showed them to their dining room. Soft music played over speakers strategically hidden in the walls. Classical tunes meant to soothe and create a feeling of romance floated through the air and were absorbed by the heavy red and gold drapes along the south and west walls. A circular table with two chairs took the middle of the room.
A server stood next to a small bar, his hands behind his back and his tux tails brushing the backs of his knees. He had dark skin and darker eyes, hooded by a heavy brow. Tatum looked long enough to commit his face to memory and then continued to inspect the room. He checked behind the curtains and found nothing but cream-colored walls. Several palms filled two corners of the room and he checked them too, finding nothing. His gaze finally lifted to the crystal chandelier dangling above the table.
The prince paced the room, tugging on his lower lip.
At five minutes to seven, Tatum was in position against the wall near the door, his face trained into a neutral expression. No matter what happened between the prince and his date, Tatum would remain as impassive as a statue. It wasn’t his job to pass judgment on his clients’ love lives, and he’d stepped well out of his role with his earlier comment. His hand hung at his side, ready to grab any one of the knives tucked into hidden places on his person or the gun that wasn’t as hidden in the shoulder holster.
He also wore a bulletproof vest.
When he’d first put it on, it weighed more than he remembered. Not that the six-pound vest had gained weight. Logically, it weighed the same. Though this vest was new because his old one had a giant bloodstain on it.
He’d worn protective gear through dust storms and heat waves and pelting rain and while forging rivers. The weeks away from active duty had made him soft. That’s what his buddies would call it—soft. Tatum didn’t exactly see the changes that way. Was he softer because his thoughts centered around a beautiful woman? Was he softer for wanting to be the reason she smiled in the early morning light? He ran his hand down his face, knowing he’d just answered his own questions.
He’d gone soft.
