My body shakes with laughter. “Let’s hope so.”
A few moments later, a knock sounds at the door. I stand, fully intending to answer it, but Bruce is quicker and beats me to the punch. The door swings open to reveal a suit-clad man and woman.
Pushing aside my weariness, I plaster a smile on my face and wave. Despite my not wanting them here, I’d still like to make a good first impression. “Cheers, and welcome. I’m Alice, it’s nice to meet you both. Please, come in.”
They enter the room, and Bruce closes the door behind them. Both appear to be in their early- to mid-twenties and carry themselves with a sense of overconfidence, an important quality to have as a protection officer.
The woman curtsies, and the man bows. I wonder how long it’s going to take for me to train them to ignore proper protocols around me when we’re in private. I’ve tried hard with Bruce, and have succeededfor the most part, but I’ve never been able to break him from the habit of calling me ma’am, Princess, or Your Highness.
“Ma’am,” the woman says, “I’m Angela.” She flashes me a cheeky grin.
Angela is even in height as me at about five four. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses is perched on the bridge of her nose. It works well with her strong jawline. Her curly dark-brown hair has been secured into a tight, low bun. The creases of her suit are pressed to perfection.
We shake hands. It’s firm, just like Papa’s. “Ex-military?” I wager a guess.
“Yes, ma’am. RAF.” She lights up and tucks her arms behind her back, just as a military officer might when they’re standing at ease.
“Thank you for your service. I’m lucky to have you with me.” Before I can stop myself, I ask the cliche question, “Were you a pilot?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m fully qualified to fly the C-17 Globemaster and the Atlas C-1.” She studies my clueless face and quickly clarifies, “They’re both transport planes.”
“Wow,” I murmur. My respect for her has just gone up tenfold. I know from Papa that the pool of female aviators is small. Angela has probably had to work hard her entire career to prove herself in a field that’s historically been dominated by men. In this, we’re alike. I want to become a structural engineer, another field where there aren’t many women. “I hope the transition from the air to the ground has gone smoothly.”
“Yes, ma’am, it has. I can handle anything that’s thrown my direction.”
My gaze travels to the man. “Ma’am. I’m Arthur,” he says.
He has light-brown hair and hazel eyes. While he’s not overly tall, about five eight, his shoulders are broad. His three-piece suit is immaculately cut and contours perfectly to his body, leaving little doubt in my mind about the powerful physique that’s hiding underneath it all. I stare for a moment longer than necessary, then quickly return his handshake. It’s short and to the point. There’s no smile or flicker of any emotion. He’s already an expert at donning a mask.
“A pleasure.” My voice comes out slightly higher than normal. Iclear my throat and gesture to the couch, willing myself to focus. “Are you ex-military too?”
“No, ma’am.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“All right, then, please, have a seat. I’d love to spend a few minutes getting to know each of you a little better.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Angela nods.
Arthur remains quiet, but wordlessly follows her lead and sits across from me. His eyes appraise me as if he’s assessing my worth. It’s as if something icy cold is passing through my spine. Despite what the public may think, I don’t appreciate being stared at. It’s the reason I avoid being photographed and appearing in public as much as humanly possible.
“Bruce Martins is the current head of my detail. Er . . .” I search the room for him. He’s stepped out of earshot and is on the mobile in the far corner near my dog Lillian. “I’m sure he’ll join us shortly, then I’ll be able to properly introduce you to him.”
“We’ve met,” Arthur says, crossing his arms and clenching his jaw.
That’s curious. Bruce said he hadn’t met the new team members. I study Arthur a little closer and have to wonder, does he not like Bruce? Everyone loves him. How could they not? He’s the epitome of what a gentleman should be. He always keeps his calm and has never said a cross or ill word about anyone. At least that I’m aware of.
My eyebrows twitch. The interest I had in this man a few moments ago has suddenly evaporated, replaced with a bitter taste in my mouth.Arthur, you are not creating a very good impression with me.
“You might have, I haven’t.” Angela pats his arm and crosses her legs. “I’d love to meet him when we’re able.”
“Brilliant. In the meantime, please help yourself to tea.”
“Don’t mind if we do.” Angela arches her eyebrow at Arthur and nods to the tea. He sighs, then finally relents, pouring himself a cup and ignoring the food offerings. Angela, on the other hand, helps herself to a few finger sandwiches and a mini fruit scone.
Three
The only reason I’m able to stop myself from ripping the hair off my head in frustration at Arthur’s one-word answers is because I’ve been trained since birth to be a proper hostess. No matter what tactic I employ, the man is like a robot who’s only capable of saying “yes, ma’am” or “no, ma’am.” Any time I ask an open-ended question, Angela jumps in and answers on his behalf. It’s exhausting, and I don’t think my tired brain can stand it much longer.
Our conversation so far has gone something like this:
