CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It’s Saturday morning, the last full day of the retreat. I’m in the park, dialing Adam Von Dietz on the secure line, my fingers crossed that it’s as secure as they claim. When he picks up, a flurry of butterflies takes flight in my stomach.
“Hello, Adam, I have an idea,” I begin, trying to sound confident.
“I was about to call you, Your Highness,” he interjects.
Whatever for?
I carry on, “What if I stayed here a bit longer, like a week or a few days? We could use a decoy to make it seem like I’ve left. Audrey can leave with the decoy to make it more convincing.”
Silence on the other end.
“I assure you, I’ll be perfectly safe here,” I hasten to add.
More silence. I imagine Adam weighing my words.
“Your Highness,” he begins, “Under normal circumstances, I would’ve considered your idea.”
“What’s abnormal with our current circumstances?”
“I received a report early this morning that changes everything.”
My heart sinks. “A report? What kind of report?”
“There have been suspicious movements on Kurt Ozzi’s side,” he reveals. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any solid evidence such as photographs or recordings. But the indirect signs are alarming enough to recommend that you and Audrey return as soon as the retreat is officially over.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Oh dear, I was so not prepared for this!“But Adam, the threat may not be a serious one at all, right? Since you don’t have any solid evidence?”
“That’s right, Your Highness. But the risk isn’t negligible.”
“I’m an adult, I can handle some risk!”
His response is firm, unwavering. “You aren’t just any adult, Your Highness. You’re a royal. Your safety is a matter of national security.”
I begin to protest but he throws a sucker punch, “I’m sure Prince Richard will concur once I share this report with him.”
Of course, they will.I bite my lip in frustration.You win.
“Fine,” I say, “but can I at least stay until Monday morning?”
Adam hesitates, but then concedes. “All right, we’ll pick you up Monday morning. But, please, be cautious. We can’t take any chances.”
“Yes, Adam, I understand,” I say with a mix of relief and disappointment. “Thank you.”
As I hang up, I decide that I hate being a princess. If only I were a nobody, an ordinary person without all those strings attached to her status!
But it is what it is.Plans change, and sometimes not in the way we hope. I still have one and a half days here, and I sure as hell intend to make the most of it.
Determination hardening my face, I beckon to Audrey and relay my conversation with Adam. We make a new plan and implement it without delay. First, I clue Henri in. Then, Itell my fellow travel bloggers a lie, that based on a blog post about Florence we’d coauthored a few months ago, Audrey and I received an offer to write an article for a major women’s magazine. The deadline is Monday, so we have no choice but to spend today and tomorrow away from the group, expanding and editing our piece as instructed by the magazine.
With everybody’s blessing and cheers, Audrey and I rush to the château’s library, where Henri has laid out binders and books for us to read. His late grandmother became interested in genealogy, as many people do in their old age—in particular, people with illustrious ancestries. She painstakingly assembled all sorts of documentation related to the de Bellays’ history, going back as far as Fat Amalric. That documentation trove is where we’ll start.
As Audrey and I step into the library, Henri is already there. He motions to the big desk in the center, covered in binders, folders, albums, and books. Despite the open window, the air is thick with the scent of old paper and leather—of history.
