“Leave it where it is.” Pedro reaches into the pocket of his shirt and pulls out a small, sleek device about the size of a portable speaker. “This is a white noise generator. Use it if you need to have a confidential conversation.”
“How does it work?”
Pedro gestures for me to hold the device up. “Turn it on like this and position it near the bug. It emits a frequency that makes the audio feed sound like ambient noise to whoever is listening on the other end.”
“Understood.”
“Don’t use it all the time. Be strategic.”
I nod slowly, absorbing his instructions. “Anything else?”
“Stay sharp, Antoine. Even if you don’t find any bugs, be careful what you say when you ask Laura about the music box.”
“Will do.” I turn to leave.
“One last thing,” Pedro adds. “Don’t be tempted to cue Laura in or let her figure things out on her own.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Isn’t honesty the best policy?”
He begins to explain why not in this case, but I interrupt him. “Just kidding. I understand.”
“I know you do.”
“One last thing,” I parrot him, pinching the lapels of my garish shirt. “Do Ireallyhave to dress like this all the time?”
“You’re a bohemian, remember? That’s what Laura likes.”
Grimacing, I release the fabric. “Right.”
“Grin and bear it, my lord,” he says. “Your country is counting on you.”
“I know, and I’m OK with risking my life for Mount Evor if I have to. But…”
“What?” His mouth thins.
I pinch a strand of my hair. “The gel has to go. Rubbing slimy gunk into my hair every morning is more than I’d bargained for.”
“All right,” he yields. “But only the gel.”
As I head back to the suite, my mind is already working out how to scan the room without alerting my young “wife.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LAURA
The terrace is perfect tonight. A soft breeze carries the salt from the sea. The sound of distant waves fills the pauses between our awkward silences, and the rosé is cool enough to forgive the TV crew lingering a few feet away. Antoine is back in the suite after his urgent family call. It wasn’t anything serious, he assured me. His brother simply needed some business-related advice, and he needed it now.
I take another sip of wine from my glass. If I drink fast enough, maybe I’ll forget the camera lens that’s trained on me. The glamorous evening dress I’m still wearing is tight, but not so tight as to give me heartburn. My feet, on the other hand, aredone. My stiletto sandals feel like medieval torture devices.
“Do you mind?” I ask Antoine.
Even if he does, I don’t care. I’m already reaching for my heels.
“Do what you need to,” he says.
I yank the sandals off with a groan. “Sweet relief!” I drop them to the floor and stretch my toes.
Antoine gives me a sidelong look—amused, I’d say?—before turning his gaze back to the horizon.
