Page 17 of A Girl and HER Prince
How could his father believe it possible to settle the disputes between the Myrdons and the loyalists by throwing him into the mix?
A burden Venice could hardly fathom, and Bris was so naïve, she thought she could actually make a difference. Achilles was guilty of that too—or were they only using each other’s impotence over their people’s fates as a club to batter each other over the head?
“Quit packing me on a guilt trip,” Bris told Achilles. “None of those dresses are mine. I have to give them right back to the designers after every shoot.”
Achilles flicked his thumb over the fashionable number she wore now. Her heavy makeup made it seem like she was getting ready for another photoshoot. “What’s that? That must’ve cost a pretty penny.”
She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “I can’t help it if designers want me to show off their brands.”
Venice broke through the bickering again: “What are you doing here, Bris?”
“Turner helped me aboard at Crete,” she said. “Just shows how observantyouare.”
“Don’t tell me,” Achilles said with a hard look. “You and the bodyguard have mended your many disagreements and he’s fled into your needy arms.”
She didn’t immediately answer, which meant they weren’t back together again. “It’s complicated,” she said.
“Why?” Achilles asked. “Because your father forbids you to mingle with commoners?”
“There’s nothing common about Turner!” Bris shouted. Achilles had found her buttons to push. “He’s nothing like those MeeMe models you and Venice try to date!”
“Why are you bringing me into this?” Venice cut in. “What did I do?”
Bris glared at him. “Whathaven’tyou done? That’s why you need me. Someone has to keep the devil at bay.” Her eyes sparked as they met Achilles’s again. Even the normally self-assured duke had enough self-preservation to wince under the fury his teasing had provoked.
No one, except Bris, managed to break through the duke’s charismatic charm to reveal the ravaging wolf beneath; and only Achilles seemed to have the Midas touch that broke through the ice princess’s cool reserve to reveal the infuriated, snapping dragon she was, and… yes, this useless bantering was getting out of hand!
“I can watch out for myself,” Venice said.
After his run-in with Deedee, he was ravenous. Knowing the voice of reason was wasted on those two, he headed for the little kitchenette to cook up those hotdogs that Achilles had left behind earlier. His friend had thrown them in the frying pan and they still sat on the burner, waiting for someone to take charge.
“You’re getting off at the next port, Bris,” he told his sister. “It isn’t safe for you to be here without your bodyguards.”
“Don’t worry about me, I have Phil and Theo,” she announced haughtily.
He grimaced. Her intimidating bodyguards had a knack of hiding in the shadows only a scream away. They were just another thing he wanted off this ship. “Great,” Venice said. “Then take them with you and find a flight home.” There’d be plenty of flights out to London.
“Sure.” Bris didn’t move. “Because you’re doing such a fantastic job of making sure you don’t get into trouble. You already let Deedee storm yourimpenetrablefortress here. Mark my words—she’ll throw everything she’s got at you to ruin you.”
“We’ve got it handled,” Achilles grumbled, showing a united front with Venice, even though Bris was basically parroting his words from earlier. “We don’t needyouto make things worse.”
Venice had enough with the both of them. Shrugging his shoulders to ease the tenseness in his back and neck, he flipped the stove on.
An explosion knocked him across the room.
He fell over the couch, listening to the loud roar of a fire consume the stove on the other side of the furniture. Feeling like he was in a strange dream, he noticed Achilles jump over Bris, covering her body with his just as the sprinkler system hissed on, sending a waterfall over their heads, soaking them within seconds.
Venice choked for air, his breath knocked out of him. Time had slowed down and he could see, hear, feel every detail. His head ached!
As soon as his lungs gasped insomething, he could smell charred metal and—and hotdogs, was it? Hopefully that was just their food… and doubtfully. He blinked over at Achilles, who still held onto his sister.
Rolling onto his stomach, Venice stared at the charred stovetop. Was that all the damage? The fireball that had thrown him across the room must’ve snuffed itself out. He’d been very, very lucky… or unlucky. His eyes went to Achilles, who’d been the last to use the stove. Had he just turned on the gas and never ignited the stove when Venice told him to quit cooking?
Or was this worse?
Could this be the Myrdons?
The door flew open and Turner stormed into the room, followed by the rest of their security, including Bris’s beefy bodyguards. Their hands ran over Venice as he tried to figure out what was happening. “You okay?” Turner asked.
