Page 58 of A Royal Disaster
“We’re taking a helicopter?” she asked, voice wavering. She’d never even been on a plane before and he wanted her to get in that tiny white death trap? Uh-uh. No way. So not happening. With her bad luck, she was the last person who should be riding in a helicopter. Just last year a chopper had nosedived into the Hudson after taking off from this very same location, and the pilot had died. It was all over the news. She would not be responsible for robbing Valeria of its next king. “Absolutely not.”
Liam chuckled and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. “I assure you it’s perfectly safe. Weather conditions are favorable and the pilot is very experienced.”
“Perfectly safe for you, maybe,” she said, shaking her head, “but did you forget who you’re traveling with?”
Jack snort-coughed in the front seat.
“How could I forget?” He winked at her, as if they were sharing a not-so-private joke. “Don’t worry. The service has an impeccable reputation, and Ethan’s done a thorough check of the maintenance logs. I rather think you’ll enjoy the experience if you give it a chance.”
“Assuming we don’t nosedive into the Hudson,” she muttered as the car rolled to a stop at the end of the pier where Ethan stood watch.
“That’s the spirit, love.”
Against her better judgment, she followed Liam’s lead as the bodyguards ushered them into the big white beast, indicating the pilots were already onboard and ready for takeoff. When they were seated inside the helicopter, she had to admit it was nothing like she’d imagined. Perhaps she’d been watching too much TV, because she’d been expecting crappy black jump seats and headsets and no doors. Instead she got buttery white leather, plush carpet, and wood trim.
“Feel better now?” Liam asked, quirking a brow as she took in the cabin’s opulent interior.
“I don’t know, do you think these seats double as a flotation device?” she asked, wrestling with her seatbelt.
“Here, let me get that,” Liam said, deeming her question rhetorical. Joke was on him; she was serious. He reached across her lap and secured the buckle with expert efficiency before tending to his own. It was just another reminder of how different their lives were.
But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, because at that moment the propeller whirred to life and the cabin began to vibrate. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she grabbed Liam’s hand with bone-crushing force, not giving a damn if she left a bruise.
Sweet Jesus. This is a bad idea.
They sat like that for a few minutes and Lena’s heart rate slowed, the melodicchuff-chuff-chuffof the rotor muted by the posh cabin. She was just starting to relax when the helicopter gently pitched backward, as if the front end had left the ground. Then they were floating up, up, up, and she was squeezing her eyes shut as Liam encouraged her to look out the window.
“I’m right here with you, love,” he said, his voice a balm to her frazzled nerves. “You should see your city from above. It’s beautiful.”
At his encouragement, Lena peeked through slitted lids and saw they were skirting along the coastline, the brilliant Manhattan skyline growing smaller with each passing second. Liam was right. Her city was beautiful from the air, and it was almost enough to ease her fear.
Almost.
She held tight to Liam’s hand for the rest of the ride, taking in the aerial view, enjoying the sunset, and hoping her visit to the capital wouldn’t end in disaster.
…
Pull it the fuck together.
It had been easier to focus on the chopper, with Lena’s anxiety demanding his full attention. Now that they were on the ground and the limo was speeding toward the Caridoso embassy, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing astride a house of cards.
One wrong move and the whole damn thing would come crashing down.
It had been a while since he’d played such a high-stakes game, and while he normally thrived on the pressure, it was different this time. He tried to tell himself it was the threat to his crown, but he knew that was only one factor in the stress gnawing at his gut. Their Majesties had been riding his arse about dating “the American,” and no amount of redirection on his part—including his fake girlfriend—had been able to distract them from the fact that he’d yet to select a bride from their preapproved list. The whole point of his relationship with Lena had been to buy himself more time. He’d never imagined it would have the opposite effect, causing his mother to double down on a crown-approved engagement. Fin had been running interference, making excuses for him, but his luck had run out this morning.
His mother had grown tired of his excuses. She’d managed to corner him under the guise of a trade update and demanded he quit messing around. She’d ordered him to break things off with Lena and make his selection.
As if choosing a life partner were as simple as selecting a new suit from a catalog.
He stole a glance at Elena. She was staring out the window, watching the city fly by, her hands folded serenely in her lap. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her the picture of tranquility. But he did know better, and he knew that on the inside, her nerves were probably stretched as thin as his own at the prospect of the evening ahead, albeit for different reasons.
He’d been honest when he’d said his parents had an antiquated view of the world, but not entirely. How could he possibly expect her to understand their position on marriage when he himself thought it was bollocks? During their short time together, he’d come to care about Elena a great deal, and the last thing he wanted to do was explain that their farce of a relationship had been designed to thwart his parent’s attempts at matchmaking.
It had never occurred to him that it wouldn’t work or that he’d fall for her in the process, complicating matters infinitely.
Besides, explaining would serve only to make her feel inferior, and he would never do anything to make Elena feel she deserved less than the best the world had to offer. She was the most amazing woman he’d ever known, and he didn’t give a damn about her lineage. The only thing he cared about was the way she made him feel—like he was enough—with or without his crown.
Granted, he preferred the crown, which was why he planned to close the trade agreements tonight and focus his energy on the Spartan deal. He’d finally secured a meeting with Michael Beyar and he planned to make the most of it.
