corner and reached a long hallway filled with guest rooms. Grace had taken the first, and largest, as her new bedroom a year ago. As she stepped inside, she took a deep breath. The room, a pale shade of blue, was calm and cool. The window she had left open that morning let in the wafting breezes of an impending storm. There was a small sitting area scattered with papers that Grace also used as her office, and a large, comfortable bed that helped keep her nightmares at bay.
Grace stepped through the room to a door at the far side of the room, which led to her closet, bathroom, and a joint sitting room to be shared with the bedroom next door. Grace had decided that bedroom would be Catharine’s during her stay.
As Grace stepped into Cat’s room, she clasped her hands together and smiled. The maids were putting the finishing touches on the room and its lilac color was sure to appease her royal friend. It had been too long since laughter and happiness had been in her life; that would change when Cat arrived.
“It looks wonderful, girls,” Grace said in her refined English accent. “Is the other guest room set up just in case the Princess prefers a larger room?”
“Yes, Miss Grace,” the youngest maid said, addressing her as Grace preferred. “We just need to add the fresh flowers and it’ll be right as rain.”
“Excellent. Thank you, ladies.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Grace,” the women replied.
As Grace walked back to her bedroom to change before checking on her new chef, she felt a sense of peace. Things would change with Cat’s visit. She just knew it.
Chapter 3
There was no chance for Marcello to escape. He cast a surreptitious glance around the room for potential escape routes, but there were none easily accessible.
He was pinned.
Marcello internally sighed in resignation as Belgium’s defense chief continued to drone on about Valleria’s faults in front of him. The short, squat man with thinning black hair and a slim mustache was quite adept at security, but terrible at small talk.
It was not the first such discussion he’d had to endure that day, the first day of the conference. Mostly, however, the comments had been snide, passive aggressive, or implied. The man in front of him was using the direct approach, which Marcello could, at the very least, respect.
As the break between meetings ended, they parted ways with a firm shake of their hands and Marcello headed for the restrooms. He decided it would be best to skip the next sessions and use the time to regroup and strategize for the evening ahead. Already, three separate conversations over drinks had been planned, along with two dinners. He would have to take care not to overindulge, as many of the attendees were prone to do.
Marcello swung open the door to the men’s washroom and stepped inside. After a quick sweep to ensure he was alone, he let out a deep breath. He walked over to the row of porcelain sinks, set against soft, gray marble and gleaming silver features, and turned on the cold water. He ran his hands underneath the water a few times before scooping some up and splashing it on his face.
As the water sent a collective chill coursing through him, giving his weary body a second wind, he reached for one of the thick but soft paper towels stationed in an elegant basket nearby. The hotel was five-star, and even the washroom reflected it.
A few minutes later, as Marcello turned to leave, the door swung open. Two men walked in followed by one woman, who locked the door behind her. Marcello quirked an eyebrow just as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Your Highness,” Joseph, the head of intelligence for the country of Byelorus, said as he dropped into a small bow. He was a tall, slim man in his early sixties, with bright silver hair that gleamed even under the dim lights of the room. The other ones accompanying him, Gregory and Danica,
Grace stepped through the room to a door at the far side of the room, which led to her closet, bathroom, and a joint sitting room to be shared with the bedroom next door. Grace had decided that bedroom would be Catharine’s during her stay.
As Grace stepped into Cat’s room, she clasped her hands together and smiled. The maids were putting the finishing touches on the room and its lilac color was sure to appease her royal friend. It had been too long since laughter and happiness had been in her life; that would change when Cat arrived.
“It looks wonderful, girls,” Grace said in her refined English accent. “Is the other guest room set up just in case the Princess prefers a larger room?”
“Yes, Miss Grace,” the youngest maid said, addressing her as Grace preferred. “We just need to add the fresh flowers and it’ll be right as rain.”
“Excellent. Thank you, ladies.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Grace,” the women replied.
As Grace walked back to her bedroom to change before checking on her new chef, she felt a sense of peace. Things would change with Cat’s visit. She just knew it.
Chapter 3
There was no chance for Marcello to escape. He cast a surreptitious glance around the room for potential escape routes, but there were none easily accessible.
He was pinned.
Marcello internally sighed in resignation as Belgium’s defense chief continued to drone on about Valleria’s faults in front of him. The short, squat man with thinning black hair and a slim mustache was quite adept at security, but terrible at small talk.
It was not the first such discussion he’d had to endure that day, the first day of the conference. Mostly, however, the comments had been snide, passive aggressive, or implied. The man in front of him was using the direct approach, which Marcello could, at the very least, respect.
As the break between meetings ended, they parted ways with a firm shake of their hands and Marcello headed for the restrooms. He decided it would be best to skip the next sessions and use the time to regroup and strategize for the evening ahead. Already, three separate conversations over drinks had been planned, along with two dinners. He would have to take care not to overindulge, as many of the attendees were prone to do.
Marcello swung open the door to the men’s washroom and stepped inside. After a quick sweep to ensure he was alone, he let out a deep breath. He walked over to the row of porcelain sinks, set against soft, gray marble and gleaming silver features, and turned on the cold water. He ran his hands underneath the water a few times before scooping some up and splashing it on his face.
As the water sent a collective chill coursing through him, giving his weary body a second wind, he reached for one of the thick but soft paper towels stationed in an elegant basket nearby. The hotel was five-star, and even the washroom reflected it.
A few minutes later, as Marcello turned to leave, the door swung open. Two men walked in followed by one woman, who locked the door behind her. Marcello quirked an eyebrow just as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“Your Highness,” Joseph, the head of intelligence for the country of Byelorus, said as he dropped into a small bow. He was a tall, slim man in his early sixties, with bright silver hair that gleamed even under the dim lights of the room. The other ones accompanying him, Gregory and Danica,
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