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Chapter Eighteen
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“Baby Jesus in a windstorm.”
It wasn’t a cute turn of phrase this time, only I wished it was. Staring at the tarmac where I’d taken my first step on Arcadia just three days ago—well, what was left of it—drilled a truth into my head with brand-new clarity.
You can call the wind Mariah, but don’t ever call her gutless.
The airstrip was located about thirty minutes from Sancti, on Arcadia’s southwest side, flanked on two sides by thick groves of banana trees. Well, they had been groves. About half the trees, sitting in rain-drenched soil, had been blown right out of the ground, then decided on an orgy in the middle of the runway. Piles of the trunks, twenty and thirty deep, could inspire revisions to the Kama Sutra. Their tattered fronds were strewn everywhere, almost forming a leafy carpet as I walked along the asphalt with Prince Samsyn, the King Father Ardent, and Jagger Foxx.
When we got to the middle of the strip, Arden paused, locked hands at his back, and made a slow circle. I studied his profile for a second, noting that in So-Cal, he’d likely be a hot commodity on the market. Lots of older women with dirty minds in LA-LA Land, ready and willing to tap that lean, plus-fifty ass, despite the weathered skin speaking to tobacco use. Like I said, an easy negative to overlook for the full package. Ardent, standing nearly as tall as Samsyn, also wore his hair on the longer side. The style lent him a roguish air, though today, also like Syn, he’d tied it back with a thick leather band.
“It is a désorlik, to be certain,” the man finally muttered.
Samsyn dipped a precise nod. “Indeed, Majesty.”
Hmmm.
Majesty.
Samysn didn’t call him Father, like Shiraz, Evrest, and Jayd did. The difference struck me as odd but maybe it wasn’t, considering Samsyn’s status as the military commander for the island. The formality was probably an “Arcadian thing”.
“So getting aerial aid is out for now.” Ardent’s eyes were hidden by spectator shades, though I glimpsed the hardened creases at their corners. Clearly, Samsyn did too. So I wasn’t imagining it. There were cords of tension between the two men. Ardent’s implied disappointment. Samsyn’s answering energy, filled with the same damn thing.
Thank God Jagger had tagged along. Back home, he’d be a solid entry in the category of Sizzling Surfer Sex God, with those whiskey-colored waves to his shoulders and those significant shoulder bulges. Right now, I was just glad he wanted to play affable peacemaker.
“We have two search-and-rescue helicopters on loan from the Hellenic Air Force, Majesty,” he asserted. “They are bringing first aid and temporary housing provisions, and will remain to help with evacuations, rescues, and rebuilding efforts where needed. Cyprus has offered two more helos on top of that, but ground support is not available yet.”
“We had to let some of the men rest.” Samsyn’s addendum carried an edge, and his glare at Ardent practically filled in the remaining implication. Like you care, asshole.
Well, sheez.
No more time for me to ponder that mystery much further, once Syn pivoted toward me. “As you can see, Miss Fava—”
“Lucina,” I interjected. “Please, Your Highness. We’re standing in the middle of Jurassic Park, post T-Rex escape.” And for hours last night, in between ravaging his brother’s body as nastily as I could, I’d heard all about his fondness for orange smoothies, his boyhood collection of plastic army men, and how he volunteered to be Jayd’s “makeup model” until she turned sixteen and Xaria let her finally wear the stuff.
Thoughts I could not betray to the man now, so I stepped away and dropped my gaze. Not that the action helped. Holy shit. The banana frond carpeting was at least three or four layers thick.
“And yeah,” I said then, looking back up the decimated tarmac. “I guess I do see.” No flights were getting in or out of here for days. I hadn’t believed Samsyn when he’d first broken the news at breakfast this morning. I sure as hell did now.
Samsyn, pacing over to stand next to me, dug a toe into the mess. “You did ask to see it for yourself.”
“I did.” Wry chuff. “And I am.”
Which introduced a new dilemma. It was a dilemma, no matter how many giddy streamers my heart unfurled because of it.
I wasn’t leaving Arcadia today. Or probably tomorrow, or the next day. This was an island principality where tractors were barely used in the fields and wi-fi was “that newfangled shit” they only carried in the Palais. No heavy-duty equipment was on its way to help clean up this mess. It would be done the old-fashioned way.
Which meant being on the same chunk of real estate as Shiraz Cimarron.
Sleeping in the same building.
Knowing he knew I was still here…
Wondering what he’d do about it.
Trying to forget I’d even just thought all that.
