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‘Protocol dictates it needs to be this way. And I’d rather not incur my mother’s wrath by going against her wishes,’ he added with a wry twist of his lips.
Queen Isadora was a formidable woman. Even though she and her mother were friends, Violet had met the Queen only twice in her life. Both times she’d been awed by the woman’s utter poise and the shrewd intelligence that shone from grey eyes she’d passed to her sons, along with her strength and resilience.
‘Does their presence ever get overwhelming?’
He cracked open a bottle of iced water and poured her a glass before filling his own. ‘That’s like asking if breathing is tedious. It is what it is.’
Her fingers curled around the chilled glass. ‘Would you change it if you could?’
Despite the shades concealing his eyes, she felt his probing gaze. ‘Why would I want to change a status only a fraction of people ever get to experience? I’m deemed one of the luckiest men in the world to be surrounded by yes men and women all too eager to obey my every command,’ he stated with a thick layer of cynicism.
‘And yet your tone suggests otherwise,’ she replied.
For a fraction of a moment he seemed startled by the observation. As if he’d let something slip he hadn’t intended to. Then his face resumed its stoic mask. ‘I was taught not only to appreciate the advantages of my status but also to help preserve it. And to deal effectively with those parasites who would attempt to leech their way into riches on my family’s coattails.’
It didn’t take a genius to know she’d been lumped in with that deplorable crowd. ‘But you don’t mind using those yes men and women to accomplish your goals?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Are we being specific here, Violet? Are you asking me if I take advantage of my status?’
The man-eating eyes of that fundraising socialite flashed to mind and she tried to curb the curious sting in her chest. ‘Do you?’
‘I earn my dues in business. And in pleasure. No one has left my presence dissatisfied. Unless they absolutely deserved it, of course.’
The urge to pluck the sunglasses off his face so she could read his expression warred with the very real need to deny that they were speaking about the same thing—the night of her eighteenth birthday. Had she deserved to be left dissatisfied like that?
And why was he referring to it now?
The waiter’s arrival with platters of food put paid to the dangerous train of thought she seemed to stray into with maddening frequency.
‘Are you done?’ He nodded at her plate twenty minutes later, a frown in his voice.
She looked down at her plate. The food had been tasty so she attributed her elusive appetite to Zak’s presence more than anything else. ‘Turns out I’m not very hungry.’
His lips firmed but he rose without saying a word.
Back in the SUV, Zak Montegova handled the vehicle with effortless grace, his body packed with latent power that repeatedly drove the very air from her lungs each time she glanced his way. Bouncing over potholes and being jostled about, it was difficult not to be aware of her own body and its close proximity to Zak’s.
So she was relieved to arrive two long hours later, to breathe the fresh, clean air of Lake Ngoro, the mostly flat green landscape where Zak had sited the Trust’s eco-lodges.
Events had proceeded at breakneck pace after the fundraiser. As she’d predicted, donations had flooded in from the great and good, easily ensuring that they could fund another five projects within the year.
And Zak’s confirmation on Monday that the rains were indeed expected in a few weeks sparked an urgency for the trip. Violet had read through hundreds of résumés, sat in on in-person and video conference interviews, and grilled each volunteer until she was certain the sixty-five they’d chosen would be up to the daunting task of constructing the eco-lodges in time.
As she looked around now, she was gratified to see that the local construction crew who’d already been on site for two weeks were already at the final stages of laying the foundations.
A man broke away from a group of workers hammering a sign board into the ground and hurried towards them. His dark bronze skin, curly mahogany hair and light eyes indicated a mixed heritage. Despite the sweat pouring down his face and sticking to his tie-dyed T-shirt, his grin was infectious and as open as his outstretched hand.
‘Hey, there. I’m Peter Awadhi, foreman slash friendly face slash official representative of the Tourist Board. We’ve spoken a few times on the phone but let me formally welcome you to Tanzania...um... Prince...er... Your Highness.’
Violet hid a smile as he stumbled over Zak’s title.
Zak shook his hand. ‘Zak is fine,’ he offered, although he didn’t return the man’s smile.
Peter nodded, then glanced at her.
She held out her hand. ‘I’m Violet Barringhall. Special advisor, volunteer co-ordinator and general dogsbody.’
‘Ah, you’re the new one in charge of the volunteers? Sweet. I have a few requests to swing by you later when you’ve had a chance to settle in.’
