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We follow Pippa into the throne room, Creed and Tristan entering with her before I’m announced. As I walk down the long red carpet weaving from the door to a raised platform containing three ornate velvet chairs, the one in the center larger than the other two, everyone bows or curtsies, a stark silence filling the room. Every other time I’ve walked this path, I was overwhelmed with flashes from cameras and echoes from their shutters.
Not today.
I step onto the raised platform and stand in front of one of the smaller chairs while my brother makes his entrance, followed by my father. As photographers fight to get a decent shot of me with their phones, Creed glances my way from his place to the right of the platform and flashes a smile.
Over the next several minutes, even after I take my seat and am supposed to pay attention to my father’s remarks, my attention keeps floating back to Creed.
I try to fight it, focus on Tristan instead. But the more my father talks about Creed’s quick thinking and self-sacrifice, the more I can’t stop admiring him, especially considering the fact he’s in his military dress uniform.
I’ve always loved how damn sexy he looks in it.
And today’s no different.
I’m so lost in my thoughts, I don’t realize my father’s finished his speech until he approaches and touches his hand to mine.
“You’re up,” he says with a smile.
I stand, allowing my father to press a soft kiss to my cheek. Then I move toward the center of the platform, stopping mere inches away from Creed. A member of the palace staff appears, opening a small box to reveal a medal sitting on black velvet, an intricate cross hanging on blue silk.
Normally, my father bestows these types of honors, especially ones of this magnitude, but the palace PR team thought it would be a nice touch if I did it, considering it was his actions in protecting my life that prompted him to be awarded this honor.
Taking a clasp in each hand, I slowly raise the medal toward his neck. His eyes lock on mine, the heat in his stare causing my pulse to increase, a fluttering erupting low in my stomach.
“For exhibiting exceptional courage, extraordinary decisiveness and presence of mind, and unusual swiftness in action, regardless of your own personal safety, I’m honored to bestow on you the Cross of Valor.”
He bends down slightly, allowing me to secure the medal around his neck. I take my time, not wanting to stop touching him just yet. My fingers brush against his nape and I inhale, his woodsy scent reminding me of early morning sunrises on the beach. Of secret meetings. Of happiness.
Once his medal is in place, I step back and we share another look. It probably only lasts a matter of seconds, but it seems so much longer.
So much more…intimate.
Hundreds of people fill the room, but right now, it feels like it’s only us. Like we’re the only two people in the world.
When polite clapping cuts through, I turn from Creed and plaster a fake smile on my face as photographers descend on us. Pippa takes charge, arranging for the official royal photographer to snap the photos he needs.
Again with his phone.
After what feels like an eternity, I’m released from the photoshoot and make my way through the room, everyone mingling and enjoying polite conversation. I scan the area for Tristan, but before I see him, a sudden movement catches my attention, Jameson rushing toward me and wrapping me in a hug.
I inhale a sharp breath, taken aback by his sudden display of affection, especially in a room full of people.
Or maybe that’s precisely why he’s hugging me. Because he wants everyone to see his concern.
“I was so damn worried about you,” he confesses, voice strained. Then he pulls back, frantic eyes raking over me. “Are you all right? Everyone said you were fine, barely a scratch, but…” He blows out a breath. “It brought up some memories.”
I tilt my head, studying him for a moment.
There’s nothing in his words or demeanor to indicate he’s being anything less than a concerned ex. It doesn’t matter he was never technically my boyfriend. After the roles we were forced to play, we formed a bond. Two pawns taking on the queen.
Still, I can’t shake this strange premonition in my gut that there’s something contrived about his behavior.
“It brought up some memories for me, too,” I finally say, noticing Silas Archer watching our interaction with interest. “For instance, when I stared into the barrel of that gun, it reminded me of glancing out the back window of the SUV right before Adam and I were forced off the road. And the man holding the gun looked exactly like the driver.”
Jameson remains relatively impassive, but not completely. He inhales a subtle quick breath, the corner of his mouth ticking slightly before settling back into a firm line.
Why would he have this reaction?Isthere more to my dreams?Arethey connected?
And is Jameson the missing link?
