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CHAPTER SIX
AKILSTRODEACROSShis apartment to pick out a different shirt and realised that he was whistling. Again.
Actually, he’d been whistling all morning. He’d even sung in the shower and it was a long time since he’d done that. Not since he’d accepted his role as a politician in fact. Yet here he was. Whistling and deliberating over his outfit. As if he were fifteen again and arranging to meet a girl on a beach.
At least his hands weren’t clammy, and he’d learned not to gel his hair in the last fifteen years. But maybe he should channel that boy and lose the suit. It was a little over the top for an afternoon sightseeing. He checked his watch. Clem would be here soon so if he was going to change he’d better do it now. He didn’t want to greet her half naked.
He’d just finished changing when his buzzer sounded and he strolled across to the videocam and pressed the button but, instead of Clem, Henri, suited and stern, filled the small screen.
‘Subject ready. All clear?’ Henri barked and Akil resisted the urge to salute.
‘Everything’s fine, send her up,’ he said easily and pressed the button, opening the front door.
Akil waited by the open door, trying to ignore his heart hammering with anticipation. Light footsteps tripped up the stairs and there she was at his door, dressed like the tourist she was rather than the Crown Princess she’d pretended to be earlier that day, in a pretty vintage-style green sundress teamed with a denim jacket and trainers, and white sunglasses, her hair cascading loose and wild.
She looked utterly beautiful.
‘Hi,’ he said, mouth dry.
‘Hi.’ She hovered on the other side of the door, and he stood back.
‘You found it okay? No problem getting here without anyone thinking you were your sister?’
‘All good thanks to Henri,’ she said. ‘I did a quick change in a secret underground car park he knows and then he brought me here in a different car. I feel like a glamorous spy!’
‘Where is he?’
‘Lurking outside in case anyone followed us. Obviously a high level of paranoia is part of all bodyguard training.’
‘A prerequisite,’ he agreed. ‘Ah, do you want to come in?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Her hazel eyes gleamed, more green than brown today, thanks to the vibrancy of her dress. She stepped inside and glanced around. ‘So this is where Asturia’s most promising young politician lives?’
‘It’s whereIlive.’ Akil tried to see his home through her eyes. His apartment was in a medieval building, all thick stone walls and tall arched windows. The floor gleamed honey brown, the old wood polished to a shine and covered by antique faded rugs. The walls were exposed stone, bookcases lining one wall, filled with books picked up over the years. Faded brown leather sofas grouped around the fireplace, one occupied by a fat ginger cat. Arrosa gave a little cry of delight and went straight over to rub its head.
‘You have acat?’ She couldn’t have sounded more incredulous if he’d had a panther in his apartment.
‘You’re not allergic?’
‘No, I love cats. What’s his name?’
‘How do you know it’s a he?’
‘Ginger cats usually are.’ She smiled as the cat rolled over to expose a fluffy white tummy. ‘Oh, aren’t you handsome? Name?’
‘Tiger.’ Akil tried not to grimace as she unsuccessfully tried to hide a smile.
‘Oh, very original.’
‘I didn’t name him.’
‘Really.’ She gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Who did?’
‘A neighbour’s kid. Tiger belongs to them really but they had to move abroad and couldn’t take him so I said I would look after him.’
‘So a cat man not a dog man. Interesting!’
‘I wouldn’t say that. But I live in an apartment, I work a lot. It wouldn’t be fair on a dog. You?’
