Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Mom?”
“I’m going. I’m going—”
“No. I wanted to say thank you.”
She always had my back whenever it came to things like this.
“I know you’re still planning something but—”
“Do you not know me at all by now, Odette? Normally, the moment you stop thinking I’m up to something is when I pounce. But with you, I plan on slowly bringing you around to my side. Even if it takes weeks.”
“Good luck with that. I told you, I’m not budging on this.” It was my life, not some game she was playing.
“We’ll see. Now put some emotion in that voice. I want to hear vibrato, darling.” She shook her hand in front of herself, a new dramatic accent coming up.
“You should have been an actress, Mom.” I shook my head, closing the box. “Or, at the very least, a high school drama teacher.” She would have fit either part perfectly.
“What do you think being a mom is? I play a dozen roles before breakfast.” She winked at me and opened the door, leaning out to yell. “All clear, gentlemen! The singerzilla is all yours.”
She stood outside the door, holding it open for them as they came back, hunched over plates of desserts. They all thanked her one by one as they returned, gleefully. She just winked at them. “I’ll come back to pick you up at eight o’clock. I need to pick up some things for tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Godspeed, gentlemen,” she said and waved to them and left.
I turned back to see them all waving. “I am not a singerzilla, am I?”
“Why don’t we start at the top?” my producer replied, clearly ignoring my question and putting on his headphones.
“Traitors.” And for cake no less.
“Of all the holidays I needed to experience twice, why did it have to be Halloween?” I whispered to Iskandar—my bodyguard while I was on this little adventure. “Why would anyone think dressing children as devils is fun?”
My comment was in reference to the woman who stood in front of us at customs and immigration and held her big-headed child. He or she—seeing as I couldn’t tell the difference at this point—was dressed in all red with little devil horns just staring at me over its mother’s shoulder.
“I do not believe the devil truly looks like that, Your Highness,” Iskandar whispered back, staring at me with his dark eyes. He quickly skipped over me to watch each person who came too close, which must have been stressful since everyone in this line was too damn close.
“Don’t call me that in public,” I muttered when a little witch—not an insult, but an actual little girl dressed up as a witch—glanced at us upon hearing ‘Your Highness.’ I just offered her a smile, and she backed away, hiding behind her mother’s legs, which in return caused her mother to look at me. She smiled and nodded to me, putting her hand on her daughter’s head.
Iskandar turned his back to them to speak to me. “Your—sir, you still have glasses and a hat on inside the building. They are very suspicious here, especially within airports.”
“You’re the one who told me to put on the hat and the damn glasses.”
“Only to get on and off the plane, sir. But now, you should just wait until it’s your turn to meet the customs officer. Go on. The line is moving.”
“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, stepping up again behind baby Satan. “I swear Arthur is just trying to torture me. If he is going to force me to come here, the very least he could have done was allow me to come as myself.”
“That would alert the press, Your—sir. And then you would be here on an official diplomatic mission, which would force you to stay in Washington DC and not Washington state.”
I wasn’t in the mood for his practicality, but then again, that was why Arty chose Iskandar instead of my choice of guard. Iskandar was only three years older than me, but I swear he had the soul of a sixty-year-old baron...and the hair of one, too. He was always uptight, stiff, and practical and a stickler for rules, order, and the monarchy. That was a trait most who came out of the academy shared, but even among his peers, he was given the nickname, Iskandar the Rock. He was dull and would not be moved unless it was by a force stronger than him. That force being those of higher rank. Unfortunately, my brother outranked me, which meant, whatever Arty ordered of Iskandar was of greater importance than whatever I wanted.
“How much did my brother tell you?” I asked, stepping forward in line again.
“Everything.”
I turned back to him. “Everything?”
He nodded. “He said he did not wish to do so, but should you forget your duty, someone would need to remind you what was at stake since he would not be beside you to do so.”