The Society Read online

  "And look at this," Terrance says, pointing. "This is the Montrovian royal crest down here, but what is Arcadia?"

  "In Greek mythology, Arcadia was the home of the god Pan, who had the hindquarters, legs, and horns of a goat, much like a faun or satyr. His home was rustic, an untouched wilderness, and it was said that he lived in perfect harmony with nature. Later, during the Renaissance, the idea of Arcadia was often seen in all art forms--from paintings and sculptures to books and theater. It was considered to be an unspoiled and harmonious world, especially one uncorrupted by civilization. In other words, Utopia."

  "Is Ophelia a Greek name, too?"

  "I don't think so. Look it up real quick."

  He runs over to his computer, types, and then says, "Wow. Listen to this. Ophelia was derived from the Greek word that meant help. It's believed the name was first used by a fifteenth-century poet named Jacopo Sannazaro for a character in his poem 'Arcadia.' Does that mean she looked up the meaning of her name, discovered what Arcadia was, and chose that to be the name of her perfect country?"

  "Before I blew her up with one of your pore strips, I got her talking. She planned to kill Lorenzo and become queen. Then she was going to systematically dismantle the monarchy, starting by selling the Strait of Montrovia to the highest bidder. When that was done, she wanted to close its borders, shut down the port, sink all the yachts, and abolish gambling. All because her dad had cheated on her mom, and her mom had taken them to live in France where no one cared that she was royal."

  "It would have been detrimental to the rest of the world if she had succeeded. Montrovia has always been neutral, like Switzerland," Terrance says. "So, we know what her plan was. She was going to sell the Strait, become even wealthier, and change the name of the country, which she would then rule because she had Daddy issues."

  "I wish it were as simple as Daddy issues. There has to be more to the story, something that Clarice knew about. Otherwise, why assassinate her? Ophelia wasn't acting alone, so who was behind her?" My phone buzzes with a text from Ellis, letting me know that I need to get to my dressing room. "Crap. I have to go get ready."

  "Wait," Terrance says, grabbing two swabs out of a box. "Open your mouth."

  "What for?"

  "DNA testing. We're going to find out if you and Ari really are twins."

  A few hours later, Ari and I touch down in London and are quickly ferried to a waiting helicopter. A sleek black Maybach limo pulls up, and Lorenzo and his guards join us.

  "Don't you look gorgeous," Lorenzo says, greeting me with a kiss and taking in my light-blue Gucci cluny lace dress with a black velvet waistband and little appliqued flowers. I even have my hair done up in a conservative French twist. He turns to greet Ari and then ushers us onto the chopper.

  After touchdown, we are picked up by another car and driven a short distance to the Guards Polo Club where we walk a red carpet and have our pictures taken--again. Lorenzo's arm is wrapped around me, and even though things are weighing heavily on my mind, I find myself smiling--not for the cameras, but because of him.

  Lorenzo and I chat with a whole bunch of people--some who I met previously in Montrovia and others who he introduces me to--and then he takes me to meet one of the professional players he knows and to see the team's ponies.

  "I don't know much about polo," I admit as we're admiring the beautiful creatures. "Is it hard to follow the game?"

  "Not at all. The game is played between two teams. Each team has four players, and the team with the most goals wins. You score by getting the ball into the net. Each time a team scores, they switch sides. The game is divided into six chukkers--or time periods--which are each seven minutes long. Did you know that I've been playing most of my life?" he asks.

  "I read that was a passion of yours, but we've never really talked about it with everything that's gone on. I'd love to see you play sometime."

  "Your wish is my command," he says, taking my hand in his and bringing it to his lips. "We had better go take our seats. The match is about to start."

  I'm returning from a quick trip to the loo when I spy Daniel making a fashionably late entrance with a gorgeous tennis pro on his arm. They are posing for the cameras, but when he spots me, he drops the girl's hand and makes a beeline toward me.

  I laugh as the Secret Service rush to catch up to him.

  "Well, look what the cat dragged in," I say by way of a greeting.

  "Very funny." He takes a step back, giving my body a hard, lascivious look.

  "You are such a boy," I tell him.

  He's so completely different from Lorenzo. So crass, so bold, so cocky.

  "How is the White House treating you?"

  "Training is going really well. No distractions. My coach loves it."

  "Hard to sneak girls in, I bet," I tease.

  "Actually, yes, but don't worry; I can get you in." His blue eyes sparkle, and one corner of his mouth is pulled back into a smirk, showing off a single dimple.

  "I'd actually love a tour of the White House. I mean, how cool would that be?"

  "Well, next time you're in DC, you should come over. We can have a slumber party again. I'll braid your hair."

  I ignore his slumber party comment. "So how is it that you managed to not only get away from your trainer, but also find such a lovely companion when you've been practically chained to the pool?"

  "I had to be here. It's in my contract."

  "What contract is that?"

  He flashes me a vintage Cartier watch, and I immediately remember the hot commercial of him coming up out of the pool, wearing pretty much nothing else.

  "Can I be honest?"

  "I don't know, Huntley. Can you be?"

  I give him a playful punch. "Hiring you for that ad was bad marketing on their part."

  He's taken aback. "Why? Women especially love that commercial."

  "Oh, I'm sure they do. I know I could describe it to you in great detail, but I have to admit, I never noticed the brand of the watch you were wearing."

  "You're such a tease. I love it. I miss you."

  He's being totally charming. It's a little annoying. But not. Because Daniel is incredibly hot. And those piercing blue eyes . . . don't even get me started.

  "Yes, I can tell you've missed me. You know, you're really going to have to stop being so needy with all your texts and phone calls. It makes you seem desperate."

  He looks confused. "But I haven't texted you."

  "My point."

  "Oh, I get it. You're in rare form today. You could text me, you know."

  "Yeah, I could."

  "Have you slept with him yet?" he asks.

  "Same answer as always, Daniel."

  "Which is no," he says, flashing both his dimples.

  "Which is none of your business," I reply.

  "Same thing. Are you here with him?"

  "Yes, because he invited me."

  "Staying at Prescott Manor, too?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "Perfect. So am I. Maybe we can bunk up."

  "I'm not bunking up with you, Daniel."

  He pulls me into his arms. "Admit it, you miss my dimple."

  "You have two dimples. I have witnessed them myself."

  He gives me a dazzling smile. "The second one is saved for special people."

  "You are such a flirt," I say, not able to control my laughter.

  "A sexy flirt?" he asks, moving closer and kissing both my cheeks.

  "In your mind, yes. But you'd probably better get back to your date. Miss Tennis is pouting."

  "Let her," he says with a wave of his hand.

  "Are you sleeping with her?" I ask, wishing it hadn't slipped out of my mouth because, now, he's going to think--

  "You jealous?"

  "Horribly," I sigh with mock sorrow. "I'm not sure how I'll ever recover."

  "I can think of a thing or two that might help," he says sexily. He looks over my shoulder. "Speaking of jealous, here comes Enzo." Daniel purposefully wraps an
arm around my waist and pulls me flush with his body. "Here's the plan--I'll punch him in the face, you kick him in the shin, and then we'll run away together and live happily ever after."

  I laugh at his silliness. "While utterly romantic, there are a few flaws in your plan, I'm afraid."

  "Like what?"

  "His security. Your security. For me to run away with you, we'd have to flee from all of them. I mean, obviously, we'd be married immediately and need a long, lavish honeymoon, except that would mean no Olympics."

  "Daniel," Lorenzo says, cuffing him on the shoulder. Then he studies us. "Why do I get the feeling you are conspiring? You two look--how do you say it? Thick as thieves."

  Daniel and I both grin.

  "We were planning our elopement," I admit.

  "But, alas, I must get back to Miss Tennis." Daniel releases me from his grip. "But watch for my sign, Huntley, and we will make our escape," he says with a wink as he walks away.

  Lorenzo's face is unreadable. His body language suggests jealousy, but his lips are pulled into a smirk. I think I confuse him.

  Join the club. I confuse me, too. Because I shouldn't be anything to anyone.

  "We're leaving before you get this sign," he states.

  "You don't think I should run away and marry Daniel?" I tease.

  He slips his hand into mine, bringing it to his mouth, his lips sliding across my knuckles.

  "I do not." The look of seriousness on his face tells me this is no laughing matter. "If you were to elope, I hope it would be with me."

  I crack a smile to lighten the mood because things just got very real. I know that he's serious while Daniel was just messing around. And, sometimes, that makes Daniel more attractive. He's easy. Lorenzo makes my life feel complicated.

  "I can tell you are not taking me seriously," he says, looking concerned.

  "That is because I know you are not serious." He narrows his eyes at me in question, so I explain, "I suspect a proposal from you would be a much more romantic gesture than suggesting we should elope during the middle of a horse race."

  "The horses aren't racing, my darling," he says, staring into my eyes as his hand glides across my jaw.

  "Whatever. You know what I mean. It all smells of manure."

  His eyes dance playfully across my face, and the smirk is back. "This is why I desire to know every detail about you. My plan to ask for your hand during today's trophy celebration has officially been foiled. If you will excuse me, I must let the queen of England know."

  He turns, like he's going to walk away.

  And I find myself not wanting him to go. I take a step forward to follow him when he surprises me by flipping back around, pulling me into his arms, and giving me a deep kiss.

  "You become quite passionate when you get a little jealous," I tease. "That might be one of my favorite kisses. While you go speak with the queen, I'm going to find someone else to flirt with."

  "Toying with my affection?" he says, pretending to be aghast. "You are incorrigible."

  "Or you could take me with you," I suggest, slipping my hand into his.

  "That sounds like an extraordinary proposition. Come, my dear, I want to teach you about the game of polo."

  He takes me to the Royal Box where we are actually seated with royalty from multiple countries along with a few movie and rock stars. Although I guess it shouldn't be a surprise. It's just that, sometimes, I forget Lorenzo is a king.

  I survey the room and then the surrounding area, thinking, if someone wanted to take out all these important people, it wouldn't be that hard. A bomb planted under the bleachers. An assault team in a couple of helicopters, like the ones who came after The Priest. A single long-range sniper situated across the way. The poisoning of a few bottles of champagne.

  "Would you like some?" Lorenzo asks me later, taking a flute filled with champagne from a silver tray.

  The match is nearly over, the time clicking down to zero.

  "Uh, no, thank you."

  "You seem distracted, my sweet," he whispers.

  "I have a lot on my mind."

  "You shouldn't, birthday girl."

  "It's Ari's birthday today, too," I whisper. He looks as confused as I feel. "We believe what we thought were our covers are true. And that we are twins."

  Everyone--including Ari, who is sitting on the other side of Lorenzo--stands up to cheer for the victorious team, but we stay in our seats, barely aware of what is going on around us. The depth of concern in Lorenzo's eyes is apparent. When everyone else sits down, he suddenly pulls me up and leads me out to his limo, causing his security to scramble.

  He opens the door for me, says a few words to someone, and then gets inside with me. "I assume this is not something you should be talking about in public," he says seriously.

  "Probably not, but I had to tell you."

  "I'm still trying to comprehend. Your mother was killed, and you were trained as a spy and assassin and pulled out of training with me as your mission. Your cover story is that you and Ari are the long-lost children of Ares Von Allister. How could you possibly be twins?"

  "It's hard to know what is real and what is fake, but one of the things that I never understood is why they would train me for so long and then, on my first mission, put me in such a high-profile position that would never allow me to go undercover again. I believe the reason is that it's not my cover. It's real."

  "You really are Huntley Von Allister?"

  "Yes. I think, up until now, I've been living under an alias. My mother's real name is Kelley Bond. She went to high school with Ares Von Allister, and I saw a photo of her. Her nose and cheekbones were different, but it was her, based on her eyes and a very unique gesture. Also, she told me I was a twin and that my brother died at birth. It was a sorrow she carried with her. I don't know what happened in the hospital, but on Ari's adoption papers, her last name was spelled incorrectly with an E on the end. Or maybe it was on purpose. We're doing a DNA test to be sure, but we know it's true."

  "You used to think you were alone in this world, Lee. How do you feel now?"

  "Worried."

  He gently cradles my face in his hands. "Why, my dear?"

  "It all feels deliberate. At the same time, I don't understand. Ares Von Allister was alive when my mother was killed. Why was I sent to Blackwood? Why did they practically brainwash me into believing that I shouldn't have emotional attachments? Why teach me to survive on my own, only to bring my twin brother back into my life on my first mission? And why not tell me the truth about him when they did? And, even worse, why did they kill everyone who knew about me at Blackwood if I'm really me?" I roll my eyes and laugh at myself. "It appears I'm having an identity crisis."

  "You're right. It makes no sense."

  "And you are in the middle of this mess."

  "Why do you believe that?"

  "Because the reason William Gallagher originally came to your country is because his intelligence had picked up a message that said, It starts in Montrovia."

  "What starts?"

  "No one knows. But the fact of the matter is, in the last year, four of the heirs to the throne of Montrovia have died--three murdered--and there have been numerous attempts on your life."

  "Three murdered?"

  "The circumstances around your uncle's death are suspicious."

  "But it's over now." He shrugs. "You took care of it. Ophelia is dead."

  "I'm afraid it's not over yet. And this is horrible of me to even ask, but was there an autopsy done on your father?"

  "What? Are you suggesting that my father was killed? That's ludicrous. He'd been ill."

  "With what?"

  "Some sort of autoimmune virus that they couldn't determine the cause of. It was resistant to antibiotics. They tried all sorts of concoctions, but nothing seemed to work. He just kept getting weaker. Honestly, they were surprised he'd made it that long."

  "How long had he been ill?"

  "About six months, I guess."

 
"Did he get sick before or after your uncle died?"

  Lorenzo starts to protest but then stops. "They were together on a hunting trip in Britain. That's when my father took ill. It's also why my father wasn't with my uncle on the day of the accident. He was in bed, sick."

  "Who was with your uncle that day?"

  "His normal guide was also ill--food poisoning. He went out with someone new. Publicly, it was called an accident. But, in reality, it appeared he'd committed suicide."

  I don't say anything. I just stare at him and watch as the realization creeps in. He closes his eyes and roughly runs his hand through his hair.

  "Did they question his guide?"

  "No one has been able to find him."

  I nod in understanding, his remarks only confirming what I suspected.

  "What's supposed to start in Montrovia?"

  "That's what I'm trying to figure out, Lorenzo. It's also hard to know who to trust. Any chance your country is good friends with Israeli's intelligence service?"

  "Of course. Why?"

  "Mossad has a reputation of being the best in the world. Maybe you should ask for their help. Discreetly, of course."

  "Would you like to take a trip with me? Ever been to Israel?"

  "I can't leave London."

  "Another mission?"

  I nod in affirmation.

  "Can you tell me?"

  "I've told you everything else, so I guess I might as well. We're following the money trail."

  "Don't you have enough money, especially if you really are a Von Allister?"

  "Not money for me, silly," I say with a laugh. "The Priest was paid to do three hits. The president of the United States was the first. Clarice was the second. I fear you could be the third."

  "I'm taking care of his son!"

  "Unless he specifically cases the London house for a period of time, he won't know Chauncey is there. He was hired to do a job, and he wants his payout. Once he gets that, he'll find me, get his son back, and go into hiding. We know the money trail; we just have to figure out how to get to the money man. If things go well, we'll get the money man to tell us who he was playing middle man for. Ultimately, we need to know who hired The Priest."

  "Any leads?"

  "Not that I know of. All I really know about him came from Gallagher. And all he said was that he was a nasty man from his home turf. I assume that's why our missions said to come to London."

  "And here I thought, you came for me."