The Bossy Prince (Rugged and Royal #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,61

of coral reef lurk beneath the waves.

Best to get the course corrected before then.

Or, better yet, get Nick and Beatrice off the damned thing and let Blaire and Stefano figure out how to not run aground on their own. The Jet Ski is built for two people, but Beatrice and I are both on the smaller side. We can squish together in the back and let Nick steer.

Please let him still be able to steer, I silently plead as I pull up alongside the hull and reach for the ladder.

Holding tight to one slick rung, I loop the rope at the front of the Jet Ski over the ladder, making a mooring knot and pulling it tight. And then I start to climb, arms still vibrating from the rumble of the Jet Ski beneath my palms.

But my hands are steady.

When I draw the gun just before I reach for the last rung, you could balance a china tea set on the back of my hand.

Stomach coiling tight behind my ribs, I exhale, releasing tension and expectation, preparing myself to receive whatever awaits on the other side of the damp wood.

Preconceptions, fear, and projection will all slow my response time. One of the first things we learned in spy school is to clear our heads and see what’s really there, not what we expect to be there. The faster you process reality, the faster you can respond.

I do my best, but I’d be lying if I said visions of Nick lying dead on the deck weren’t flickering on my mental screen as I peer over the railing, climb over the edge, and stalk quietly toward the front of the boat.

Logic insists it’s unlikely Nick came out ahead in this situation, not with all the odds against him.

So to say I’m unprepared for what I find when I round the cabin to the forward deck is an understatement.

Of serious proportions.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nickolas

Beatrice ties an impressive knot, securing the now-gagged Blaire’s shoulders to the back of one of the seats near the front of the boat.

“Okay, that’s it,” Bea says, shoving her fuzzy curls from her face as she straightens. “I’m never dating again. Seriously, Nick. If I try, I give you permission to lock me in a tower somewhere in the Gallantian countryside and feed me only bread and water until I come to my senses.”

I rest what I hope is a comforting hand on her shoulder, but before I can assure her that we all make mistakes in love, or ask her to keep a sharp eye on Blaire while I turn the ship around, a voice calls my name from the deck behind me.

I spin to see Zan—soaking wet and wearing a bright orange life jacket over her cover-up—running toward me.

Heart swelling with relief, I open my arms.

A beat later, she’s in them, hugging my neck so tight her feet come off the deck. “You’re okay,” she pants, her breath warm on my neck. “Thank God, you’re okay.”

“Same to you.” I band my arms around her and squeeze, grunting as something hard and familiar presses into my ribs. “Is that a gun in your lifejacket, or are you just happy to see me?”

“It’s a gun. Our backup was waiting on the dock. He’s going to get a boat and follow us if he can, but he gave me his weapon just in case.” She pulls back, smoothing my hair from my forehead as she searches my face. “What happened? How did you—”

“Blaire turned the gun on me, but Beatrice rushed her with one of those fishing nets on the wooden poles.” I nod toward Beatrice, who’s standing with a hand braced on the back of an empty chair a few feet away. “Knocked the gun out of her hand and then kicked it overboard.”

“Zan and I were just talking about how much I hate guns,” Beatrice says, looking as relieved to see Zan as I feel. “When I thought she’d shot you, I—” She breaks off, pressing a hand to her chest. “I can’t remember ever being that scared. I’m so glad you’re okay, Zan. I can’t believe you and Nick are spies, but I’m really glad you’re good ones.”

“I thought she needed to know,” I tell Zan. “What with all the crooked boss drama and shooting and all.”

“I agree, but what about Stefano?” Zan asks, still clinging to me like a baby monkey, a thing that’s unexpected but nice.

I confess I’m not ready to let her go. Now that she’s