Tangled Games (Dating Games #5) - T.K. Leigh Page 0,11

plane slows and turns off the runway, he brings the kiss to an end. Without saying a word, he reaches past me and lowers my window shade.

“For privacy,” he answers my unspoken question. “You’ll learn to take what you can get.”

“Oh… Of course.”

I stare straight ahead, a bout of nausea rolling over me, which only increases the second the plane comes to a stop, the few members of the cabin crew jumping up from their seats. I study Anderson, taking my cues from him. He remains sitting in the plush chair that’s a far cry from any commercial airline seat, but he does unbuckle his seat belt, so I do the same.

I peer at the shaded window, wishing I could see what’s going on outside. Then again, it’s probably best I don’t, especially when the attendant opens the cabin door and I’m able to make out the sound of a crowd assembled nearby. I inhale several deep breaths, practicing the meditation techniques I once taught on a daily basis in the yoga studio I used to run.

Positive energy in. Negative energy out.

But no amount of breathing can help ward off the nerves filling me.

When I feel him squeeze my hand, I bring my gaze to Anderson, who gives me an encouraging smile. Noticing movement out of the corner of my eye, I look forward as a man in a dark suit enters the cabin. Creed greets him with a curt nod before they make their way toward us.

“Your Highness,” the man says, bowing his head toward Anderson.

He has a no-nonsense attitude. Much like Creed, something about him screams former military. But his frame isn’t nearly as formidable as Creed’s, who easily towers over him by at least a half-foot. Then again, being the same height as Anderson’s six-four, Creed easily towers over most people.

“Welcome home.”

“Thank you, Nathan,” Anderson says in an even tone I’ve only heard on occasion. It’s his business voice. His royal voice. His Prince Gabriel voice. “May I introduce you to Ms. Nora Tremblay. Nora, this is my private secretary, Lieutenant Colonel Nathan Bridge.”

The man looks at me, nodding slightly. “Pleasure, ma’am.”

“Likewise.”

When Anderson first mentioned his private secretary was former military, I was confused why someone with that background would take a job as a secretary. It seemed like a waste of his qualifications. Then he explained that as the private secretary to a member of the royal family, Lieutenant Colonel Bridge is often the first line of communication between Anderson, as heir to the throne, and the rest of the government and royal household, as well as the media. He’s also in charge of planning Anderson’s day-to-day schedule. Apparently, those working as private secretaries, or assistant private secretaries, yield a considerable amount of influence. Even Creed, Anderson’s chief protection officer, must report all of Anderson’s movements to Lieutenant Colonel Bridge.

“As Captain Lawson has advised you,” Bridge begins, glancing at Creed before returning his attention to Anderson, “there’s quite a large press presence here, in addition to a considerable number of civilians lining the road.”

“Good? Bad?” Anderson inquires.

“A mixture of both. You’re aware there’s a small, yet rather vocal minority of the populace who are vehemently anti-foreigner. Particularly anti-American.”

Sensing my growing unease, Anderson grabs my hand in his once more and gives it a squeeze.

“I am.”

“Captain Lawson has arranged for increased security not only here at the airfield, but also along the route to your residence. I’m in the process of coordinating a response with His Majesty. In the meantime, I’d advise both of you to remain silent.” He glances my way. “And if I might, I suggest Ms. Tremblay keep her left hand hidden. That way, no one sees you with or without a ring.”

Out of instinct, I move my left hand from the armrest, pulling it toward me, as if I should be ashamed.

“At least until we’ve had more time to discuss this with the royal household,” he adds with a trite smile.

“Captain Lawson and myself will exit the aircraft first. Once we reach the tarmac, you two will step out together, your right hand holding her left. You’ll pause at the top. Smile. Wave.” He pins me with a stare. “And I can’t stress this enough. No matter what you may hear shouted at you, you smile. You wave. You remain the picture of poise and sophistication.”

A queasiness overtakes me, my stomach roiling. What could anyone possibly say to warrant this sort of admonition?

“It’ll be okay.” Anderson touches my chin, turning my eyes toward