Unfaded Glory (20 page)

“Their pain is over, Byron. Don't you think yours should be, too?”

“No. I deserve to suffer for what I've done. For reaching too high. I thought I could be more than what I was, but I learned that lesson.”

“The boat, when you talked about getting your hand slapped.” She pushed her hand through his hair. “I'm so sorry, Byron. For pushing you to this, for taking what I wanted when I didn't know what you'd been through.”

“Oh, Princess. That's not on you. I just want you to understand why.”

“Why what?”

“Why it's okay if I die protecting you. I don't think it'll square my accounts, but maybe there's a little bit of redemption for me with every person you save.”

“When you dream of them, what do they say?” She wore a wistful look.

“Austin Foxworth says that there's more to life than this while his face burns away,” he said in an even tone that belied the horror.

“You have that in your head and all this talk of weddings and public relations must turn your stomach.”

It had at first, he'd admit. “That doesn't matter now, Damara. We're so far past all of that. We're already married, but we have to have the ceremony. It'll be televised, and then there will be no doubt in the world court of opinion that it happened. This is to protect you.”

She looked down at her hands. “I feel so ashamed.”

“For what?”

“For putting you through this. For balking when it got tough. I just—” She shrugged.

“You have a soft heart. But that's also why you have me. To do things that your heart can't.”

She leaned down on his shoulder. “I'm afraid.”

“I know.” He didn't tell her it would all be fine. He wasn't going to lie to her again. Either he was going to die or her brother would when this was all over.

“You need time to heal,” she said after a long period of silence.

“I don't have that luxury. I'm sure as soon as I can stand, they'll shovel me into a monkey suit and you into some lace and a veil.”

“And then you'll take me home,” she said with a certain finality.

“Yeah. Then I'll take you home.” And one way or another, he'd never see her again. But that was probably for the best, for both of them.

He wondered what she'd been thinking when she'd said she loved him. If she'd imagined a future with him that could never be. Or if it was just to get them through because she couldn't bear the thought of him or anyone dying for her.

No, he knew in his bones without even asking what the answer was to that question. Damara felt everything deeply, completely.

He used to think that if he had one wish, one moment he could change, it would be Uganda. But if he did, then he wouldn't be the one here with Damara.

If he had one thing that he could do differently, one course of history he could change, it would be to make this right for her. To take away her pain, to make her safe.

He couldn't take her pain, but at least he could make her safe.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“C
HRISTMAS
D
AY
,”
S
ONJA
said to her across the cafeteria table at the base.

“Are you insane?”

Sonja looked at her. “Why would you ask that?”

What kind of question was that? “He was
shot,
” Damara answered, as if the PR rep wasn't aware of the fact.

“He's fine.” Sonja waved it off. “He's a former ranger, honey. You can't keep them down unless you put them down, if you know what I mean.”

“There's no way he's going to be ready to be on his feet.” She shook her head.

“He's already been on his feet. Did you really think a man like Hawkins would be content to lie there and
convalesce?
” She said this last as if it were something dirty.

“It'll have only been a week on Christmas Day.”

“And we can't show any weakness.” Sonja eyed her. “You understand that, right?”

This whole thing had gone so far afield from what she'd wanted, how she'd planned. Damara supposed she really was that naive girl Byron had accused her of being. She was still a pawn, and she'd done nothing but exacerbate the situation.

“Yes, I understand.” She nodded.

“So, we're going to have the ceremony here, at the Main Post Chapel. It's really a lovely building.”

Damara didn't think there was anything in the world that was worth Byron Hawkins's life. Nothing. Not Castallegna, not capturing Kulokav. And not her.

Nothing.

At least when she thought they'd have to be apart, she'd know he was still in the world. Still flashing that cocky grin and still saving damsels in distress.

Morbidly, she wondered how many nights Belinda Foxworth had stayed up bargaining with heaven for the exact same thing. What had she offered in trade for Austin Foxworth?

And why hadn't it been enough?

“Hey, I'm losing you. Front and center.” Sonja snapped her fingers. “We're down to the wire.”

“I know. I'm sorry.” Damara sighed. “I'm trying.”

“You're distracted because you're worried about Hawkins.”

“Aren't you?” She wondered how the other woman could be complacent in this insanity of a plan.

“No. That's not my job. My job is to get you married. I know it sounds a little coldhearted and mercenary, but it's what has to be done. Renner tells me that you're going back to Castallegna? Do you have a plan?”

“I thought that only PR was your job?” Damara asked.

“We can't very well release to the press that you're going to Castallegna on your honeymoon.”

A fake honeymoon was apt for a fake marriage. “I don't even know how we're going to get back on Castallegna. It's not like we can just fly in. This has all fallen apart.” She shook her head.

Sonja's face softened. “Look, I know this has to be tough. But you're letting your brother and the Russians get in your head. That's what they wanted. The shooter could have easily used a much higher-caliber weapon. They didn't want him dead. They wanted to show you that they could hurt him, and they did. They wanted you to scramble, and you are. But let's scramble on our terms, okay?”

“PR campaigns are very much like waging a war, aren't they?” Damara asked her.

Sonja grinned. “Yes, they are. They're the ones who bloodied the waters, so let's give them a shark.” She paused. “I've been in meetings with Renner. I promise you—Hawkins can take it. He'll be medically cleared before you go. He'll still have a wound, but he's not like other men. He's more like a junkyard dog. Mean as hell, and, if you tear him open, you'll just make him madder.”

Damara wondered if Sonja knew just how right she was about that. No wonder he'd been pushing her away because Damara was the one who kept trying to tear him open.

There was a part of her that wanted to call Grisha and surrender. If she did that, Byron would be safe. But she was sure that was a little-girl fantasy, too. There was just no way for this to end but badly.

“So, what do you think of the dress?” Sonja prompted.

Damara looked down at the pictures spread out in front of her. The pretty white ballgown with holly trim around the neckline and the red sash at the waist that turned into part of the train. It was lovely.

But it made her think of her mother's simple Grecian dress. She'd worn no jewelry when she'd married Damara's father until he'd placed a ring on her finger and a crown on her head. There'd been jasmine petals under her feet.

Her heart constricted, and she missed Castallegna, her mother, her father and the way her brother used to be.

“It's fine.” She nodded.

“We can get something else,” Sonja rushed to assure her.

“No, really. It's fine.” She plastered a smile on her face and forced her attention to the arrangements. This was something she had control over, something she could do. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her mark and that had to be worth something, at least in her own head.

She wrote down a list of the things she wanted from the cake to the reception. “I want a closed reception for the town. No press. Only locals. The town has been good to me, and I'd like to do something special for them.” For Byron, too. Maybe he'd stop thinking so little of himself if the town could show him the man he'd become, not the boy he once was.

“I think we're done for the day.” Sonja gathered up all the papers and began organizing them with sticky notes, highlighters and folders.

“Thank you for all you've done.” Damara took her hand and squeezed.

“My pleasure. Usually, I'm hired to clean up things we'd rather not know about. It's not a nice job, but it pays well. And this, this was something good. What's better than a fairy tale?”

“The truth?” Damara raised a brow.

“Honey, you're going to get the happily ever after. You're a princess who is all the things a princess should be. And you're already in love with the prince.”

“The prince has to love himself first, and I don't know if that's going to happen. Even if it does, we're from two different worlds.”

“I guess that will be for you two to work out.” Sonja finished packing up. “I'll walk you back to the room. They've moved him to a labor-and-delivery suite so your stay is more comfortable.”

This was the last thing she wanted to think about. The very last. It was too close to all the things she'd dreamed of and none of the things she'd have. But she followed behind Sonja anyway.

They paused at the empty nursery, and Damara was glad it was empty. Damara didn't want to take a chance that a child would be hurt while she and Byron were being sheltered there. She placed her hand on the window anyway, thinking about what it would be like to have her own child. Not now, not tomorrow, but someday.

“Aren't you worried Hawkins will catch you daydreaming?” Sonja teased.

No, she wasn't worried about that at all. She'd been trying to picture children with some nameless, faceless someone, but all she could see was a little girl with his eyes and her hair. His strength and her heart.

As if that would ever happen. If Byron didn't even want a commitment, he'd never want children. She dragged her hand away from the glass and followed Sonja to the room.

“I'll leave you two alone. I have some paperwork to catch up on.” Sonja left.

She was right; it was a much nicer space. The room was done in soft, dark colors. There were two cushioned couches, a bed large enough for them both and a fruit basket as well as other sundry items all set out for them. It was almost like a hotel.

Byron stood in a pair of clean black fatigues, bare from the waist up.

Her mouth watered, and she felt instantly guilty about all the thoughts in her head. He was an injured man, and yet, standing there with his muscles all hard and flexed in the soft light, Damara needed to touch him.

More, she needed the reassurance of his body, the heat of his skin, the steady beat of his heart.

He turned when she entered and the sight of the angry wounds on his chest drilled deep into her. She ached for him physically, as well as in her heart. She supposed they were one and the same.

“I'm glad to see you've been taken off all the machines. That means you're improving, right?”

“I'm fine.” He nodded.

“So says you with the holes in your chest.”

He shrugged, his massive shoulders rolling with the action. “They don't feel good, but the docs sealed them with that surgical glue.”

“And what happens if someone hits you there?”

Byron raised a brow.

She walked toward him slowly, her brain screaming at her that this was a bad idea, but she just had to touch him. Damara wanted to feel his heartbeat beneath her fingers.

He was frozen, didn't move or even blink as she looked up into his eyes and pressed her palm over his heart.

The words bubbled up again and she didn't want to say them, but she'd decided love was much like soda. It was sweet and carbonated, dancing around and exploding outward when rattled by a thought or a sensation.

She bit her lip.

Yes, she loved Byron Hawkins.

It was true—it was the first time she'd ever felt this for anyone. She knew love and lust could be easily confused, but when she imagined her future, he was there. Not just as some soldier on a mission, but as a true husband. A partner. A lover. Her best friend.

He'd quickly become all of those things. She could tell him anything. Anything but this because she knew he didn't want it.

She'd always thought that love was something that should be shared, given freely with no expectation of anything in return. She'd thought it was stupid to keep those feelings to yourself because, after all, what could be bad about love?

But she saw now that it was a burden to know that someone loved you if you didn't reciprocate the feeling. It was awkward and uncomfortable for both people. Just like that soda she'd used as a comparison: If no one was going to drink it, why bother to open it? All of that wonderful, fizzy, bubbly carbonation just disappeared into nothing.

Wasted.

So she'd hold it inside, keep it tightly sealed in its bottle and it could fizz happily but quietly.

Maybe she wasn't a silly little girl, after all. She was strong enough to love him, to be in love with him, and not punish him for not feeling the same thing in return. He had enough to bear on his shoulders, and she knew that he cared for her in his own way.

He'd said he'd kill for her and he'd die for her. There was devotion there. So what if it wasn't love? She'd planned on living without it, so nothing had to change. She'd just enjoy these feelings for what they were, an experience that was a gift because she'd thought she'd never have these feelings.

“Damara.” Her name sounded like a warning, and his fingers closed around her wrist.

But he didn't stop her when her hand moved down to his abs or back over his chest, up to his shoulders. He stood there, stock-still and waiting for whatever she'd ask of him.

“I'm just checking,” she whispered, almost as if she was afraid someone would hear her.

“For what?” he whispered back.

“That everything is still present and accounted for. Everything still works.”

“Oh, it works.” He leaned down to her ear. “It works really
hard.
”

Her face flamed. “Of course you'd say that. One of my bodyguards told me that men were like the monkeys in an experiment she'd read about at university. When given the choice between buttons that would provide pleasure or food, they'd hit the pleasure button until they starved to death.”

He took control of her explorations and pulled both her hands down to his abs. “I've been eating. That's not starving, is it?”

She laughed. “No, but you're hurt.”

“Yeah, I'm in all kinds of pain. Right here.” He pushed her hands lightly toward the waist of his fatigues.

She didn't need any further guidance. “You think so? Is this your reward for saving the maiden fair?”

“No.” He put his hand over her heart the same as she'd done to him. “This is my reward for saving the maiden fair.”

She knew that he meant her breath, her heartbeat, her life, but he was so right. All of her belonged to him.

“The Jewel of Castallegna.” He brushed his lips against her cheek.

She shivered, loving his touch but not his words. “No, I'm not the Jewel any longer.”

“It's not just the shape of your face or the curve of your hips, Damara. It's you.” He pushed her T-shirt up over her head and tossed it to the floor. “There's a reason you're the Jewel of Castallegna, and it has nothing to do with the pretty sheen of your hair or your lovely breasts.”

She knew what it was. It was what was between her thighs, her womb, because she would ensure the succession of the throne. Or so it had been thought.

“Whatever you were thinking about that made you scowl like that, it's not true.”

Damara decided she didn't like this game. These things were still too tender, too raw. She didn't want him to see them because she feared if he did, he wouldn't have the same opinion of her. He'd realize that she was just a woman with no special powers. She couldn't do the things he did, and she was just a damsel in distress with more ideas than ways to implement them.

“I saw that you were the Jewel because of the light that's inside you, and it shines so bright, glitters. Just like a precious stone caught in some brilliant light.”

“You sound like a poet.” She couldn't bring herself to comment on the content of his remark, so she focused instead on the words themselves.

“I've never been any better with words than I am with people, Damara. That's all you.” He kissed her mouth with a tender reverence she didn't know he was capable of.