Page 13 of Breathe Me: Smith & Belle

5

Smith

The bar of the Westminster Royal was fairly quiet given the time of day. A few businessmen lingered over cocktails, discussing market prices and valuations. A couple, obviously mind-affair, were sipping champagne in the corner. I took a table in the middle of the room, where I’d be able to see every entrance and exit and waited for my guest to arrive. Out of habit, I checked my mobile, concerned that if Belle tried to reach me I might not have heard it in the bustle of London’t sidewalks. No new messages. I expected a call any moment—the call— and the longer I went without receiving it the more tightly wound I became. It was difficult to let Belle out of my sight when she might go into labor at any time.

Across from me a table of businessmen stopped talking and turned to stare at a woman entering the bar. I didn’t have to look to see who it was.

Georgia Kincaid always made an entrance, whether she was trying to or not.

Today she’d traded her usual motorcycle leather for a pair of tight black pants and a fitted blazer that dipped low enough to display the lace of her bra. Her glossy black hair swung loosely around her shoulders, contrasting sharply with her ruby red lips. She didn’t bother to smile when she spotted me. Instead, she strode straight toward me, ignoring the men’s stares, and took the seat next to me, the only other chair that afforded views of the exits. Some habits never died, and Georgia’s current line of work necessitated vigilance.

“Where’s your wife?” Georgia asked, peering around me like I might be hiding a nine-months pregnant Belle behind my back.

“Shopping with Edward,” I said in a clipped tone.

“I don’t think you have to worry about him.” Georgia’s lips twitched into a bemused smile.

“He’s not the one I’m worried about.”

“You can’t keep her under lock and key all the time,” she advised with a sigh.

I shot her a look. “Can’t I? Isn’t that what your boss does?”

It was something of a sore subject that Georgia had gone to work for Alexander. Particularly, because I’d planned to coax her into keeping an eye on Belle. Somehow, she’d been talked into working for the monarchy, which, given how we were raised, had more than surprised me. Georgia and I had spent our formative years being groomed by one of England’s most insidious crime lords to hate the Royal family and everything it stood for. I’d thought for years that no one hated them more than me, Georgia, and my surrogate father, Hammond. I’d been expected to work against them by Hammond until I realized I wanted nothing to do with him or his sins. I’d had to lose the thing I thought was most important to me in the world: my wife. Then, I’d had to discover my marriage had been a manipulation. That’s when I convinced Georgia to start working against Hammond with the help of the Royal family. But the deeper we dove, the uglier it got until Hammond delivered a game-changer to my door: Belle. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her. Alexander had been furious, concerned it would jeopardize his investigation into the assassination of his father. That’s when I realized my loyalty would only ever lie with Belle. But even that hadn’t been simple. It turned out that we were nothing but pawns in a much larger game. I’d won my freedom only to be dragged back into the fray when they kidnapped Belle’s best friend. I’d helped Alexander find his wife for Belle’s sake. Each time I got pulled back into that world, I wondered if I’d make it back out. This last time, my alliance with Alexander had felt dangerously like friendship.

It’s why I had to convince Belle to leave London. She was in danger as long as we remained near them. But keeping her from her closest friends was proving to be more than I could handle. It wasn’t that I wanted to isolate her. More than anything I wanted her to make new friends, settle into life in Sussex, and start over. Georgia could have helped with that, but I suspected that she’d actually fallen victim to caring about Alexander and Clara too much to walk away.

“Don’t drag Alexander into this,” Georgia advised. “This isn’t about him.”

“Everything’s about him,” I said gruffly. That’s how it felt in London.

“He’s the King, so it probably feels that way.”

“He convinced you to take a job working for the good guys,” I said, wondering how someone as chaotic as Georgia had found herself actively working for the Crown.

“The benefits are excellent,” she said with a shrug. “You should see my new ride.”

I raised an eyebrow. I’d much rather chat about cars than royalty.

“Porsche Panamera,” she said. “Black, naturally.”

“That seems a little fast and loose for Buckingham.” I had to admit I was impressed. The Porsche wasn’t just another armored vehicle. It had some style to it, as well as three millimeters of ballistic steel on its roof and floor board in addition to its bulletproof exterior. It was a good choice for someone who drove around the Queen, but not the safest on the market.

“He tried to get me in a Mulsanne, but I told him I wasn’t on my way to the Care Home yet, so he had to budge.”

“The Mulsanne is safer,” I said with a shrug. “It would have been my choice.”

Georgia whipped around to stare at me, her dark eyes, rimmed in coal-black liner, narrowed like she was dissecting me.

“What?” I shrugged.

“I’m trying to decide if you’ve been replaced by an imposter. The Smith Price I know would never choose that Bentley over a Porsche,” she said.

“I have different priorities now.”

“I guess we all have to grow up someday.” But she sounded less than enthused about my sudden maturity. “Did Belle take your balls as well as the keys to the Bugatti?”

“She wouldn’t let me sell the Bugatti. She’s rather attached to it.” I’d been willing to part with my former daily car, which would have nearly paid for our new home entirely, but my wife wouldn’t hear of it. Given the memories we’d made in it, I couldn’t exactly blame her. But that didn’t mean we’d be bringing our baby home in its boot. “We got a Range Rover. It made sense.”