ANDRÉ FOUND GEMMA ON THE ground clutching her shotgun. When he called her name, she didn’t move. Just laid there flat on her back, aiming her emptied gun at Bendetto’s mangled corpse, his one hand still wrapped around her ankle.

The soldiers who’d rammed the door put another dozen bullets into him, but it was Gemma’s shots to his chest that took him down first.

André had raged in the surveillance room as he’d heard every word Bendetto said, watched every smack to Gemma’s face. He’d shoved Felipe aside to scramble to the door, intending on running up the stairs, barreling through the door and blasting that bastard in the face himself. But Stefano had to slam him back against the wall to keep him from leaving the room. Some crap about his life too important, couldn’t take the risk, and leave it to the soldiers. All he could see was red: Gemma’s bloodied face, tied helpless to a chair with his mother’s portrait staring down at her. The minute that maniac had grabbed her breast, André exploded, desperate to wring Bendetto’s neck with his bare hands. But Stefano pushed harder, and Felipe had to help hold him down.

Solanian soldiers swept the rest of the palace, clearing it of Bendetto’s men, most of whom were already dead or escaped to the marina. Just as Stefano had predicted. But André only cared about the blonde who’d risked her life for him.

Another woman stepping into bullets for me.

“Gemma,” he called again, soothing and afraid simultaneously. He put his hand on the top of her shotgun, easing it to the side. But her titan hold wouldn’t release. Her stare was still locked onto Bendetto’s corpse. Blood tinged the sides of her mouth, and her jaw and cheek already swelled from the beating she took. Red trailed down her shoulder from a small black, oozing hole. André stopped breathing. Everything else in the room faded to a haze. “You’re shot, Gemma. Put down the gun.”

Her gaze finally broke from Bendetto and circled the room until it rested on André. She dropped the gun. Sitting up with a wince, she grabbed her shoulder and cried out. Blood covered her hand and dripped onto the rug. “I’m all right,” she breathed, but her eyes closed, lazy and disoriented.

André scooped her into his arms and lifted her up, her head lolling onto his shoulder. “Hang on.” He rushed her out of the room. As fast and careful as his feet would let him, he bolted down the hallway and gingerly descended the stairs. Soldiers filled the large entry hall, escorting mercenaries out or carrying dead bodies away. Each of them paused at his entrance, and either bowed their heads or hurried out of his way. Stefano and Felipe met him at the bottom of the stairs, their heels clicking on the marble floor.

“Stefano!” André barked and dropped to his knees. Gemma had passed out in his arms, and he refused to let go. Stefano immediately pressed onto her wound. She groaned, but didn’t open her eyes.

Felipe turned to a nearby soldier. “Medic, ahora!”

André let her legs rest across his knees, and brushed the hair from her face. “Gemma, look at me, mi amor.” He lightly tapped her non-swollen cheek and ignored the crowd building around them. From somewhere, Stefano grabbed a long strip of blue fabric and tied it tightly around her shoulder. Gemma groaned again, her arm now soaked in blood.

As the fabric darkened, which André noticed was a sash off a Solanian soldier’s uniform, medics arrived with a gurney. One man opened his field kit as another unfolded the gurney, letting the wheels down. “Set her here, Your Majesty,” one of them instructed. André didn’t bother correcting him, and laid her on the cushion softly.

“Gemma, look at me,” he pleaded. Her head followed the sound of his voice, but she still didn’t wake.

“We’ll meet her at the hospital.” Stefano pulled him back. “Let them help her.”

André couldn’t step back, couldn’t pull away. Only with the firm hold of his bodyguard’s hand on his arm did he relinquish. Water built in his eyes as he watched them wheel her away.

 

 

 

Something sweet drifted under Gemma’s nose, and a warm breeze kissed her cheeks. The air was humid, yet refreshing. A comforting light coaxed her eyes open to a room full of flowers and tiny figurines. Once her hazy vision adjusted, she noticed the figurines were of the Virgin Mary, in various sizes and colors with halos and praying hands. But it was the abundant flowers that parted her lips.

Bright pinks, deep purples, oranges, reds, every shade of white covered the counters and tables, including behind her head. The sweet smell now almost overpowering.

Voices from outside the open window drifted in, happy and light Spanish. A beautiful, cloudless day. Solana.

“You’re awake.”

Rico stood from a chair in the corner, setting a book in its place. His smile was wide and genuine, yet his eyes were tired. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “How do you feel?”

She finally registered the throbbing in her chin and cheek. Like an hour-long kickboxing lesson directed at her face. She wiggled her jaw and swore she heard a creak.

“Like a punching bag,” she croaked and cleared her throat. Despite the humidity, everything felt dry inside. Rico grabbed a cup from her beside table and held it up.

“Water,” he urged, and helped her drink through the straw. Heavenly.

“How long have I been out?” She rubbed her throat and felt the IV needle in her hand.

“Two days.”

“What happened?”

“You took a bullet in your arm, nicked an artery and lodged in a bone. Surgeons removed it. A slight crack in you cheekbone, too.”

Images of the gunfight with Bendetto flashed in her mind, and she winced, only now registering the pain in her shoulder. “Are you ok?”

He nodded, then urged her to drink more.

“Where’s André?” A small panic filled the haze inside. She couldn’t remember what happened after her fingers closed around Lil’ Pete. Is André alive? Safe?

“He’s fine.” Rico rested a hand on her uninjured arm. “He’s been helping with the recovery, though most of the physical damage was to the palace and marina. He’s in a lot of meetings.”

Gemma relaxed and laid her head back on the pillow. She swallowed the tinge of disappointment that André wasn’t here with her. But he was alive. That was good enough. Each vase of flowers around the room was bigger than the last, but the figurines drew her attention. “Where did these come from?”

Rico scoffed. “Everyone.”

“Why?”

“You saved the prince.”

Gemma’s brows drew together.

“You killed Bendetto,” Rico continued, bringing over one of the Virgin Marys. “Then the whole army saw André carry you out himself and escort the ambulance to the hospital. Gossip spread like grasshoppers in a field. You’re a celebrity around here. More gifts arrive every few hours from adoring fans.”

Gemma shook her head. “They don’t even know me.” She rubbed the figurine’s head between her fingers. She wasn’t religious, didn’t even remember the last time she prayed. But holding it made her feel better. Calmer. Did André have one of these beside him when he slept?

“Better prepare yourself.” Rico motioned to the window. “The minute everyone knows you’re awake, they’ll probably throw a parade bigger than Cinco de Mayo.”

“What happened to you and Carlos? Quintana?” She ignored his statements about being a celebrity. She didn’t care about any of that. “When you walked into that room in the palace? I lost you both.”

Rico’s amused look disappeared. He pulled the chair closer to her bed and sat, putting the book on the floor—a visitor’s guide to Solana. Rico held her fingers in both of his hands. “The king’s chambers were empty. When we went back to find you, Bendetto shot Carlos in the face. I made it to the hallway and found Quintana with a bullet in the leg, so I dragged him back to the linen closet. A minute later we heard the soldiers power through.” He swallowed hard.

“Carlos is dead,” Gemma murmured, more a statement than a question.

Rico nodded. “Quintana will be ok, but he has a long recovery in front of him.”

Gemma covered his hand over her own. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Sitting in the bed made her feel useless. Helpless. So many miles from a home that no longer existed. The comforting, soothing feeling she had from holding the figurine faded, and she suddenly felt alone. Lost.

Every muscle in her body ached from fatigue. She didn’t know which was worse: sitting useless in a hospital bed or feeling alone.

“André has been here each night. All night holding your hand.” Rico squeezed her hand back, as if sensing her mood change. “The envoys from the United Nations finally showed up with reinforcements, which is how the soldiers overtook the mercenaries. André returns to the palace every morning. All day he’s either in meetings with Parliament to rebuild the government, or the U.N. folks, or cleaning up the palace. But every evening, he’s here with you.”

The words both comforted and shredded her. He cared enough about her to stay by her side, to keep her from being alone. It warmed her insides and made her heart flutter. But he’d worried over her bedside, and no doubt hadn’t slept either.

She took another sip of water, anything to fill the silence in her awkward and aching heart.

A nurse walked in carrying another wrapped bouquet of flowers. When she saw Gemma awake and sitting up, she gasped and dropped them. She rushed out of the room in a flurry of high-pitched Spanish. “Call the palace; she’s awake! Call His Highness, she’s awake!”

Rico sighed with an annoyed frown. “Can’t hide you any longer,” he exhaled. “Ready for the spotlight, Gemmana?”

She gave a small smile at the endearment, but felt sick to her stomach.