Some Like it Easy (9 page)

“Then you are aware that Miss Novak is now considered a protectee.” The level tone and mild note of reprimand served as a gentle, but effective reminder.

“You are not at liberty to discuss the details of your protectee.” Hoisted by his own petard, George nodded once. “Thank you, Grady.”

“You’re very welcome, sir.”

Rubbing the back of his neck and trying to ease the kink of the muscles, George pulled his laptop over and checked his email. He’d already checked his phone. Penny hadn’t texted.

A note from one of his professors appeared in his inbox and he clicked it open. Surprise fluttered through him, followed by an odd sense of accomplishment. “Grady, did you clear Professor Lehrman?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent, we’re going to meet with him.” He fired off a response saying he was available now. The professor led his seminar on worldviews and had been complimentary on his earlier papers, but his most recent assignment had earned a full paragraph and the request to talk.

“Now, sir?”

“George,” he said, and rose after sliding his laptop into the bag. “We’re on campus.”

Grady gave him a bland look, but the bodyguard nodded. The other two men on his detail took point and Grady walked with him. As long as Belaria continued to make the news, and reporters kept bringing up the Andraste family, no one was taking any chances. Sebastian and Armand had negotiated a peace of sorts with General Kachusov, but it remained fragile. Too fragile.

While his brothers seemed confident, George wasn’t sure if it was a feigned front or something they truly believed. He had never been included in the discussions beyond the order to ‘stay out of it.’ Leaving the library, he crossed the campus to the building housing his professor’s office. Maybe the weather had something to do with it, but the students here moved at a different pace from the California school he’d attended. Some in thick groups, others alone, and everyone focused on themselves, their studies and getting from place to place.

The sub-zero wind chills might discourage outdoor gatherings, but he suspected later in the spring, most students would be outside rather than crowded into the buildings. Aware his men disliked the crowded corridors, George let Grady take point while another fell in place beside him and the third lagged behind. They resembled most of the other groupings, but he doubted others were armed or as well-trained. No one bumped into him, not even by accident.

At the professor’s door, George knocked and opened it when the man called for him to enter. “You can stay here,” he told Grady and the man frowned.

“One moment, please, sir.” He entered the office in front of George and Professor Lehrman glanced up from the papers he reviewed on his desk. He said nothing while Grady checked what turned out to be a coat closet and a private bathroom. Apparently satisfied, he exited, closing the door behind himself.

“That must be terribly inconvenient at times.” The professor stood once George entered and extended his hand.

After shaking the professor’s hand briefly, George took a seat and nodded. “A necessary evil.”

“You know, I recognized your name immediately when it appeared on my rolls. The Dean of Academics pulled every professor on your enrollment into a private meeting. We were informed of your identity and the manner in which we were to treat you.”

Unsurprising as the information was, George still disliked being told about the measures taken on his behalf. None of his personal feelings would show in his reactions. He’d spent too many years being schooled by tutors, his mother, and his elder brother to wear his heart on his sleeve.

“But you knew that already, so why am I bringing this up?” Lehrman gave him a sanguine smile.

The professor would come to his point sooner or later, so George hedged his bets and waited.

“Your High—may I call you George, son?” The inquiry about his given name won the professor far more points than anything else he’d said.

“Yes, Professor, I would much prefer you use my first name rather than the honorific. If you must be formal, Mr. Dagmar is fine.” He’d never really been a Mr. Dagmar prior to the last few weeks. At UCLA, he spent more on parties, women, and only occasionally breezed through a class or lecture.

“Excellent. You may call me Toby when we are in this office, Professor Lehrman and Mr. Dagmar out there. Toby and George, it is.”

Acceptable terms.
“What can I do for you, Toby?” With pleasantries out of the way, perhaps they could get to the meat of the conversation.

In his early fifties, the professor’s hairline had retreated to reveal a bald pate fringed by a sprinkle of dark hair. Settling back into his seat, he picked up his coffee mug and tossed a stapled packet of papers from the stack in front of him to the spot before George. “In your paper on the microeconomics of a closed system, you suggest politics are the only capital generating product particularly in Eastern European nations struggling to establish an identity on a world stage, as the…how did you phrase it? Understudy cast in the play of a century, never having even read a script?”

Since that sounded like something he’d write, George nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you referencing Belaria? And other nations of the former Soviet Bloc?”

“You can apply that assessment to any nation, actually, even this one. Divisive political parties articulating arguments at both ends of the spectrum works, in theory. In practice, it is a machine, generating hard feelings, anger, hatred, and oppression. When one party is in ascendance, they step on the throats of the other. Best case scenario, they seek a balance between idealism and pragmatism work toward a moderate result. But humans are not often the best case study for any sort of balance. We’re petty and we’re mean by nature, something that makes us quite unique.” George shrugged. “Or at least, history demonstrates such examples of our folly. For instance, the Senate disliked Caesar’s popularity and perceived it as a threat, so they assassinated him, sparking internal strife and a civil war which drew the ancient world into what is, at its core, idealism and pragmatism changing the course of history.”

“Fascinating.” His professor took a drink of the coffee and set it aside. “You have an interesting take, one I don’t typically see in a member of the
noblesse oblige
.”

“Toby, I don’t speak for my family or for the countries in question. I’m taking a seminar on worldviews and politics. I answered a question. I stand by the answer, and I cited my sources to support my arguments.”

“So you don’t think we should get involved? That your family shouldn’t get involved?”

Danger lurked in the heart of the professor’s question. “It does not matter what I think.” A sad, but harsh truth.

“I disagree. One clarion voice articulating the argument? Maybe it has no effect at all, but what about ten years from now? Or twenty? When a student growing up under these harsh conditions discovers your paper and uses it for reference material to make an argument? And then another? And another?”

George frowned. “I’m not entirely sure I follow, Professor.”

“Between you and me, with no public commitment, do you think you should be more involved in Belaria? Or should you continue to downplay your role, as your family seems committed to doing and has done for the last several months?”

The question was undoubtedly a trap. To agree meant to confirm, at least before the one man, that he didn’t support the family stance as determined by Armand. As with most monarchies, the Andrastes followed the course set by their titular head. “Toby, my opinion doesn’t matter.” He’d flouted Armand’s decision once before. Not intentionally, but through his actions, he’d spurred a violent reprisal which nearly cost them Sebastian and led to several other attempts on all of their lives.

“Of course it does.” The older man frowned and he tapped the desk. “Every opinion matters.”

“No, it really doesn’t. Not even here in America, where the public assumes it must and shall matter, a point proven by your government constantly. In my case, the expression of an opinion could place my family into the crosshairs of an assassin’s bullet. To do business with these countries, to understand the political ramifications, is also to accept that dissent is most often solved through assassination.”

“But who makes the extraordinary dissent if everyone is afraid?”

“What if it went beyond the hypothetical? Allow me to counter with this question, could you willingly fire the first shot if your actual family stood in front of you? If your family would likely to reap the response to your actions?” If every person who ever began a war envisioned their children standing in the midst of the battlefield, would they still commit to their action?

“Perhaps not. However, if sacrifice were not demanded, if a voice were not heard who had something important to say? The world would never change.” The professor touched the top of the research paper on his desk. “If you publish this, which is my recommendation, you could stir up a hornet’s nest. You might also start a discussion like the one we are having today.”

A pipe dream. A lark. A dangerous precedent.
Armand would kill him. “You want me to wade into a conflict, dragging my family with me because of a happy accident of genetics?”

“No, son. I want you to wade in because you possess a keen insight and a unique perspective so few in your generation can even begin to comprehend. You are not some foolish ideologue spouting an idea just to hear themselves on YouTube. You’re educated, you have been there, you have seen it, and you understand it on a level that I would propose your brother does not.”

“If I am doing you the courtesy of this discussion, I will request that you do me a similar one in not insulting His Highness.” But he wasn’t finished, particularly because the idea intrigued him and that should have been his cue to stand and leave. “Professor—Toby. I do want to be involved, but I cannot in good conscience put my family in danger. I have neither the right nor the permission to do so. You’re an American, you see the world through American eyes. You think it is your right to stand up for what you believe in, to shout that belief from the rooftops even if they are lined with men and women trying to shout you down. You have had leaders assassinated or attempted assassinations and death threats for those in power…there’s a reason why the President has Secret Service protection and laws exist to protect him from one person or a thousand who want to silence him. Yet, you all still have the right to espouse your beliefs—I do
not
. I am a member of the Andraste family. We have no country, nor throne, nor parliament. We have only our customs, our rules, and our survival. When your family has been butchered and marched into a basement to be shot in the back of the head, you take a dim view on waving your flag in the name of free speech. You honor me with the suggestion that my words are worth reading, but to endanger my family? To wade into a futile war of words with a nation that, by and large, does not want anything to do with us? Who possess leaders that actively
hate
us? No, sir, I cannot.”

And that…that was the end of the discussion. He rose, and the professor pursed his lips, his expression grave and considering. “George, think about it. I understand what you’re saying, but I think you’ve forgotten the most crucial element of it all.”

“What would that be?”

“It is harder to disagree and stand up for what you believe in when you have a gun to your head. The simplest route is to keep your head down, to obey your brother, and to not make waves. But you have an extraordinary voice—and it’s your
voice
, not your name, that I think should be heard. This paper? It can be published under a pseudonym. It can be in the world and it can make a difference.”

“To what point? If it is only my words? Not the title? Not the family name? Who would listen?”

“You only need one person to listen. One person can make a difference and I would say after decades of strife and futility, there is no dishonor in failure—only in the lack of trying.” He rose and extended his hand. “Think about it.”

After a quick handshake, George nodded once. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Mr. Dagmar.”

Armand would kill him, but George couldn’t stop thinking about the professor’s argument. Could he do something? Could his words have value without his title?

And, if they did, would he be able to help?

I need to talk to Penny.
She would understand, maybe even put it into perspective. She always did.

“
S
o
, let me get this straight. Your professor wants you to publish your paper—the third you’ve written since the term began. He has a couple of journals that would be interested, and you could even do it under a pseudonym to keep your family from being dragged into it. Have I got it all correct?” Penny stood in the middle of his kitchen, holding a glass of wine. She looked utterly edible in his shirt, a pair of fuzzy socks and nothing else.

“More or less,” he said with a nod. It had been almost a week since his first meeting with Toby and the professor had spoken with him twice since. Once he offered a list of potential journals, the second he showed George a similar article written more than thirty years before—one being referenced by modern scholars and politicians in regard to the current situation.

And also horrifically out of date with the times.

Penny had been heavily preoccupied with her senior project, but she’d appeared in his apartment just after midnight, exhausted and almost insensible. When she crawled into bed, clothes and all, he’d helped her get naked, tucked her in and let her sleep. The fact that she’d slept there till nearly four in the afternoon and had only just now come out of his shower to join the rest of the world left him feeling—oddly content.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Armand will never approve.” No matter how he approached the idea, the risk might be diminished, but not eliminated. “I cannot—will not—defy him so openly. Not again.” No matter their personal disagreements, of which there were many, he would never forgive himself if something happened to any of them. With a child on the way, Armand would be even more ruthless in his efforts to protect them than before.

Chewing on the end of one nail, Penny squinted at him. “Do you want me to encourage you to defy him or tell you that you’ve made the right decision?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted and flipped the burger on the pan. Nearly seven weeks into his new living arrangements and he had almost mastered cooking a hamburger—notify the press.

“Yes you do,” Penny said, then drained her wine glass and set it on the counter. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it at all if you didn’t know. Why tell me when I might not agree with you if you hadn’t made up your mind?”

Evasion seemed the best choice at this juncture. “Perhaps because I value your opinion and it was an interesting event for me.”

“George, you know what the professor is asking you to do. You know what Armand would say about it. The only question remains is what do
you
want to do?” She made it sound so simple.

“If only it were that easy.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Penny, I respect my brother. We don’t agree, and there are times when he behaves as though he were my father. Yet none of that matters because he is the head of our family.”

“Your family.” The correction bothered him. She was a member of their family, too.

“Our family. You think he bought this apartment building by mistake? Or that he won’t funnel work to your brother, G.W.? That he didn’t quietly underwrite the bank loans on your family farm?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The playfulness in her voice disappeared.

“What I am saying is that Armand looks after those that belong to him. You are Anna’s sister. Your family is her family, and she is Armand’s, so that makes all of you his, as well.” Did she not truly comprehend it? Even after the family holiday?

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine, Armand is a control freak with delusions of grandeur. You know, he’s entitled to think whatever he wants and to spend his money where he wants. But you’re an adult. If you want to do something, you should be able to do it.”

“Again, it is not that simple.”

“Why not? You publish under a pseudonym and get your work out there or you don’t. Not because of what Armand may or may not approve or what some fanatics in another country think—because you want to do it. Because you think it’s the right thing to do.” She sucked her upper lip between her teeth and paused, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Flipping the burgers one last time, he turned off the heat. If everything he read was true, the meat would continue to cook on the hot pan and the chances of burning them reduced. That done, he turned and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. The motion was the most natural in the world. “Tell me.”

“Why does my opinion matter? You shouldn’t do anything because I think you should or because Armand thinks you shouldn’t. You should do it because it’s the right thing to do.” She flattened her hands against his chest, the warmth of her touch soothing the agitation inside him. Agitation he hadn’t been able to shake since the professor had made the provocative suggestion. Helping others, even if it was only to reframe the questions they were asking, meant something.

“Because you’re you,” he said. “You’re Penny. You see the world so very differently, and you don’t let titles or genetics or class distinctions get in your way.”

“Well, I sound pretty awesome.” The quirk of her smile lit another fire inside of him.

“I think so.” Touching his forehead to hers, he sighed.

“George,” she said, keeping her voice soft and light. “What do you want to do?”

The ten thousand dollar question with an answer so complex, he didn’t dare answer it blithely. Holding her close, all he wanted was her. He could shut the world out and ignore the difficult decisions. Making love to Penny made everything better.
But in reality, the world will not go away and the problems will still be there…
“I want to make a difference. Not for accolades or awards.” Not even for his brother’s respect. “In the most trying of times, no one person has the answer. Only through discussion, debate, and free exchange of ideas can we even hope to find one.”

Opening his eyes, he met her steady gaze. When she ran her hands up his chest to his shoulders, he felt tension easing in him.

“I want to publish the paper. I want to write a hundred more. I want to take apart the problems and put them together again, so everyone can understand that it’s not one big thing goes wrong, but a thousand little things slicing us apart.” Saying the words aloud removed a weight.

“Then the only decision you really have to make is what your pseudonym is going to be.” Penny rose on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly. “Maybe Huffen-Puff. You know, for all that hot air you want to blow?”

Amusement curled through him. “I think that lacks a certain gravitas.”

“John Smith?”

“Wouldn’t that be too bland and nondescript?”

“I don’t know.” She winked and withdrew from his arms to refill their wine glasses. “It’s supposed to be about your words, not your name, right?”

“True.” He accepted the glass she offered and a familiar jolt of awareness flooded his system when their fingers brushed. “I think it should still stand out more than John Smith.”

“Hmm.” She took a drink of the wine and he admired the slender column of her throat. He adored her smile, her energy, and even how a line appeared between her eyebrows when she concentrated on something. She could go from zero to sixty on a subject and dial down as fast. Passionate, sweet, and she snuggled. Even when they didn’t have time to see each other or do more than text during the day, she welcomed him into her bed or burrowed her way into his.

Comfortable. Fun. Perfect.

Maybe he didn’t needed to talk to her about his plans, but he’d wanted to and he held off making a decision until he did. He valued her input and wanted to hear her thoughts. More, he wanted to know what she’d challenge him to do or think.

“What?” She raised her eyebrows and lowered her glass.

“Hmm?”

“Why are you staring at me like that?” She crossed her eyes and made what she called her beaver teeth smile. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No,” but he laughed anyway. “I’m staring because I love you.” The words slipped out before his brain fully comprehended his heart’s intention. They landed in the space between them, a trumpet of affection, and his smile spread. “I love you. Every crazy inch of you.”

All trace of her humor disappeared and her eyes widened. “You what?”

As embarrassing as the verbal
faux pas
might have been, he didn’t regret the slip. Hell, it had been freeing. Closing the distance between them, he cupped her cheek and stroked her soft skin with his thumb. “I. Love. You.” He punctuated each word with a kiss then grinned. “Your mouth, your mind, your attitude—you’re wonderful. I want to tell you things because I wanted to hear your thoughts. I wanted to know what you would say. I wanted to share because you’re you.”

“I…”

“It’s okay, I’m rushing ahead and committing about seven different kinds of social suicide.” He didn’t give a damn. “You’re my girlfriend and, I’d like to think, my best friend.” He’d never had a true friend before or a girlfriend for that matter, but Penny fulfilled every quality of one. She wasn’t arm candy to show off at an event or a girl he picked up at a party for a good time. “But you asked me earlier, why does your opinion matter? It matters because you matter.” Pleased—more with her than his decision—he grinned wider. “Ready to eat?”

“
E
at
?” Penny’s brain seemed stuck in vicious replay of his unexpected declaration.

“Food. I made burgers. Hopefully I won’t poison us both, but I found buns. I have ketchup, as you like, and some cheese slices. I didn’t think to buy onions or tomatoes. Perhaps next time.” He moved with casual ease, setting the burgers he’d prepared onto their respective buns.

Just weeks earlier, he’d been uncertain of how to serve food from takeout containers. Since then, he’d learned to cook and prepare the meal himself.
I’m staring because I love you.
Her stomach bottomed out. The last thing she wanted was food or, God help her, more wine. The wine she’d already drank soured in her stomach.

After sleeping for hours and a hot shower, she’d been in a half-comatose state, wanting to simply lounge together, maybe watch a movie, have sex and relax. None of those items were on her agenda anymore. Cold, clammy panic climbed her spine and her heart jackhammered in her ribcage, as desperate for escape as she was.

“Hey…” He glanced over his shoulder then turned and dropped a kiss on her lips. “I know you’re tired. We could go curl up in bed and eat there, if you like.”

Thoughtful.

Sweet.

Funny.

I’m staring because I love you.

Promise me you’re being honest with him so you don’t break his heart.

“I am tired.” She fumbled for words. “But I just remembered, I have—I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“You’re working too much,” he said and caught her hand. The line between his brows tightened. “You deserve a night off.”

She had the whole weekend off after pulling double shifts the weekend before. That didn’t matter, though. She needed to get out of there.
He’s a nice guy, Penny.
Too nice. Too sweet. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her. He wasn’t supposed to want more. “Unfortunately, what I want and what I get are two different things. I gotta change.” She tugged out of his grasp and all but raced for the door. Forgetting that all she wore was his shirt and a pair of socks, she tried to ignore Justin in the hallway as she breezed past him and into her apartment.

Rushing into her room, she stripped out of his shirt. Her hands shook, but she dressed hurriedly and had barely pulled her hair into a ponytail when George appeared in the doorway to her bedroom.

“Penny, what’s wrong?” No hiding his concern.

“Nothing.” She lied through her teeth.
Everything is wrong.
Why the hell had he said he loved her? “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Understatement of the year
. “I need to go see Milo and pick up my rings.” Yes, she was reaching.

“Who’s Milo, and why does he have your rings?”

Why the hell did I tell you that?
She’d done a damn fine job of not oversharing, until he’d rattled her core. Except when she hadn’t. “No one important. Not a big deal. Look, I’m sorry about dinner. It was really great of you to make it, and I know you’ll make the right decision about the paper.” Shoes on, she struggled with her jacket.

George plucked it out of her hands then held it up for her and her stomach seemed to plummet. When he rested his fingers against her nape, she couldn’t escape the tingling sensation or the way her pulse raced. “Let me wrap up the burger. At least eat it on your way.”
Okay
. That would work. “Or better, I’ll go with you.”

No. Not so much.
“You have decisions to make and, when you go, we have to take five other people with us.” She’d never complained about his security before. A flicker of injury passed through his eyes and she gritted her teeth. “Besides, you have stuff to do. Not your fault I didn’t plan better.”

Or listen to Mallory.

Or common sense.

You were not supposed to fall in love with me.
God, she had to get away from him.

He trailed her to the hallway where Justin still waited. “Miss Novak has to go out,” George was saying.

“Yes, sir. I’ll get my coat.” The bodyguard disappeared into one of the apartments and George diverted into his.

“Hang on a sec, I’ll be right with you.” George continued saying. It took a split-second for her to realize she was alone. Galvanized, she bypassed the elevator and took the stairs. Not slowing until she was out the front door, she half-ran down the street. The moment she spotted a yellow cab, she put two fingers to her lips and whistled.

The cab halted, and she slid into the backseat.

“Where to?” The cabbie asked.

Damn good question
. Shooting a look over her shoulder, she bit her lower lip. Normally, she’d head to her studio or to the campus, maybe the coffee shop. But George knew all those places and if he didn’t, his security did.

“The Met.”

The cab pulled away from the curb and turned the next corner just as Justin and Grady arrived on the sidewalk. Slumping back against the seat, Penny closed her eyes. She didn’t do long term relationships, and she didn’t commit. No roots. Free to come and go as she pleased, to lose herself in a project, to change her mind on a whim. Other people meant consideration—a family of six had taken a hell of a lot of consideration.