Protecting His Princess by C. J. Miller

anyone—he was playing the role of nervous suitor meeting Laila’s family for the first time. “Nervous suitor” would be early and fidgety.
    She glanced at his feet. “You aren’t wearing the shoes.” She seemed a bit relieved.
    He grinned. “I have to break them in first. But once I get them ready, they won’t leave my feet.”
    She laughed. “Oh, good. I can’t wait.” The smile on her face reached to her eyes. He was mesmerized by her. Entranced.
    Which made it easier to play this part. No danger of anything coming of it, not in the long run. Not only did his relationship history prove he couldn’t make things work, his job also required he give her space when they returned to the United States. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and get involved with someone while he was working.
    After the mission, he’d never see her again. Sadly it was the way most of his personal relationships ended. He’d been trained to analyze people and scrutinize their relationships, he could create profiles of men who were good and bad at relationships, but he couldn’t manage to keep one of his own. Worse still, some of the women he’d been attracted to in the past had been disastrously flawed. The last had betrayed his undercover identity to the target of an investigation, putting him and his team in grave danger. If her betrayal hadn’t been discovered, he’d have been killed.
    Saying he was bad at relationships was an understatement.
    “I’m anxious about tonight, too. I can’t wait to see my mother and my family, but I’m worried about what Mikhail wishes to tell us,” Laila said.
    “I’m sure everything is okay,” Harris said. He had the same worry, but if anyone was eavesdropping, he wanted to come across as confident in Mikhail and reassuring to Laila.
    Without touching, Harris escorted her to the dining room.
    The maître d’ for the evening seated them close to the head table where the emir and his bride would sit. It was a terrible view of the dining room entrance. Harris wished they would have been placed in the back. It was a large event, and Harris wanted to get a look at the attendees.
    Two dozen tables seating ten each were covered in perfectly pressed white linen cloths and immaculately displayed dinnerware. Maroon carpets blended with the cherrywood of the chairs. Staff stood around the edges of the room, waiting to spring to action when summoned.
    “Is something wrong?” Laila asked Harris, leaning closer to him and keeping her voice low.
    Had he been scowling? He adjusted his expression to neutral. “I’m keeping an eye on things. Waiting for your mother.” Looking for faces he might recognize, like any of the known members of the Holy Light Brotherhood.
    Laila nodded and lifted her water glass, taking a sip. “Nothing to worry about. She’ll like you.”
    Harris wasn’t sure about that, but his primary goal was to watch the crowd. Though he could have spent the evening watching Laila, her elegant movements, the delicate way she lifted her glass and set it down, that wasn’t part of the mission, either.
    Harris forced his eyes away from Laila and looked around the room, constraining his expression to remain blank as his gaze landed on royal family members in high-ranking political positions. Such people wouldn’t impress a wealthy German business heir.
    “Mother.” Laila rose to her feet. She looked as if she wanted to run to her mother in greeting, but protocol and decorum stopped her.
    Harris stood and waited. No denying it was Laila’s mother. They could have been sisters; they looked so much alike.
    Laila’s mother was escorted by an older man. Laila hugged her mother and the two clasped hands, looking at each other as if they had much to say. The pair had great respect, love and admiration for each other. Harris got an inside look at why Laila had agreed to take a risk in exchange for a safe life in the United States for her mother. Her mother’s happiness and safety