Chapter 5
Olivia came awake with a start and moaned as the pain in her head overrun every other body ache. She sat up and with eyes still pressed tightly closed, she reached up to massage her temples. She’d suffered from chronic headaches all her life, the gentle finger massage was usually the best way to alleviate the pain. Aside from narcotics, it was the best she could do and remain conscious to attend her duties.
It wasn’t until she realized the sunlight streamed in from her left instead of the right, that she recalled the crazy dream of dragons and direct orders to marry a dragon prince. Squinting her eyes, she pried them gently open and studied the room. She didn’t remember getting home or in bed. Come to think of it, she didn’t remember much of anything from the day before.
Had she blacked-out? Had she crashed at the barracks?
“I apologize for your discomfort My Lady,” a gentle British-accented voice called from across the room, prompted Olivia to bolt from the bed, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. She frowned when the short, balding man stepped through the open doorway carrying a tray with some fancy teapot and cups. “I am Samuel and I am here to see to any needs you should have.”
He sat the tray on the chest at the foot of the bed and stood back with his hands clasped behind his back; apparently awaiting her orders.
“Where the hell am I?” Olivia demanded and winced as the pain in her head ratcheted another notch.
The older man smiled and bowed in a formal fashion.
“You are at the Monroe Estate, My Lady,” he informed her softly. “My Lord brought you in last night. He says that I should tell you that it wasn’t him who sedated you but someone by the name of Admiral Johnson. He also says to please make yourself at home, the mating ceremony isn’t until midnight.”
Mating ceremony? Olivia’s heart stuttered once and she sat heavily on the side of the bed before he legs gave away. It was real? The crazy dream, the dragon prince, the President’s direct order to marry? What alternate universe had she dropped into?
She remembered the man, Jaxen Monroe, and his participation in this farce. She needed to talk to him, she decided suddenly. Her gaze went to where the small man still stood and another pain shot through her skull. Maybe she needed an aspirin first, then a conversation.
“Samuel?” Olivia prompted and the man smiled with a nod. “I need three aspirin and a meeting with Mr. Monroe, in that order please,” she demanded politely.
“Of course, My Lady,” Samuel agreed but shifted from one foot to another almost nervously.
“Is there a problem?” Olivia asked, doing her best to temper the authoritative demand in her voice. She’d adopted it early in her career, it held the perfect combination of “don’t-mess-with-me-or-I’ll-make-you-do-a-thousand-push-ups” and “I’m-not-your-moma-but-you-will-listen-to-me.” The commanding air worked on her soldiers, but this man wasn’t under her command and therefore deserved a mediocre amount of respect.
The corners of Samuel’s mouth curved and he cleared his throat lightly before gesturing toward her.
“Perhaps My Lady would like to dress first?” he suggested and Olivia’s eyes immediately fell to her lap where she realized - in horror - that she wore nothing but an over-sized white t-shirt and her panties.
“Where the frick are my clothes and who undressed me?” she screeched uncharacteristically.
“My Lady -”
“Call me Olivia or Livy,” Olivia uninterrupted Samuel. “Just stop with the ‘My Lady’ nonsense.”
“My apologies, ma’am,” Samuel murmured softly. “But it’s impossible for me to address you in such an informal manner.”
“What about Miss Livy?” she asked. “Will that work?” Somehow she didn’t think ‘Master Sergeant’ would be acceptable either. She wasn’t in a military setting and she idly wondered if she ever would again. Had her entire life just shifted wildly out of balance? Had she really wasted her entire life training for something she’d so easily be snatched out of?
“Of course,” Samuel agreed with a smile and nodded happily. “Yes, ‘Miss Livy,’ that is acceptable. My Lord took the liberty of removing your uniform so as not to damage it. It’s been cleaned, pressed and hung in your closet. There are other clothes in there for you as well, should you not require the military uniform. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get your medicine and let My Lord know you seek an audience.” With a curt bow, he backed out of the room, leaving Olivia fuming in both anger and denial.
She waited until she was sure she was alone and then stalked over to the closet. Wrenching the maple-colored french doors open, she studied the closet contents with a critical eye. It wasn’t necessarily a large, walk-in, but it was roomy enough to accommodate a tall, six-drawer dresser nestled neatly among the rack. True to Samuel’s word, her dress uniform hung neatly in the center, encased in a clear, plastic cover to protect it from dust and such. However, surrounding it were other articles of clothing ranging anywhere from jeans and t-shirts to dress slacks and cashmere sweaters. She reached in and began shifting through them, shocked when she saw her size on each tag. How had he known her size? It wasn’t as if she were a universal six two. Fourteen and sixteen tall were difficult sizes to find straight off the rack.
She usually had to special order her clothing from a big and tall store. But apparently Mr. Monroe had better connections. She selected a pair of soft, dark denim jeans and an emerald green, long-sleeved t-shirt.
She rummaged through a few drawers until she found some socks and searched the floor until she found a pair of white tennis shoes - yet again, in her size.
By the time Samuel had returned, she was fully dressed, auburn hair tamed in a high ponytail and temper on full, rolling boil.
She curbed her tongue and decided that instead of shooting the messenger, she’d just wait and devour the source.
She followed Samuel through a few winding halls and corridors, not taking the time to marvel over the exquisite interior of the estate. Her mind wasn’t on polished, marble floors or beautiful wood ceilings.
They stopped directly outside a large, wooden door sporting a large outline of a dragon’s head. Its mouth was open in full roar fashion and mock flames were carved in the wood around it. Samuel knocked curtly and waited until a voice from within called out before pushing open the door, proceeding her into the large, cavernous office.
Two walls were lined in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a large fireplace nestled among the ones on the right wall. Four large windows faced out over the estate grounds and the man himself sat behind a massive desk, his back facing the windows. He stared intently at the screen of his desktop computer, his fingers deftly flying across the keyboard. Without looking up, he waved a hand to dismiss Samuel and gesture Olivia to sit in one of the cushy chairs facing the desk.
Instead, Olivia turned and sat in one of the leather chairs situated before the fireplace. She didn’t miss the way Mr. Monroe’s mouth curved in a comical smirk at her small defiance. She might have been ordered to marry the man, but nobody demanded she allow him to boss her around.
Although no one had lit a fire, the area still radiated that cozy air and Olivia soon found herself relaxing despite of her situation and anger.