Falling in love with an American?

This story is about a modern day Indian princess, Lolita, who falls in love with, Michael Anderson, one of two Americans sent to India to help take out a terrorist group that want Lolita's Family's Throne.


3. Up, Up, and Away

“What?!” Michael and Greg said in unison.
“I’m sorry, did you just say India?” Michael gulped. This was so weird. The
headmaster had just finished a rather detailed explanation of how the boys were being
assigned to “take care” of two terrorists in India who were leading a band of five hundred
men, who were planning to murder the king and his family. India. That in itself did
not sound too good. The Indians hated them. And plus, the whole thing seemed more
like a dream than reality. Seriously, who was Malhara? When the headmaster had said
that, Greg interrupted him and added with a snort, “What’s that, some sort of dessert?”
Headmaster McDrew rolled his eyes.

“Yes, India—but there is a reward—since this is a more dangerous and distant


“What, ice cream? Cause I was kinda craving Malhara,” said Greg. Michael
gave him a hard shove. Greg just laughed.
“No, the headmaster replied coldly. “You get to go home for one month. But
we’ll talk about that later. For now, you better start packing . Your flight leaves at
“In the afternoon?”
“In the morning, Greg!”
“Do you boys wanna see your families or what?”
“Okay, but do we at least—“
“Come on, Greg.” Michael dragged him out the door.

Twenty hours later, Michael and Greg were on their plane, ready to start flying.
Just as the plane skimmed the runway and lifted into the sky, a thought occurred
to Greg.
“Hey Michael?”
“We’re about to see a whole lot of girls.”
“Greg?” Michael mimicked.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Why thank you,” Greg replied sarcastically, pretending to flip whatever hair he
had. He smirked. By the way do you think I should grow a beard?”
Michael snorted, “Sure, right after you grow an afro.”
“You’re just jealous that you can barely grow an armpit hair,” Greg said, sticking
his lower lip out.
“Excuse me,” said the woman in the seat behind them. “Could you keep it down,
my baby is trying to sleep.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” they responded politely.
For the rest of the flight, they continued their teasing conversations in a hushed

The moment Greg and Michael stepped into the palace of Raajaa Ajit, their jaws
almost fell to the floor.
“Preeeeety,” Greg breathed.
“Wow,” was all Michael could say. They were so amazed they hardly noticed
General Thomas walking behind them. He had arrived on a separate flight the night
before, to make sure the hunt for Malhara went smoothly. Luckily, Michael saw him
first and swiveled around to salute him.”
Greg spun around and almost fainted. The man was massive. Muscles rippled all
over his body, his crew cut silver hair looked more like metal than actual hair, and his
medals—tons of gleaming medals studded his moss green suit, making him look all the
more powerful and scary. . .

“I—er—we—um—uh. . . hi!” he sputtered
“Greetings, gentlemen. There is someone I would like you to meet.” He was
barely done speaking before eight maids filled the and lead them to a small room,
accessed by a golden door encrusted with blood red rubies. Before they opened the door,
the maids, who Greg couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of—demonstrated the proper way
to greet whoever was inside. The door creeked open. Michael’s mind whirled. Who
was in the room? The king? The queen?
Someone sat in the center of the room, but whoever it was, Michael couldn’t see.
The person was shielded by two palace guards with guns neatly tucked into the pockets
of their uniforms. In their hands they held sharp swords with golden covers. They
stepped aside. His heart skipped a beat.
Sitting on a fancy, cushioned, white recliner was a dazzling princess. Adorned
with a sparkling tiara, flowing sari, and beautiful silky black hair, she outshined
everything and everyone in the room. Her slender, curvy body elegantly swayed as she
walked across the chamber, her gaze directed at. . . Michael.
Michael and Greg bowed as they were expected to, but even so, the princess
seemed angry. Despite being extremely poised and beautiful, both boys could see she
was displeased with something, and exchanged worried glances. The princess spoke. “I
am princess Lolita,” she said without the slightest trace of an accent. “The rest of my
family does not speak English, so I must mainly communicate with you for them. My
sister speaks a little, and you will meet her tonight, along with my father, the Raajaa, and
my mother, the Raanee.” She paused. “Everyone is dismissed except for these two,” she
pointed to Michael and Greg, who had no idea what she was saying. “Guards included;
I’ll be fine.”
When everyone left, Lolita took a step forward and grabbed Michael’s shirt,
drawing him so close he was just inches away from her face. He breathed in the delicate
scent of her perfume—jasmine. It was light, sweet, and alluring.
“Listen,” she grumbled, her voice revealing the anger she had been trying so hard
to contain, “I don’t know why you Americans are suddenly trying to help us after years
of ignoring our people. You know we’re smarter than you—so I’m warning you, if you
do so much as lay a finger on my father, I will personally cut you open, extract your guts,
and put them on public display in the Taj Mahal.” She loosened her grip on Michael’s
shirt. She must have really been scaring him; his heart was beating so fast, she could feel
each pulse with force.
“Just—don’t do anything stupid. Dismissed.”
Greg and Michael started to pace out the door when Greg turned back and
added, “Oh, by the way, I’m Greg and the one with the red face is Michael.” He said it
slowly as if she had trouble understanding English, which made Michael smile as he
turned around to face her, too. Lolita noticed that he was, indeed, blushing. A lot.

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