As Rico continued to outline the travel arrangements his father was suggesting, Cristopoulis allowed his gaze to rove over LeeAnn’s living space. While Werth Inn was steeped in Minnesota north country decor, this apartment could have been in any major city in Europe—at least as far as the furniture went. Everything was sleek and modern, with clean lines and wide open spaces between the few well-chosen pieces. The kitchen was stainless steel without a carved bear in sight, and the small stack of mail on the counter was corralled in a woven metal tray.
Only a few prints lined the walls, but they were telling too—brightly framed travel posters showed 1920s Paris, London, Rome, Barcelona—even Cairo. A small spinning globe was one of the few tchotchkes in the room, and Cristopoulis found his gaze returning to the stack of mail.
“You’re good then?” Rico prompted him.
“With what?” Cristopoulis tried to focus on his man, but the top-most envelope caught his attention. It was a crisp, formal envelope imprinted with heavy ink—and the envelope had been opened.
“With departing tomorrow,” Rico said, without a trace of irritation in his voice. He was used to Cristopoulis’s wandering attention. Cristopoulis slid the card out of the envelope, flipping it over.
“Not tomorrow,” he said as he scanned the invitation. “There’s a party on Thursday night I want to attend. Make it Friday—perhaps Saturday.”
“Saturday, then,” Rico said. “I’ll let him know.”
LeeAnn still was watching the swans when Cristopoulis stepped back onto the deck, but she turned to him with the professional smile on her face he was already beginning to despise. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” he said, and before she could say anything else he held up the invitation. “Forgive me, but I saw this on your counter. With your suggestion I visit the North Woods Resort, I couldn’t help but look at it.”
“I left it out?” LeeAnn furrowed her brow, and Cristopoulis waved the thick card, distracting her.
“It says they’re hosting a reception Thursday night. You’ve responded already?”
“Oh—no.” LeeAnn shook her head. “I’ve done those in the past, and there’s no need for me to attend every one.” She brightened. “But you should go. You can attend in my place and see how an event such as that—” she broke off as he shook his head.
“I couldn’t possibly go without you,” he said, with the confidence that had gotten him into and out of invitations since he was ten years old. “The invitation is for you and a guest, however, and I should be delighted to attend with you.”
“No, truly,” she tried again. “I have so much to do here.”
“Your staff cannot cover your absence for one night?”
She stiffened. “Of course they can. They’re excellent at their work.”
“Then it’s settled. I shall be happy to escort you to this reception. There is dinner, too, yes?”
LeeAnn relented, her expression easing. “More food than you can possibly imagine,” she said. “And wine. I wouldn’t recommend taking the bike.”
“I wouldn’t think of leaving that treasure out in the open for anyone to see,” Cristopoulis dismissed that idea and LeeAnn frowned at him.
“It’s just a bike.”
“It’s a bike quite possibly worth more than thirty thousand dollars,” he countered, enjoying the expression on her face as her eyes went wide. “You see? Your grandfather knew quality when he saw it.”
“But no one would pay that for it,” she said faintly, and her voice held such a wistfulness he narrowed his gaze on her.
A few quick steps took him back to LeeAnn’s side, but he held off on pressing in further. “What would you use the money for, if you had it in your hand?”
“Me?” she gave him a rueful smile. “I’d pay down the lease option on the lodge house.” Her eyes flared and she blinked several times. “I—sorry. That’s a bit too much information.”
“You lease the main building?” he asked, feeling certain he was missing something.
She shrugged. “Our family has since it was built. Grandpa always planned to buy it outright, but never could manage it. Dad had even less money, so it was off the table. Instead we re-up every five years, paying down a little more of the principal if we can.” She gave a small half-laugh. “It’s coming up again, and if you’re telling me there’s money in that bike…” Her smile twisted slightly, and her gaze drifted to the lake.
Cristopoulis sensed in his bones there was more to her melancholy than a long-held debt. “And if you didn’t have the inn,” he prompted her. “What would you use the money for?”
She let her expression soften. “I would travel I think—no, I know I would.” Then she seemed to recall herself, once more gaining control over her emotions. She glanced back at him with a smile that created soft dimples at either corner of her mouth. “I could go all over the world with that kind of money, maybe even as far as Garronia. I understand the men there are terribly unkind and brutally honest.”
“We’re known the world over for it.” Cristopoulis nodded, and the tension between them was palpable—not a bad tension, either. The air was electric with anticipation, and he found himself looking forward to the reception at the North Woods Resort with an unreasonable amount of interest.
“What is the dress code for the event?” He frowned at the invitation, as LeeAnn half-coughed, half-snorted.
“This isn’t a real city, Cris. It’s Haralson, Minnesota. Dressing up generally means that you’ve taken off your field jacket and waders before entering the building.”
“Oh?” he asked. “Then what did you wear when you last attended?”
“I—” She waved a hand. “A dress, I’m sure. Something nice, not cocktail or anything. You’d be fine in a suit, possibly overdressed.”
“But I’m European. We thrive on overdressing.”
He took another step toward her as she laughed, then leaned in to kiss her on the brow.
“No matter what you decide to wear, you’ll be the most beautiful woman of the night, Ms. Werth,” he said. “The moment that you smile.”
Chapter Four
LeeAnn bit her lip, surveying herself critically in the mirror. Up until five minutes ago her bed had been strewn with every nice dress she’d ever worn since she was sixteen, but Cris would be arriving any minute, and she didn’t want him to get any glimpse into how knotted up she was over this date.
But it was a date. Her first in so long, she’d lost count of the months. There’d been opportunities, of course. Haralson wasn’t so filled with eligible women that LeeAnn had gone completely unnoticed. But she simply hadn’t had the time. Since she’d returned to Haralson, the inn had proven to be more than enough of a companion to her most days—and nights as well.
Tonight was different, though. She’d gotten plenty of extra staff in to take care of the inn’s guests, from late afternoon through early morning. Unless the place caught on fire, she’d be fine playing hooky for one night.
And to be honest, the only thing likely to catch on fire tonight was her nerves. She pivoted to one side, then the other, but this really was the best option. The soft, knee-length dress wasn’t black, which would have been the safest choice. But the evening was turning cool, and her black sheath was sleeveless. So she’d gone with the gray jersey-knit wrap dress that showed off her curves, while the rosy pink gauzy scarf she’d paired with it warmed up her face without any embarrassed blush needed. She’d kept her hair down, out of its perennial top knot, and she looked…feminine, she thought. Maybe even pretty.
Putting away the last of the discarded clothes, she smiled at her own vanity. Why would Cris care that she’d fretted over what she’d wear tonight? He probably had women fretting over him wherever he went.
As LeeAnn reached the bottom of the stairs, a knock sounded at the door, and her throat tightened. “Will you calm down?” she muttered. “It’s a reception at the North Woods, not a date to Cinderella’s ball.”
>
Then she opened the door, and was forced to change her mind.
“Oh!” she said, her eyes widening. “Um, hi.”
“Hi,” Cris nodded to her and extended his hand. She took it automatically, though if her booted feet were still touching the floor she didn’t know how. The mysterious businessman from Garronia was wearing a suit she didn’t even know he owned—rich dark gray jacket, an electric blue shirt open at the collar, with silver cufflinks and a silver watch on his wrist. He smiled at LeeAnn’s obvious surprise, but his own regard was frank and appreciative.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and he tugged her toward his rented sedan.
For a moment, she’d thought Rico would be driving, as usual when Cris went anywhere. But it looked like Cris had gotten the keys to the car for the evening, and she giggled despite herself.
He quirked her a glance, then winked as if he could read her mind. “We could be in Chicago by morning you know—then anywhere in the world.”
The comment was so surprising LeeAnn didn’t know how to respond, but was saved by Cris opening the door and ushering her into the sedan. They didn’t talk much on the short drive to the North Woods Resort, and for once she didn’t feel the twinge of inferiority as she wound up the long, well-lit drive to the immense central guesthouse. A valet was at the ready to take their car, and it was only as Cris held her hand again that he bent to murmur in her ear.
“Anyone I should avoid? Anyone you dislike?”
“Oh! Oh, no.” She shook her head, allowing him to pull her nearer. It was as if he was surrounding her in a haze of otherworld grace, his every word more perfect than the last. “Haralson is too small for us not to be good neighbors. The Donaldsons are a wonderful family, and they’ve owned the North Woods Resort since it opened in the eighties. We’re—maybe not close friends, but that’s more my fault than theirs. They’ve certainly reached out.”
“And you’ve simply been too busy,” he teased, and she smiled ruefully.
“Pretty much.”
True to form, Frank Donaldson stood at the top of the wide stairs to the lodge, greeting his guests. “LeeAnn!” he boomed as they stepped onto the enormous porch. “You came. I am so glad. That inn of yours is a jealous mistress, to never let you leave.” He turned to Cristopoulis. “Frank Donaldson—we’ve met, though. Earlier in the summer. You joined us on an expedition.”
“Good memory,” Cristopoulis smiled as he shook Donaldson’s hand. “Christopher Evans. And as a guest of Werth Inn, I can say both your establishments are jewels of the area. You should be very proud.”
“No one could be prouder.” Donaldson beamed. “If you haven’t already, check out the view to the Werth Inn down the lake. It’s prettier than it has any reason to be.” He winked at LeeAnn. “I should pay you fees for a view like that.”
She shook her head, laughter finally easing her nerves. “Thank you for inviting me, Frank. I’m sorry I haven’t gotten away before now.”
“Enjoy yourselves. There’s music on the patio and food everywhere you look.”
Then they were past the entrance and into the large reception room of the resort—and Frank was right. The main North Woods lodge had been transformed into a party palace, and throughout its grand halls there were people, food, and milling waitstaff carrying trays of drinks.
Cris snagged two flutes of champagne and gestured to the deck. “We should see this view.”
“It’s nothing I had anything to do with, truly—something my grandfather dreamed up before I was born.”
His curiosity clearly piqued, Cris made a beeline for the deck, but it was not to be. They were stopped by at least a dozen people along the way. LeeAnn didn’t know who was the greater draw, herself or Cris, but he seemed to stand closer to her every time another townsperson approached. No more so than when Frank’s son Jake stepped forward. Cris stiffened as Jake’s face broke into a wide smile.
“LeeAnn! Please tell me you’ve come to sell at last.”
The same little surge of hope and annoyance flared in LeeAnn as it always did. Hope at the idea of selling the inn to someone who would truly care for it, and annoyance that Jake was merely playing the part of friendly competitor, when in truth their two inns drew entirely different clienteles. She did her best to smother both reactions, but Jake was already turning to Cris.
“Have we met?” he asked, searching Cris’s face.
“I don’t think so.” Was it her or did Cris seem a little too tense as she introduced him to Jake? Surely he couldn’t be jealous of Frank’s son. The man was as big as a mountain and more importantly—married.
As soon as she thought that, she felt her cheeks heat. As if Cris would be jealous of anyone. About anything.
“I don’t know, I’m pretty good with faces.” Jake’s smile was easy as he shifted his gaze back to LeeAnn. “Enjoy yourselves,” he said, echoing his father. “More food on the deck, but it’s getting cold out there, eh?”
“Earlier this year.” She nodded, the familiarity of talking about the weather with a fellow Minnesotan almost laughable, but it served to set her world to rights once more. She and Cris made it outside without any further interruption, in part because he seemed almost single-minded about getting them away from the crowd.
Jake was right, it was a lot quieter on the deck—and cooler, too, though her jersey dress was built for it. Cris’s gaze went immediately to the water, and he blew out a low whistle. “I see what Donaldson means. I hadn’t noticed this when I was here before.”
“You were here during the day, I bet.”
LeeAnn let him draw her to the far railing, where the open waters of Lake Haralson lay like black glass beneath the starry sky. The stars weren’t relegated only to the heavens, however. Werth Inn rose along the southern edge of the lake, lit up with a spray of sparkling white lights that were echoed in its cabins up the ridge. Not like some sort of big city Christmas display, but elegant and almost ethereal, a painting from a fairytale.
“It’s just lights,” he murmured. “But it seems—special.”
LeeAnn grinned at Cris’s startled reaction. “It’s the clear lake and open sky,” she said. “Grandpa loved this place so much, he said he wanted to bring the stars down to the ground. He tinkered with those lights for years until he got the right balance. At the holidays, we do a few more, but these light up every night, year round. It makes me think we’re waving to him, wherever he and dad are now.”
She couldn’t help the catch in her throat, but Cris didn’t draw attention to it. He squeezed her hand and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, her back to his chest. “What did Jake mean about you selling? Is that an option?”
“Oh—no. Not really. More of a family joke,” LeeAnn said. “My dad and Frank knew each other in high school, small surprise, and when they were growing up they used to scrap about how they could buy out the other inn. It never came to anything—and now…I’d feel bad, leaving all this. It was my dad and grandpa’s dream to see it take off.” This time, her voice wobbled, and Cris’s arms firmed around her. “They both worked so hard.”
Cristopoulis tightened his jaw as he gazed out over LeeAnn’s head, the twinkle of lights across the pristine lake an understated, glittering jewel on the far horizon. It was beautiful, yes, but it was above all remote, and he couldn’t imagine LeeAnn living the rest of her life here. She would find someone like Jake Donaldson to marry, have children perhaps, and settle in for the beautiful summers and long winters. She might even be happy, he supposed.
But she wouldn’t get a chance to fly away. She wouldn’t touch Paris or Milan unless she kept tapping the posters that hung throughout her carriage house like talismans to a life unlived. “Where would you travel first?” he murmured into her hair.
“You mean, after Garronia?” she teased, and his heart did something funny in his chest, to hear the laughter returning to her voice. She tilted her head against him, relaxing in his hold. “Well. After I’d had my fill of your homela
nd’s rudeness, I’d go to every country in Europe to start, by car if I could, so I could really see the countryside. Or maybe by train—since you actually have public transportation.”
“There are advantages to both methods.” Cristopoulis nodded, dreaming along with her for a moment. “And by boat too,” he added, thinking of the yacht he hadn’t set foot on in far too long.
LeeAnn snorted delicately. “Well, I’m not sure even my imaginary travel budget would cover that. I haven’t been on anything larger than a kayak.”
He dropped a light kiss on the crown of her head. “Let me get us some food,” he said. “There’s a place by the fire opening up if you move fast.”
She laughed again but left his arms—too quickly, he thought. He didn’t like the sensation of her leaving him, even at his direction. Still, he moved toward the buffet table with a lighter step. He would be here for another few days, and there was time enough to consider the future after that. A future he’d done his level best to ignore for four months, after all. He could do it a little longer. He could enjoy simply getting to know a soft-hearted innkeeper in Minnesota, and all her quiet dreams.
“Hello again!” He looked up to see Jake Donaldson on the other side of the table, serving as a chafing dish sherpa for a young boy in a black and white suit. Jake settled an enormous platter of potato wedges into place above a cheery fire, and patted the boy on his shoulder. “Next time don’t try and lift something so big, buddy. You can do anything, but not everything at once, okay?”
“Okay, Dad.” The boy looked up at Cristopoulis and his eyes widened. “Hi!” he said, then seemed to remember himself. He stepped back, ducking his head, and scurried away.
“Oldest son,” Jake shook his head, looking after the boy with clear affection. “Wanted to be of help so we told him he could serve the guests. Didn’t think he’d take us up on it. He spends his days glued to the internet or kicking a ball around.”
Finding Chris Evans: The Royal Edition Page 4
