In the morning they ordered room service, languished in the shower, and got dressed for a sight seeing day. He took her to all the hotspots and she captured it all on camera. The moderate weather cooperated, sun shining down, a few clouds scuttling across a pristine blue sky. They lunched on a yacht, bought souvenirs, and flirted like the new couple they were. Sander treated her with charm and chivalry that did not come across as contrived. Everything he did, from carrying her shopping bags to opening doors was natural and easy. Together, they had an alluring rapport that often ended in either witty banter, outrageous come-ons or stolen kisses.
The longer she spent in his company, the more smitten Chey became. She could feel herself falling deeper with every roguish smile, every act of kindness, every lingering glance.
Back in the room, after an order-in dinner, Sander had some surprising news.
“We have an engagement tonight at nine,” he said, finishing off the last of his wine.
Chey glanced up from the balcony chair, reclining now that she'd had her fill of the meal. “An engagement? What kind of engagement?”
“You'll see. Wear that long dress I got you, all right?” He set down his glass and rose from his chair.
“Sure. Why are you being so secretive?” She pretended to scrutinize him, but the playful gleam in her eyes gave the game away. When he rose, she did the same.
He flashed her a devious smile. “Because if you knew, then you probably wouldn't want to go with me.”
“Now you have to tell me.”
“No I don't.” He winked. “I'll use the shower in the guest bedroom after making a few phone calls so you can have plenty of time to do that girly thing you do.”
“I really hate when you do that. Tease.” She didn't really hate it, she just liked to harass him.
“It's one of my many charms.” He retreated to one of the bedrooms he was using as a temporary office with a smile still in place.
Chey followed him inside, content to absorb the ambiance of the suite and the lingering effect of his presence for another few minutes. Habitually, she readjusted the bottle of wine in the bucket so that it sat better in the ice. Next she turned the thin but pretty vase of flowers in the middle of the table so that its best side faced the front of the room. All these little tics pointed to growing nerves about the 'engagement' coming up this evening. What could it be? Would she fit in, or feel awkward because she wasn't of Royal ilk?
Thoughtful, she finally vacated the main room for the bathroom and a shower. She took her time getting ready, taking care to put rollers in her dark hair and to apply her make up a little more dramatically. The smudges of kohl made the blue of her eyes stand out. Removing the ankle length gown from the hanger, Chey appreciated the fine style and elegant cut. Pale peach in color, it had a tight bodice with a piece that angled toward her neck, ending with a band around her throat. It left her shoulders and arms totally bare, as well as her back. Swooping low around the base of her spine, it conformed to her hips and flared out halfway down her thighs. The dreamy hem floated around her feet, whimsical and feminine. Tiny crystals had been sewn into the material in swirls and flourishes, adding sparkle and shine.
Sander had chosen the color and design well.
Drawing on a pair of white, elbow length kid gloves, she slipped her feet into delicate heels and transferred what few things she needed into a matching clutch.
When she stepped into the living area, she found the remains of their dinner already removed and Sander pacing near a couch with a phone to his ear. He looked striking in a steel gray gabardine suit that accentuated the golden color of his hair and skin. The layers beneath the jacket were darker gray, white and silver, with a tie that fit snug against his throat. Freshly shaven, hair pulled back into a low tail, he presented himself as a man of money and power.
The longer she stared at him, the more she felt that peculiar pang in her heart. It was a combination of things that put it there: the trip to a new and exciting place, getting a glimpse of Sander in this element, how people reacted around him and all the time they had to themselves with the strain of his family bearing down on them. Not just that, but the growing affection that often left her smiling or blushing.
He met her eyes across the room and ended his call. Pushing the cell phone into his pocket, he stood with his feet braced apart, assessing her with obvious masculine appreciation.
Nervous, she smoothed a gloved hand down the outside of her hip and waited to see if she met his approval. Which was new and different in itself. On other dates, with other men, she never worried about meeting expectations. She was just Chey, take it or leave it, and that was the attitude with which she approached most things.
Tonight, it mattered that she passed muster.
Prowling around the edge of a sofa, he paused to pick up a velvet box on an end table and continued toward her.
“You look stunningly beautiful,” he said. Coming to a stop just before her, he searched her face, her eyes.
“Really? Thanks. Did you pick this out, or did you have someone else do it?” Chey realized belatedly that Sander might have had one of his assistants go shopping for him. She glanced at the box, then at his face.
“I picked all of it out. As well as these to go with it.” He opened the black velvet box that was longer than it was wide. Nestled on more velvet inside was a glittering tennis bracelet and diamond drop earrings.
“Oh, Sander. Those are beautiful.” She was afraid to touch them. As with Mattias's gift, she thought these might be on loan from a jeweler. With her luck, one of the diamonds would fall out or she would lose an earring.
“I'm glad you like them. There's a matching necklace, but I knew you couldn't wear it with that high neckline. Here, let me get the bracelet.” He set the box down on the arm of a nearby wingback, pulling the bracelet free. Turning around, he wrapped it around her extended wrist and fastened the clasp.
“A necklace, too? I'm not sure what to say.” Overwhelmed, she adjusted her wrist, diamonds sparkling against the gloves.
“You don't need to say anything. Your expression is doing a fine job for you. Want me to put the earrings in, too? Might be difficult to do it with your gloves on.” He pulled both earrings out of their holders.
She laughed, a quiet sound in the spacious penthouse. “I hope I don't lose an earring or something.” Lowering her hand, she debated him putting the earrings in. “All right, go ahead.”
“Don't worry, it's insured.” He stepped to one side and with deft fingers, poked the stem of the earring through the hole in her lobe and pushed the back into place. Moving around the other side, he repeated with the other ear.
“Insured? These aren't...borrowed?” she asked, taking a deep breath of his masculine cologne.
“No. They're yours. If you lose a diamond or knock the setting, just let me know and we'll get it fixed.” He stepped back and eyed her with the addition of diamonds.
Lifting a hand, she touched the dangling diamond on the end of the earring. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome. Now, are you ready to go, or are you going to stand there looking at me like I'm wearing armor and just hopped off a white horse?” He quirked an amused smile.
She laughed in delight at his wry quip. “Keep sassing me, and I might make you kiss me to round out the fairy tale.”
“Oh, now there's a hardship,” he retorted. Taking a step closer, he stared down into her eyes, one finger trailing along the edge of her jaw.
Chey's mouth went dry. Holding his gaze, she watched him bend his head to kiss the spot just outside the corner of her mouth.
“Lipstick,” he whispered, explaining why he'd not kissed her lips.
“Shame. I think the plum shade would suit you.”
He laughed. “Now who's sassing who?”
Chapter Four
The hotel the limousine pulled up to was a sprawling structure less than half a mile from The Trident. Security fanned out around the car as they disembarked at the e
ntrance, a barrier between the Royal heir and a small collection of photographers. Somehow, they'd gotten wind of the event.
Sander escorted her through double doors opened by a valet, stride tempered to match her own so he didn't leave her behind. Chey appreciated that he didn't hurry her along. The heels she'd worn were higher and more precarious than she preferred.
Crossing a large, impressive foyer, following a red carpet lining the floor, they approached another set of doors that opened onto an opulent ballroom done in colors of peach and cream. Crystal glittered on linen covered tables and chandeliers shined over the heads of the gathered. People were everywhere; dancing, talking in groups, standing near the champagne fountain. It wasn't quite a black tie affair, but it was most definitely formal, with the women in long gowns and the men in elegant suits.
Chey took a breath and braced herself. She couldn't have felt more out of place if she'd walked in buck naked. The most elaborate party she'd ever attended, barring the one Mattias took her to, had been a wedding reception for a co-worker. Chey used the analogy of cars to make a comparison: that party had been a Pinto, this was a Rolls Royce.
“What's on your mind?” Sander asked, as if he'd felt her inner discord.
“Rolls Royces,” she said under her breath.
“...what?” He frowned.
“I was thinking that the most upscale party I've ever attended was a Pinto. This is a Rolls Royce.” Well, he'd asked. And Sander knew her penchant for blurting the truth. His body shook with silent laughter.
“I dread to think you compare me to any of your old boyfriends like that,” he said, leading her deeper into the room. Sander smiled cordially at a few people as the crowd began to take note of the new arrivals. Two of his private security members branched out at their flank, discreet and covert.
“I kind of have. Do you want to hear the analogy?”
“Now that you mention it, maybe no--”
“They were The Breakfast Club. You're Pretty Woman.”
Sander barked a laugh that drew several pairs of eyes. He tilted his head toward hers to keep his next remark between them. “Does that make you the whore?”
Chey gasped, mouth shaping an 'o' of shock. Eyes wide as saucers, she stared up at Sander. She was surely the only woman present expressing so much indecent animation. In Pretty Woman, the female lead had started out as a hooker to an austere, affluent businessman.
Sander tipped his head back and laughed the kind of laugh that drew half the room's attention. Rolling, rich and deep, it could almost be considered a guffaw. Almost.
Chey lost her battle to remain stern and trembled with amusement. One glance at the room assured her they had just become the topic of several people's conversation.
“You're a pest,” Chey announced just loud enough for Sander to hear. “Look, they're staring.”
He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, though his eyes gleamed with mirth. “Do you care?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“...maybe just a little. I feel like we're under a microscope.”
“That's because we are. Another thing to get used to.”
“I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it.” Chey smiled at a distinguished looking couple standing to the side of a dance floor that took up a good portion of the room.
“You're doing fine, don't worry. I'll let you know if you stumble.” Sander paused to shake hands with several men and trade generic greetings.
A waitress came by with a tray filled with flutes of wine. Sander declined with a subtle shake of his head. Chey figured there was a reason, and followed suit. While he made small talk with the gentlemen, who had all inclined their heads to her and greeted her cordially, Chey tipped her attention to the room. She didn't recognize one person so far. Not that she really expected to.
“Sander Ahtissari, you walked right by without even a hello,” a feminine voice said behind them.
Chey glanced back to see a stunning woman in a white fitted gown with elegant layers of tulle from her waist to the floor. Gray eyed, lashes long and thick, she had flawless tawny skin and highlighted brown hair styled into a classic updo. Her features were delicate, refined, with a straight nose and full mouth.
Sander stilled, then turned he and Chey around to face the new arrival. It took a moment for a smile to hook onto the corners of his mouth.
“Princess Valentina, what a surprise to see you here,” he said.
So this was the woman who the Queen wanted to become Sander's wife. And she was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Cultured, statuesque, the Princess looked confident and capable. Her accent was different than Sander's, more clipped and defined.
“I could say the same about you.” Valentina's attention switched to Chey, as if expecting an introduction. Her expression was curious, intrigued.
“Princess Valentina, may I introduce Miss Chey Sinclair.” Sander indulged the introductions while never taking his eyes off Valentina.
For a moment, Chey panicked. Was she required to bow? Curtsy? Shake hands? She wasn't sure what the protocol was in situations like these. She declined to extend a hand and only greeted Valentina verbally.
“Pleasure to meet you,” Chey said.
“Likewise, Miss Sinclair,” she replied. Valentina switched her attention back to the Prince. “I wasn't aware you were slated to attend this event, Prince Dare.”
“It was a last minute invitation. The Ambassador was kind enough to contact my people when we arrived. If you'll ex--”
“How ironic,” Valentina said, delicately interrupting as if she sensed he was about to beg off. “We were notified rather late ourselves. Your mother, the Queen, seemed to know you would be attending before you did, it appears.”
Chey bit back irritation. So this was another finagling of the Queen. No wonder Sander had mentioned that sometimes, he wound up with Valentina by surprise.
“Isn't that something,” Sander retorted, droll and unamused.
“Have you heard the news?” Valentina inquired.
Chey decided that whatever Valentina had to say would change the course of their evening. Intuition this strong had never failed her yet.
“I'm sure I haven't,” Sander said. He wore a mantle of polite indifference that sharpened at Valentina's leading question.
Valentina smiled, gaze traveling intimately over Sander's features. It might as well have been a lover's caress.
“My father said yes. Our wedding, yours and mine, will be in the spring.”
. . .
Chey felt Sander tighten beside her. The news did not seem to sit well with the heir to the throne. Yet he tempered his response, a low roll of laughter filling the sudden silence.
“Not only have I not been notified of that event, I have not agreed, which means all the wedding planners and advisers will have to hold off. I'm sorry if you were led to believe it was set in stone.”
Valentina arched her brows. “I didn't think it needed to be set in stone, Dare. We both know how long this has been volleyed back and forth between countries. Your people made the offer, ours agreed.”
Chey cut a quick look aside to Sander. She recalled his words about their own relationship being an uphill battle, that they would have to stand firm against those whose job it was to orchestrate the affairs of the state. Once more, she wondered just how much choice Sander really had. Was he kidding himself, thinking he would marry who he wanted to? An uneasy knot began to take shape in her stomach. After the day just passed, and the easy way she and Sander had warmed to each other's company, Chey knew it would already hurt if she was forced out of his life by forces stronger than them both.
“This really isn't the time or the place,” Sander said.
Valentina lifted her chin a fraction, as if she was fending off hurt of her own at his apparent wish not to take her to wife. “We have much to discuss. When you've come around, call me.”
“Valentina--”
“You know this is the
way, Dare. Call me.” Valentina, too classy by far to be rude in public, dipped Chey a polite nod and turned to leave.
Sander escorted Chey the opposite direction, expression neutral.
Chey detected the tension in his body through the connection of her fingers on his arm.
“Dance?” he asked, glancing down to meet her eyes.
Chey inclined her head. “I might trip all over your feet, because I don't waltz well, but yes. Let's go.”
“Just follow my lead. That's all you have to do.” He seemed to be speaking of more than just the dance right then.
Sander led her onto the floor, swinging her into an easy, practiced twirl before finding more routine footing. He was expert at leading, graceful and smooth, and obviously skilled at the dance.
Chey stared up into his eyes, finding it effortless to match his rhythm. He made everything so easy. All the political schemes, confusion and conflict fell away during the three minute dance. It was just Chey and Sander, turning and twirling, gazing at each other like no one else existed.
When the song ended, Sander brought them to a halt and inclined his head in chivalrous fashion. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he dusted a kiss across her glove covered knuckles.
“People are going to talk,” she said, whispering.
“They're already talking.”
“Well, then they're going to assume.”
“They're already doing that, too,” he said with a rakish gleam in his eyes.
After a brief look past his shoulders, Chey discovered he was right. Certain groups were watching their every move, some with their heads bent together. She even caught several glancing between her and Sander as well as Valentina, as if attempting to figure out what the game was and whether Chey was a serious contender for Sander's hand.
His loyalty to Chey was put to the test a moment later when a new song began, and a gentleman decked out in a black and white tux asked after Chey for a dance.
“She's taken,” Sander said without preamble and a broad grin.
King and Kingdom (Royals Book 2) Page 4
