“Sure, sure. Right. It's no one's responsibility to let me know because I'm her brother, too. I can't always be up here, no matter what I was doing in my own home at the time. Someone should have called me.” Paavo frowned. “So that's what it was. I dissuaded him from the notion Natalia would be going anywhere with him.”
Sander stared Paavo down. The man sounded truthful and serious, but he'd learned the hard way to be wary, especially with Paavo's actions the last few days. “Make sure it stays that way. I don't want any more trouble the rest of this week until the wedding.”
“Oh, there won't be any trouble, but there is one more thing,” Paavo said, an edge to his voice.
“What's that, Paavo?” Sander paused before he turned away.
“Aurora's gone.”
“...what?” Sander frowned. “What do you mean she's gone?”
“We're split up. For good. Thanks, though, for asking after my affairs.” Paavo stared another three seconds. He broke away for the door, giving Sander a wide berth.
“What happened?” he asked. This was the first he'd heard of any problems between the two. Aurora's withdrawal and absences from several events had been noticed but not commented upon more than a cursory explanation.
Paavo paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame. “She wasn't on board with the direction my life is taking.”
“And which direction is it taking, Paavo?” Sander maintained eye contact with his brother, ready to read between the lines should Paavo give him any hint to what he was really feeling.
“Let's just say the royal life was getting to her. It happens though, right? People grow apart. It's been going on for a while. Not that you've paid any attention.” Paavo tapped his fingers on the door frame before disappearing into the hall.
Sander had half a mind to go after Paavo and remind him just who had distanced himself from the family. Deciding it wasn't worth a larger confrontation, possibly a fight, he vacated the sitting room and made his way to the stairs.
He had some place he needed to be.
Chapter Eighteen
Chey stared at Wynn's reflection, fingers smoothing a spot on the woman's waist where the material of the maid-of-honor's dress crimped unnaturally. She thought the style was stunning on Wynn, who wore it with relish.
“I love it,” Wynn said. “It doesn't look like someone puked on it.”
Chey laughed, recalling their long conversation the evening before where Chey confessed what happened at the fitting session with Natalia and the cousins.
“I don't think so either. I'm glad you like it.” Chey stepped back to eye the dress from a bit of a distance.
“Will it bother you to have just three bridesmaid's up there? I know that's a silly question because it's you, and you never wanted a big wedding. Still, this is different, what with the royalty and all.” Wynn sought Chey's eyes in the mirror.
“No, it won't bother me. It's driving the advisers crazy though. They have a certain idea in their heads about how the King's ceremony should go, and doing it differently creates friction.” Chey stepped off the dais and took a peek through the fold of the garment bag that covered the dress she really wanted to wear. It looked as though the alterations had been made, thanks to Hanna's insistence. Ambivalent over wearing this opposed to the 'approved' dress, she touched the material and wondered how much of an uproar it would cause if she changed her mind.
“I'm sure. It's all about perception—hey, what's that?” Wynn pinched material between her fingers and stepped off the dais after Chey.
“It's the dress I wanted to wear, but can't. The advisers didn't approve at all.” Chey let the flap of the cover fall closed.
“I want to see it! Why won't they let you wear it?” Wynn asked, stopping next to Chey.
“Because it's not traditionally white. It's a pink-champagne color with rosettes draped along the edge of the swags. I thought a few of the advisers were going to have heart attacks,” Chey said, laughing. She unzipped the garment bag the rest of the way so Wynn could get a glimpse of the gown.
“Oh, but it's so pretty!” Wynn pulled part of the skirt out, running her fingers over the material. “It's not like it's neon pink or something. I think you should wear it.”
“Stop playing devil's advocate,” Chey chided, amused. She tucked the dress back into the bag and zipped it up. “This is the one I'm wearing, and it's just as pretty.”
Stepping a few feet over, Chey unzipped another white bag, exposing half of a very traditional wedding dress as white as white could be. Layers of tulle and satin fell from a snug fitted waist, with the sleeves sporting buttons up the underside of the forearm.
“This is great, too. But if you like the other one—wear it. What does Sander say?” Wynn examined the white dress thoroughly.
“He told me to wear what I wanted to wear, but he isn't the one who will have to hear it from the advisers if I buck the system and go against their wishes.” Chey liked the white dress—she just liked the other one better.
“That's all I would care about. What Sander thought. The Chey I grew up with would wear the dress anyway. It's your day, not theirs.” Wynn flashed a deviant smile at Chey.
“You're such a bad influence. Come on. Let's get that dress off you before we're set upon again by the seamstresses.”
Wynn hooted a laugh and made her way behind the mirrors to change. “I would go through a hundred fittings for you, Chey.”
“That could become a reality around here if we're not careful,” Chey said, teasing. She waited near the dais for Wynn. Catching a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the mirrors, she turned to the side to see if her waistline had expanded to the point her dress might need a last minute adjustment. She didn't think so. But she could definitely feel the thickening in ways she hadn't before. Good thing they weren't waiting another two weeks.
“Okay. So what's the itinerary again?” Wynn emerged a few minutes later in a pair of houndstooth pants, a black sweater and matching scarf looped several times around her neck.
“A lot of stuff. We have to visit the church and make sure it's all like it's supposed to be, and the reception hall, then later tonight we have that party with the guests.” Chey didn't tell Wynn of the plans to stop over at Kallaster castle. That was a surprise. Leading Wynn to the door, she stepped out into the hall and glanced back at the garment bag with the dress in it.
The Chey I grew up with would wear the dress anyway. Where did she draw the line between want and pleasing people she would be working with for the rest of her life?
“I could get used to these parties!” Wynn announced. “Too bad you don't get married once a year.”
Distracted, Chey almost didn't hear Wynn. However, the horror of getting married once a year pulled her out of the reverie. With a last glance at the white bag, she closed the door and bumped Wynn with her shoulder.
“Bite your tongue, woman. You get married to a royal and then tell me you'd do it once a year.” Chey snorted. Once was stressful enough.
As Wynn bantered back, animated and using hand gestures to make her points, Chey's mind drifted to the dress. To the ceremony.
To the look in Sander's eyes when she finally, finally, walked down the aisle.
. . .
Wynn provided a fresh perspective on the wedding details. Chey absorbed the woman's reactions as they visited the reception hall and the church, which Wynn fell immediately in love with. She loved the stone, the spires, the old gothic feel and the fact she could hear waves crashing not far on the shoreline. Her favorite parts were the soaring ceiling and stained glass. Wynn declared it the best church ever to get married in.
After making a few last second adjustments, Chey texted Hanna with the updates and climbed into the helicopter with the still exclaiming Wynn. It meant something to Chey to share this with someone special, someone who had been a part of her life before the royals. With her parents gone and an aunt that probably didn't know whether she was dead or alive, it helped keep som
e of the nerves at bay.
Their first sight of Kallaster Castle charmed Wynn to no end. Right away, the chatter switched from wedding talk to shock that this was where Chey would live out her life.
“You are the luckiest girl, I swear,” Wynn said as they headed away from the helicopter, buffeted by the wind. “This is a hundred times better than the other castle.”
Chey climbed into the waiting limousine, laughing. “You haven't even seen the inside of Kallaster yet!”
Wynn plopped down onto the seat, rearranging her scarf. “I don't have to! It's on its own island. That trumps the other one right off the bat. Good grief, I can't believe it.”
Chey watched Wynn stare wide-eyed out the windows as they made the short drive to the gate and through toward the entrance. The woman was a lot more enthused than Chey might have guessed she would be.
“You can come stay for the summer sometimes, if your dad will let you take vacations that long,” Chey said.
“Wouldn't that be great? We'll make plans.” Wynn brandished a girlish smile at Chey.
“Definitely. You have to be here when the baby's born, too.” Chey disembarked with Wynn in tow. Ascending the steps, she regarded Wynn's reaction.
“Of course Auntie Wynn needs to be here when the baby comes. I bet I can squeeze three weeks vacation for that by itself.” Wynn cut off talk of vacations to ooh and ahh as they entered through the front doors.
Kallaster was still new enough to Chey that she could appreciate Wynn's gasp of pleasure. The more medieval trend in Kallaster appealed to Wynn, she knew, as much as it appealed to herself. There was something whimsical about it, as if they'd stepped back in time.
Cut out arrows made of paper arranged on the stone floor with Chey and Wynn's names written on each halted Chey's advance deeper into the building. Taking a few steps forward, Chey picked a bright red arrow up and examined it. Just paper with her name on it, nothing special. It wasn't attached to the floor with tape or other adhesive, either.
Wynn clapped her hands together and bounced on her toes when she saw them. “Someone wants you to follow the arrows!”
“What's going on?” Chey glanced around at the few guards and staff members watching from their various posts. All of them were smiling as if they knew something she didn't. Instead of putting the arrow back down, Chey held it between her fingers.
“Come on, let's go!” Wynn grasped Chey's elbow and set upon the path directed by the arrows.
With Wynn at her side, Chey followed the trail up the staircases to the bedroom levels. Had Sander set something up in their suite? Something for the wedding or the baby? She couldn't figure it out. Wynn's exuberance was infectious, however, and Chey soon found herself as excited as her friend.
The arrows led them away from the master suite down another hall instead, much to Chey's bemusement. Wynn's excitement resulted in swoony noises and small squeals of delight.
Arriving at a door to one of the guest suites, Chey glanced at Wynn. “This is so bizarre. I have no idea what's going on.”
“Maybe Sander had a bedroom converted into a boudoir or something. For sultry pictures of you in lingerie.” Wynn smiled wide enough to show her teeth.
Chey snorted. “Doubtful. Your name was on some of those arrows, too.”
The only way to find out was to go in. So she did. Opening the door, Chey entered with Wynn all but glued to her side. A bedroom suite awaited, which wasn't a great surprise in itself. Done in pretty powder blues and creams, it had its own separate sitting area, television and gigantic bed with a canopy overhead. In keeping with the royal theme, the decorations and furniture were decadent, heavy and gilded in gold leaf.
Wynn clapped her hands over her cheeks—and cried. Fat tears spilled over her lashes and dripped off her chin.
“...what's wrong? What's the matter with you?” Chey asked, distracted by Wynn's reaction.
“She's trying to come to terms with the idea that she lives here, now,” Sander said from the archway to the bathroom.
Chey snapped a look across the room. Sander hadn't been standing there a moment before. “What?”
Wynn, smiling through her tears, nodded.
“Lives here? You mean she's staying here instead of at the family seat?” Chey thought she was missing something here.
Sander and Wynn laughed. It was Sander who set Chey straight. “Chey, she lives here now. In Latvala. She moved here to be closer to you. This is her room.”
Suddenly, it all made sense. Chey gasped and glanced between them, feeling as shocked as Wynn looked. Then she hugged the stuffing out of Wynn, laughing and turning delighted circles.
“That's what those secretive glances were for! I wondered! I can't believe it!” Chey, beside herself with glee, smacked a happy kiss on Wynn's wet cheek and headed straight to Sander. When she got there, she wrapped him up in a hug and kissed him, too—but on the mouth. He rumbled through it all, apparently amused.
“Yes. We've been planning for a month,” Sander said once she released him. “If you look closely, her things have been integrated throughout the room.”
Chey released him and took a better look around. Sure enough, a few framed pictures sat on dressers and childhood paraphernalia from their youth dotted nightstands and walls. It was real. Wynn wasn't going home in a week, she was staying for good.
“You both planned this for a month and I didn't know it? Wynn, how did you keep it secret? You can never keep secrets like this.” Chey checked the huge closet to find loads of Wynn's clothes already hanging up, shoes tucked neatly into cubicles.
“I wanted you to be surprised,” Wynn said. “I had no idea it would be like this, though!”
Emerging once more, Chey watched as Wynn sat on the edge of the bed and ran her palm over the surface of the coverlet.
“I'm definitely surprised. What did your parents say? I can't imagine your dad was too happy, was he?” Chey asked.
“They understand. Plus, it gives them a great excuse to come visit. He knew I really wanted to come and gave me his blessing,” Wynn said.
Chey bumped into Sander's side and stared up into his eyes. He wrapped an arm around her hips, a loose hold of comfort and familiarity. For a long minute, they stood just like that, maintaining eye contact. She smiled, finally, eliciting one in return from him. Kissing her forehead, Sander squeezed her and stepped away for the door.
“All right. You two don't get into too much trouble. I have a few things to do before we head out to the party tonight. We'll fly back to the mainland around six.” He paused to look back.
“We always get into trouble,” Wynn chimed in.
“We'll be ready. Formal-ish, right?” Chey asked, grinning at Wynn's retort.
“Yes. Formal-ish. I've got my eye on you two,” he said, forking two fingers to point at each of them in a playful warning. Then he was gone, striding away down the hall.
Chey exchanged a mirthful glance with Wynn at the 'warning'. “If he only knew what he was getting into,” Chey said.
“Right?” Wynn laughed.
“And by the time he does, it'll be too late.” Chey affected a mock evil laugh on her way to the bed, where she plopped down to sit next to Wynn. She felt better than she had in weeks. Things were resolving themselves, the wedding was in a few days, and now she had family here to stay.
Chapter Nineteen
Altered for the party, the dining hall at the family seat glittered with tiny white lights strung from the corners of the ceiling toward a center chandelier that threw low light over the polished floor. The long table had been removed, leaving space for dancing in the center; smaller tables with chairs now littered the sides of the room with plush chairs for seating.
Staring at the collection of guests—there were a few new additions that had arrived late in the afternoon—from the archway, Chey adjusted the strap on the slinky, turquoise dress she'd chosen to wear for the party. The empire waist disguised her figure, falling to just above the knee. Skinny straps
arched over her shoulders, glittering with sewn in crystals that matched a small row following the plunging neckline. Even her modest heels had a few impressed into the leather strap that wrapped her ankle.
Beside her, Wynn wore a black sheath dress with chunky platform shoes that added several inches to her height. The front of her hair had been caught back with a clip, leaving her expressive face on full display. Bright red lipstick matched the polish on her short, manicured nails.
Sander, sharp in a suit of black, escorted both girls into the mix, greeting the new arrivals with handshakes and hellos. He introduced his bride-to-be to those she didn't know, as well as Wynn, and parted off after a few minutes when one of the Russian men gestured him over to their group.
“This is so exciting. I've never seen so many royal this and ambassador that in my life,” Wynn whispered, running a hand down the length of her hip.
“I know. This is daily life here. It takes getting used to.” Chey was still acclimating herself and understood how overwhelming it might be for Wynn.
“Good to see you, Wynn. Enjoying yourself?” Mattias said as he strolled up, drink in hand.
Chey glanced over, giving Mattias a smile. Debonair in a white jacket over black slacks, dark hair combed away from his face, the Prince looked right at home in the presence of his peers.
Wynn matched Chey's smile. “Oh, hi. We just got here, but it's amazing. I'm so enamored with the castles and meeting different people.”
“I hear this will become a permanent situation for you,” Mattias said after a sip from his glass. His gaze scanned the small clusters of guests, lingering on Sander a moment before returning to the girls.
“Yes. It was a surprise for Chey. I've had my eye on Latvala for awhile,” Wynn said with a cheeky smile.
“Good. It'll be nice to have a friendly face in attendance more often. Excuse me a moment.” After a wink, he stepped away to engage several guests that hailed him from a separate group than the one Sander stood with.
“Why is he not attached again?” Wynn whispered to Chey.
The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) Page 16
