Sean
Quintessence The Sequel: Part IV
Serena Akeroyd
Copyright © 2019 by Serena Akeroyd
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Author Note
Also by Serena Akeroyd
Chapter One
Life had a funny habit of throwing shit someone’s way when they weren’t equipped to deal with it.
But sometimes?
Sometimes life just had a real fucking laugh at your expense.
That was life for Sascha Dubois at that moment because, seriously, somebody somewhere was fucking with her.
She wasn’t gaping at a King, a Queen, and a Duke after they had some post-sex cuddles, was she?
No.
That just couldn’t be.
It could. Not. Be.
Cheeks bright pink, she could do little other than stare at the trio who were gaping right back at her.
It was one of the most awkward moments of her life and she’d given birth. She had a lover on the spectrum who came out with the most random, and most mortifying shit when the mood struck, and then she had his mini-me in the form of their son.
She was used to awkward.
Awkward was her bitch, and the way to make it that way was to laugh. To laugh so hard that everyone just realized you’d taken it as a joke.
But this?
Here?
Nope.
That wasn’t going to cut it.
Then, just as shit got really awkward, and Sascha was talking super weird with no one having a clue what to say or do, Tin begged, “Mummy, pee pee. 999.”
999 was their emergency code—the Brits’ version of 911. What better way to teach him that number than to equate it with toilet situations—at least, that had been Kurt’s idea. Oddly enough, it had stuck fast.
Eyes widening, Sascha blurted out, “Shit. I forgot.”
“Bad word, Mummy. Bad. Bad. Bad.”
Fuck.
Trust him to remember that now. But, thank God for kids. Without a word, or maybe another squeak, she retreated from the bedroom without a backward glance and turned to the left to where she figured the bathroom she’d initially been searching for was located.
With barely enough time to get Tin on the damn toilet, she made it.
After she’d lifted him high enough to wash his hands, she turned him around, grateful that he was still young enough to enjoy being hugged by her.
There’d come a day when he’d be anti-hugs and anti-kisses from Mommy, and while that would suck, it would suck harder when she opened the door and stopped procrastinating, because she didn’t doubt she’d be facing the firing squad.
She wasn’t frightened, per se. She was here with Andrei, after all, and the King and Queen needed him to kickstart their economy again. They also needed Devon and Sawyer… They wouldn’t kill the mother of Andrei’s son, would they?
“Mummy, you’re hot.”
Sascha winced as she pulled back. “Sorry, kiddo.” The hug, in their winter coats that were fit for a Russian winter, as well as the warm temperature of the bathroom, had made both their cheeks flush.
A tap sounded at the door. “Ma’am?”
She closed her eyes as she tried to process what the hell she was about to say, before another tap sounded and Tin started wriggling to get down.
“Mummy, door. Door!” he repeated, and with both feet firmly on the floor, he hit the ground running so he could yank open the hugely ornate aperture—this was one grand bathroom.
Her hope that the door would be too heavy for him was immediately wrecked when three concerned faces peered through the opening. Spying them, she blurted out, “It’s okay. I get it. More than you can imagine.”
Perry DeSauvier’s shoulders straightened, and with a cool tone, she murmured, “There’s nothing to get. Xavier was comforting me. I’ve had a bad day.”
Sascha’s lips curved in a smile, and though she’d probably regret being blunt later, she wasn’t born yesterday and wasn’t about to be treated like a fool. “Honey, I like to be comforted that way too.”
Perry’s cheeks flushed. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly. I get it. Don’t worry.” Sascha bit her bottom lip. “I mean, I seriously get it.”
Was the way to avoid being hit by an assassin trying to keep royal secrets classified as easy as just admitting the truth? She really fucking hoped so.
“There’s nothing to get,” the King, Edward DeSauvier retorted coolly. “My wife had some bad news. She and Xavier are very close.”
Tonsil-hockey close. Yup. Sascha had seen that. She’d seen that loud and clear. But obviously they weren’t about to admit it, and though she was on the brink of letting things go just to get the hell away from this conversation—she’d have agreed that blue was black by this point—Tin destroyed her plans. Yet again.
Why had she wanted kids again?
“Kiss,” Tin yelled. “You kissed. Mummy kisses lots too. Daddy Andrei and Daddy Devon lots. Daddy Kurt—” He made smacking sounds with his mouth. “Papa Sean and Sawyer too.” More smacking sounds. “Lots and lots of kisses,” he said with a giggle that had Sascha’s cheeks burning.
Amusement lit the Duke’s eyes where before there’d been cool disdain. “Lots of kisses, hmm?”
Sascha felt her core temperature soar even more—had Tin told anyone else about the ‘lots and lots of kisses?’
God help them if he’d told someone at playgroup!
“I, um, I meant it when I said I get it.” She shrugged. What else could she say?
Queen Perry’s eyes were bugging out, and Sascha couldn’t blame her. Whatever she had going on with a Duke and King, well, that was nothing to the five—count ‘em, five—men Sascha had to juggle on a daily basis.
She cleared her throat. “M-My…” Shit. Her what? “They’ll be waiting on me.” She’d never stayed as a guest somewhere before. Aside from Vasily who totally knew the score.
The King—the freakin’ King—tilted his head to the side. “You’re with the economists.”
It wasn’t a question. But neither was it a statement. Hadn’t they run a security check on her or something? Shouldn’t they know who was wandering about their corridors just waiting to barge in on highly secret situations?
Clearing her throat, then realizing she couldn’t speak, Sascha just bobbed her head.
“All the economists, apparently,” Duke Xavier mused, and Sascha was grateful when Perry elbowed him in the side.
Then, a thought occurred to her. “Oh my God, I was supposed to curtsey!”
A snort escaped Perry. “I think we’re way past that stage now…”
The way her words trailed off let Sascha know she was supposed to introduce herself. “I’m Sascha Dubois,” she whispered, her tone close to shy, and Sascha didn’t particularly consider herself shy but shit, this was the first time she’d ever met royalty, for God’s sake. She was entitled to blush, especially when she’d just caught the Queen kissing the Duke and not the King. But God, she couldn’t blame her. Xavier was fine. Before her thoughts could derail even more, she mumbled, “This is Valentin. My son.”
“Tin,” he grouched. “Not Valentin.”
When he said his name, she had to smile because it sounded so incredibly Russian that there was no evading exactly who is father was.
She said it like Americans did. Close to Valentine, like the holiday. But Tin? Nope. She couldn’t even reproduce how he said it. There were all kinds of dips and dives in the few short syllables that made up his name.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Tin,” Perry graciously told him. She pressed one hand to her knees as she bent over and, with the other, reached out to proffer the other to him in a greeting.
He took it, his small, undoubtedly sweaty palm sliding against the Queen’s, and he murmured, “You’re like Mummy.”
Her lips curved. “I am?”
“‘Merican.”
Sascha barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Seriously? The kid could say Valentin and speak Russian and say all kinds of shit in German, but her country? Her fucking country? Nope. He slurred that.
Jesus.
“Yep, I’m from Tennessee,” she informed him. “I haven’t been back in a while though. Your ear’s good too. I’ve been having lessons to sound more queenly.”
Xavier snorted. “You can tell how well they’ve been going.”
She reared up at that and pouted. “No fair.”
The minute Sascha saw that pout, she realized she hadn’t misunderstood, at all, what she’d witnessed between them. Of course, she knew she hadn’t. There was no misunderstanding that kind of tongue-fucking the Duke had bestowed upon his cousin’s wife, but that pout? Yup. That sealed the deal.
Sascha pulled that kind of move when Sean or Andrei were teasing her. It usually ended with her slapping one of them on the belly, then sliding her hand over said belly and sometimes, if she was in the mood—and she was usually in the mood—slipping it down to their cocks for a quick fondle.
Not that she expected Perry to do that in front of an audience. Although it would have been amusing to behold, that was for damn sure.
Edward, apparently sensing that Sascha had discerned the level of intimacy between his wife and cousin, leveled her with a look. She tilted her head to the side and shot him a flustered smile.
“Look. I’m—” She winced. “I’m really rich. I don’t need to sell your story or anything.”
“Story! Yes, Mummy! Tell me a story. I’m tired. I want to go to beddy.”
Sascha’s lips curved, and even the men and woman smiled at his chortle of glee at the prospect of a story. She pressed a hand to his shoulder. “I just—I won’t say anything.”
A muscle ticked in Edward’s jaw, but he dipped his chin, making Sascha wonder how that move could be so regal. How did they teach that? Were there classes on how to make the everyday folk feel like scum? “You’ll all be signing an NDA so—”
Sascha wafted a hand. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m used to signing those. I had to sign one when I moved in with—” She cleared her throat. “Well, yeah. I’m good with NDAs.”
Perry snickered. “Good to know.” This time, the hand she held out was for Sascha. “Perry.” Apparently, the surname or the title wasn’t required—and fuck, yep, it wasn’t. Sascha figured it was like money—royals never carried it, did they? Nor did they need to ‘carry’ a surname.
“Sascha Dubois,” she whispered, trying not to feel awed by the fact she was shaking hands with a Queen. Even if that Queen probably had a similar upbringing to her.
“Yes, you already said,” Perry teased, “but it’s nice to put a name to the blush.” When the other woman shot her a wink, somehow, Sascha knew she and this Queen were going to get on great. Before Perry’s men—and yeah, they were her men—could say another word, she stepped forward, grabbed Tin’s other hand, and as a unit of three, she motioned toward the hall. “I can show you to the bedroom you’ll be using.”
“You can?” Her brow puckered in surprise.
Perry shot her a look. “Yep. I run things around here.”
This wasn’t even a palace and even Sascha knew that the Veronian Royal Family lived at Masonbrook Palace. Did that mean Perry managed both households? With that in mind, Sascha mused, “That’s a lot of running.”
“Damn straight. It keeps me out of mischief,” Perry joked. “Anyway, as far as I recall… there are five economists downstairs, correct?”
Sascha shook her head. “There’s technically just one. Two are mathematicians, but I think Sawyer does something with statistics and Devon tends to make patterns. At least, I think. What they talk about usually goes over my head, and to be honest, I don’t really care.
“That sounds so bad,” she added, “but seriously, it’s so boring and so hot at the same time.”
Perry laughed. “Yeah, I know how that works.”
“Then there’s Sean. He’s a criminologist, and Kurt…” She smiled. “He, well, I don’t know if you know the series, but he wrote Black Blood?”
“Kurt Yeller?” Perry cocked a brow at her. “As if I couldn’t know that name. Jeez. That series was hardcore. They’re making it into a movie, right? I can’t wait.”
“Yeah.” She winced, realizing how dour her tone was, then tried not to be such a killjoy and pumped some enthusiasm she wasn’t really feeling into her voice: “I’ve met the stars. They’re good.” Good. That was about as much as she had to say on the flirts that were the stars of Kurt’s movie adaptation. Jennifer Houghton, the main female star, had flirted up a storm with Kurt, and Matthew Dreyford had definitely been trying to get into Sascha’s panties.
“I wonder if they’ll try to have a premiere here in Madela. I know Xavier and George are working hard to make the city more…” She sighed. “Well, more of everything. The little snafu we had with the revolutionaries set us back a step or two.”
“Understandable,” Sascha agreed. “But it’s safe now, right? Has been for years?”
“Yep. But the UnReals are sticky boogers.”
Sascha snorted at that. “Sticky boogers?”
Perry’s eyes twinkled. “I have a three-year-old.” She patted her stomach. “And another two on the way, apparently.”
“Wow. That’s going to be a handful.”
“You know how it works. It’s a damn sight easier with a lot of fathers around.”
“That’s true.” Sascha tilted her head to the side. “Are you secretly walking us to our doom? Is there a room for firing squads at the end of the hall?”
“There’s a room for everything else,” Perry answered cheerfully. “But nope. Not that. Edward’s right. You’ll be signing an NDA, and I do actually remember you from the press. You went through that trouble with your parents, right?”
“Understatement,” Sascha replied with a shudder. “The press are not my friends, that’s for sure.”
“Well, that means we can be friends, right? I’d like that. It’s hard not talking about my relationships with people. Do you seriously have five guys?”
She snickered. “Yep.”
“Wow, brave woman,” Perry whispered. “Three is tough to keep up with, and they’re always all over the place too. Like, if I’m, you know, sore, one of them usually has to fly to Berlin or something, then the other is buried in his lab. It gives me a break.”
Sascha shrugged. “They don’t attack me en masse.”
A laugh escaped Perry. “Shame.”
“We heard that.”
The growled words came from behind them, and Perry, eyes still twinkling, shot the men a smile and blew them a kiss.
With a grin, Sascha looked straight ahead, and then stopped walking when Perry did too. “This is your room. I didn’t know about Tin though. Does he need a special bed?”
Sascha shook her head. “No. He’s okay in a single.”
“Phew. Well, his room is just off yours.” She reached up and tapped her chin. “Your… partners’ suites are all on this floor also. Is that a problem?”
Sascha blinked, finding it surreal to be having this conversation, period. Never mind with a Queen. “Why would that be a problem?”
&nb
sp; “I like to be close to mine.”
Well, that was intriguing. “How do you wrangle that in a palace?” Sascha blurted out.
“Secret doors,” Xavier said drily, making her jolt in surprise because she hadn’t really anticipated an answer.
Damn, those NDAs must be ironclad, either that, or she had a trustworthy face.
Perry chuckled but tapped her nose. “Ways and means.”
“Sounds like it,” Sascha teased, and suddenly, the next few months ahead of her in Madela really didn’t seem too shitty. In fact, it sounded like it would be awesome if it meant she could hang around with someone who understood her life—how it worked, how complicated it was in some facets, and how simple it was in others.
She beamed at the Queen, and though it was totally inappropriate, she grabbed her and hugged her. It felt strange to hug another woman, and she realized that she hadn’t hugged someone who wasn’t her guys or Tin in a very long time.
Perry started at her abrupt move, but she squeezed Sascha back.
“I’m looking forward to getting to know you,” Sascha stated, well aware it was forward, but unable to help herself.
Perry’s grin appeared slowly. “Same here.”
❖
“Sascha’s been gone a while.”
Devon’s statement had Sean lifting his brandy and taking a sip. His gaze didn’t move from the hearth where a roaring fire seared his retinas.
The burn as the brandy went down felt good, as did the heat in the room, and the comfortable leather under his butt as he sank into the Chesterfield. The distance from the UK felt even better.
“She’ll be putting Tin to bed. You know how long that takes when he’s overtired,” Kurt stated, his eyes glued to a newspaper. Ever since he’d passed over the responsibility of reviewing the script for his new film a few hours earlier, he’d taken on a lighter air.
Sean, knowing Kurt far too well for any of their own good, understood. Kurt hated rereading his work. And though the man considered it an honor that his grand oeuvre was being made into a major motion picture, his ego wasn’t so damn enormous that he enjoyed seeing how the screenwriters had changed it.
Sean: Quintessence The Sequel: Part IV Page 1
