“Damn, why don't you announce yourself next time? I might have shot you if I'd been armed.” Leander bent down to pick the remnants of the box off the floor. The dull shine of an old wedding ring glinted near the crate along with a toy sheriff's badge. He'd 'sheriffed' the woods as a boy, the badge part and parcel of his life and his memories.
“I did. All throughout the lower level and on the second floor. I guess you didn't hear me. And you're too astute to shoot first and ask questions later,” Mattias said. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossing over his chest. Dressed in casual khaki colored pants and a white button down, the prince watched on.
Closing the lid once he had everything inside, Leander frowned and looked at Mattias. “I didn't hear you, no. Anyway, what's up?”
“Nothing much. I wanted to check in and see how you're doing.” Mattias made a point of glancing at the box, then back to Leander.
Leander knew what that meant. It was code speak for, I wanted to make sure you weren't having second thoughts. “I'm doing fine. I do stay alone now and then,” he said with a grunt. “And no, I'm not having second thoughts.”
Mattias smiled immediately, giving himself away. “You always had a knack for knowing exactly what I'm thinking. It's annoying.”
“Some day, I'll progress to outright reading your mind.”
Mattias laughed. “God help us all.”
“You're so pristine, Mattias, that there's probably nothing but chivalrous thoughts in that head of yours.” Leander goaded the prince as payback for taking him by surprise.
“I'm far from pristine.”
“Does that mean you've cheated on your girlfriend? Or is she your fiance now?” Leander sat down on a crate, not bothering to invite Mattias to sit. If the man wanted to get comfortable, he would.
“If she was my fiance, don't you think you would have read about it in the tabloids you love so much?” Mattias cocked a brow.
Leander guffawed. “I don't read the tabloids!”
“Yes you do. You always know before anyone else which socialite is doing what, and when. If we ever need to know who's where, all we have to do is call you.”
“That's called research, Mattias.”
“Convenient.”
“Apt. I make it my business to know other people's business, so I can better help you and Sander out of the scrapes you get into.” Leander was reaching with that tease and he knew it. Sander and Mattias were forces to be reckoned with, each on their own level. Mattias's bark of laughter assured Leander he was achieving his goal, at least, of entertaining the man.
“I guess it's a good thing I bought you a five year subscription to every major and non-major tabloid that exists, isn't it?” Mattias said.
“I will hurt you. I don't care how bad you beat me back, or what pounding I might take from your brothers. And the guards. And security.” There was an entire line of people who would bring the pain for any slight against the prince. Leander was usually counted among those willing to deliver in Mattias's name.
Laughing, Mattias said, “Just think about all the conversations it'll open up between you and Wynn on your honeymoon.”
“You bastard.” Leander couldn't help himself. He laughed. Wynn wasn't enamored of tabloids for the most part, but if a huge stack arrived at the same time, he knew she wouldn't be able to resist peeking at the contents.
“See? Not so pristine after all.”
“I'll wipe that smug look right off your--”
“What's going on up here? Leander, why are you sitting in an attic when you could be living it up on your last day as a single man?” Sander appeared at Mattias's side, frowning between the two.
“Mattias is holding me captive,” Leander lied.
“Leander was just explaining how he'd like to rearrange my face,” Mattias said, overlapping Leander's reply.
“All I wanted to know was if he'd proposed to Alannah yet,” Leander said, effectively putting Mattias back on the hot seat.
“No, but he has a ring,” Sander said.
Mattias shot Sander such a look, which had no effect at all on the king other than to bring a deviant grin to Sander's mouth.
“Oh ho-hooo,” Leander said, pointing a finger at Mattias.
“I have three words for you,” Mattias said, mock glowering at Leander. “The Cheeky Socialite.”
“What the hell is a cheeky socialite?” Sander said with clear confusion.
“A certain tabloid that I'm positive Wynn will simply adore. A tri-monthly subscription, too. Just when Leander recovers from one, a new issue arrives.”
Leander groaned. “And we're right back to bodily harm. I swear, Mattias Ahtissari, that I'll--”
Sander interrupted the conversation with an abrupt spate of laughter. He said, “I'm not sure what disturbs me more. The fact that Leander thinks he can best Mattias in a wrestling match, of which he clearly lacks skill and talent, or that my brother even knows The Cheeky Socialite exists.”
Mattias smiled a devious smile, never looking away from Leander. “It's called research. Just ask Leander.”
. . .
Thanks to Chey, Wynn felt like the most pampered, spoiled woman in the world. The morning had started out with a bang: breakfast on the mainland of Latvala in an exclusive cafe overlooking the ocean, a quick stop for shopping and three hours in a spa where all the girls were treated to mud baths, manicures, pedicures, facials and massages. Wynn exited the spa feeling like a million bucks. She counted herself lucky to have such a thoughtful best friend and maid of honor, someone who planned everything down to the littlest detail.
Back on Pallan Island, in the enormous castle housing the king and queen, Wynn broke off from the group to creep upstairs to Chey and Sander's private wing. The guards allowed Wynn to pass with nary a glance. She had what amounted to an all access pass, freeing her to roam where she would.
Tiptoeing down the hallway, she paused outside a certain door and tilted her head to listen. Soft noises from within assured her she wouldn't be disrupting a nap. Opening the door, she stepped inside a baby's room. The medieval style of the castle lent itself to stone walls and a stone floor, but even those rough textures couldn't compete with the draping folds of pale pink and cream satin, buttery soft rugs, lush microsuede furniture hand carved by expert craftsmen and the very girly décor. Little ballerinas in pink tutus spun above a crib, the mobile well out of reach of a chubby hand.
Wynn approached on quiet feet, a smile in place. “Hellooo, little Emily. Did you wake up from your nap?”
Sitting up, the dark haired, blue eyed baby refocused her attention on Wynn. Immediately, a squeal of happiness split the room.
Laughing at the familiar reaction, Wynn reached inside the crib, automatically bringing the baby out to prop on her hip. Emily babbled and swung a fist up and down, then promptly tried to grab Wynn's hair.
“Oh no you don't, little Miss. I lost a fistful of hair the last time that happened.” Wynn rocked side to side and peppered a dozen kisses all over Emily's face and neck, eliciting adorable giggles.
Wynn arched back to get a better look at the sleep tousled infant. Emily, with her dark silky hair and blue eyes, resembled Chey to a shocking degree. Wynn loved the little girl and her older brother, Elias, as if they were her own. Being an 'aunt' had changed Wynn's life, and to a degree, Leander's as well. She babysat whenever she could, bringing the babies to the cottage for entire afternoons. Leander had been shockingly good with the children as well, showing a propensity for fatherhood that Wynn viewed in a different light now that she'd met Nathaniel.
“So tomorrow, I'm going to marry your uncle Leander, and you're going to wear a gorgeous tiny dress with frills and bows, while Elias gets all decked out in a miniature suit. You'll be the sharpest dressed guests at the church.” Wynn kissed Emily's cheek, laughing, as the baby babbled sweet nothings. She rocked in place, pleased and at peace to spend some time with the baby.
From the hallway outside, a sudden ruckus drew Wynn
's attention. Even Emily paused and stared, eyes round and luminous. A toddler bumbled around the corner into the room, going as fast as his little legs could carry him. Which happened to be fast enough to evade Chey, who came trotting in behind, grinning a motherly, affectionate grin.
“Oh, there you are! We all wondered where you gotten off to,” Chey said, coming up short when she saw Wynn.
“Ninn, Ninn, Ninn!” Elias stomped a foot and ran to Wynn, throwing his arms around her knees.
Laughing, Wynn reached down to stroke a hand over Elias's head. It still boggled her mind that Elias would, someday, take Sander's place as king. The boy had even started to resemble Sander more, hair lightening to a soft brown, features resembling his father's.
“I couldn't resist. I haven't seen her in two days or so!” Wynn said, as if the time lapse was a crisis. “I wouldn't want her to forget her auntie Wynn.”
Chey plucked Elias up off the floor and bobbed him a foot in the air, catching him with ease. “You're such a goose, Wynn. She's not going to forget you. You're her favorite aunt—just don't tell Natalia.”
Wynn cackled. “I'm her favorite aunt because I make funny sounds when she pats my cheeks.”
“Ninn, Ninn, Ninn!” Elias squirmed to get down.
“Elias, Elias, Elias!” Wynn parroted the little boy, adoring his 'nickname' for her. In Elias's circle, auntie Ninn was all right.
“You know, it's funny. We're supposed to be doing girly things and having bachelorette parties, and yet here we all are, up with the kids,” Krislin said as she entered the room. In her arms, her own baby girl babbled and chewed on a soft toy.
Wynn laughed at the same time as Chey. “We're suckers, what can we say. Helllooo, beautiful little Alissa.” Wynn cooed at Krislin and Gunnar's daughter, a spitting image of her daddy if Wynn had ever seen one. Blonde curls covered Alissa's head like a cherub sent from heaven.
“We are suckers,” Chey said, letting Elias down. The toddler took off for the door and the hallway beyond. Somewhere nearby, on the same floor, were two assistants prepared to catch and waylay the toddler before he got too far. “Although we still have things to do tonight, like Krislin mentioned, so I guess we should get to it.”
Wynn experienced a jolt at the subject of 'other things'. In days of old, she would have gladly attended a bachelorette party—and had for friends back in Seattle—to wile away the night with a hot stripper. She was no tame flower to sit back and watch everyone else have fun. Except all the other times, she'd been a guest and not the bride-to-be. Now it felt...strange. Even with the morning and afternoon to come to terms with it, to collect herself and realize it was a night of harmless fun, she still suffered cold feet. Handing Emily off to Chey, Wynn brushed her hands over her plaid patterned pants and adjusted the waistcoat of white with plaid cuffs and collar. Emily hadn't drooled, it just gave Wynn something to do with her hands.
“Right, the other things,” Wynn finally said, as Chey and Krislin both stepped into the hallway to transfer their babies to the assistants. Every possible care would be given in Chey and Krislin's absence.
“We're going to have dinner first, then the party,” Chey said, reaching for Wynn's elbow once the kids were in safe keeping. “Come on! I thought you'd be whooping and hollaring and hoarding dollar bills, Wynnie.”
“I know, I did, too,” Wynn admitted with a quiet laugh. How things had changed in the last year. She still enjoyed having a wild, fun time—with Leander.
“And don't call me Winnie.”
Wynn wouldn't ruin Chey's surprise, however, and went along with the plans because it would be rude not to.
I promise I won't look, Leander.
Chapter Eighteen
Oh, this was bad. Really bad. Wynn broke into a sweat as she boarded the boat that would ferry them to the mainland. The girls attending the party—Krislin, Chey, Natalia and more—were on the vessel as well, all dressed in varying degrees of fashion. After a casual dinner with the group, Wynn had changed as well, choosing black slacks and a high collared, long sleeved shirt the color of a sunrise. She didn't mean to cover up so much skin...or perhaps she did. Subconsciously, she'd chosen the most concealing articles of clothing she owned barring throat to ankle coats.
That they were now on the ferry en route to the mainland told Wynn that they were heading to one of the clubs in the large city of Kalev. One of those racy nightspots with neon lights, glossy stages and gold poles for the stripper's use.
Fantastic. Now she really couldn't beg off the party, or admit she didn't want to go. What was wrong with her, anyway? It wasn't as if anyone expected her to kiss or fondle some strange man.
Waiting on the docks were no less than four limousines. Four. The women piled in, filling up each luxury car as they disembarked the ferry.
Wynn sat in the first one with her bridesmaids and closest friends, accepting a glass of wine from Chey like it was a lifeline. She gulped, coughed, then sipped at a more moderate rate. Music poured out the speakers, something upbeat and sexy.
Getting us all in the mood. Wynn ignored her pessimistic thoughts and smiled, hoping it didn't look as forced as it felt.
The line of limousines, accompanied by SUVs containing guards, weaved through the maze of streets toward their destination. Wynn stared out the side window, cringing as they entered a row of businesses she knew quite well. Singles clubs, bars and other gathering places for those looking to party up the night filled at least three blocks. She'd spent a few evenings here before hooking up with Leander, enjoying the nightlife and the natives.
Cruising to a stop outside a ritzy club with a black, white and purple themed facade, Wynn guzzled the last few sips of wine and set the glass aside. She should have had a shot or two of Jager before this. The last one out of the car, Wynn brushed her hands down her thighs and looked up at the building.
“Go ahead and go in, Wynn. We've got a table in the front, right by the stage,” Chey said, waving her phone to indicate a call had come in.
With several other guests at her back, Wynn stepped through the front entrance. The club was every bit as classy as it was suggestive; purple draped the walls and the tables, a deep color that set off the white chairs and black floor. The main focus of the room, of course, was the large stage taking space against the far wall. A purple curtain followed the natural curve on the outside, hiding the stage itself along with any poles or whatever other props the strippers might use.
She didn't see any table that stood out more than the others in the front, although one in particular looked like it might be the one Chey meant. It was the closest, front and center.
“So, is it that table?” Wynn asked the girls, then twisted to look back when no one answered. No one answered because no one else was there. “What the--”
Music drifted from the speakers, yanking Wynn's attention back to the stage. It wasn't the kind of music she expected to hear in a strip club; this was romantic and soft.
“Okay, Chey, are you trying to get me into trouble here?” Just about to flee back outside and chide Chey up one side and down the other, she paused to watch the curtain begin a slow slide away from the stage. Split down the middle, each side recoiled, revealing the stage itself.
Wynn covered her lips with her fingers. Situated in the center of the stage stood a linen covered table and two chairs. A bright array of flowers floating in a candle lit bowl decorated the table and silver covered platters sat before each chair, as if awaiting guests.
This was far, far too intimate a scene. There was no way she wanted to have dinner with some stripper and then be subjected to a private lap dance. Before she could turn back to exit, a ripple of a curtain further back on the stage snagged her attention. A man stepped out. Shadows obscured the fine details of his face and physique.
Oh no.
“Excuse me, I think there's been some mistake...” Wynn held up a hand, prepared to apologize and even pay the dancer for his trouble.
Then he stepped into the spotli
ght.
White shirt casually unbuttoned to expose a slice of chest, black slacks neatly pressed, shoes polished to a shine, Leander looked nothing short of devastating. Devil-may-care, with his hair half pulled back as was his wont, mouth tilted into a subtle but amused smile.
Wynn's heart trip-hammered, thudding so hard she thought it might pop. Dumbfounded, all she could do at first was stare.
“You've got that whole deer in the headlight look going. I think. It's a bit hard to see with the spotlight shining in my eyes,” he said, coming to a stop at the edge of the stage.
Snapped out of her stupor, Wynn bolted for the stage, dodging tables and chairs, laughter spilling free. “It's you! I was so worried it was some stranger! I'm going to kill both you and Chey.”
He laughed and met her at a set of side stairs leading up to the stage. “And here you looked ready to bail on the poor guy. Where's your sense of adventure, Winnie?”
“Don't call me Winnie!” Wynn threw herself into his arms, lifted and swung about with effortless ease. Leander's muscles flexed under her palms. “I didn't know how to tell Chey that I didn't want to see strippers. I thought I'd hurt her feelings.”
Leander kissed her, interrupting her diatribe. “She knows you better than that. Actually, I thought you'd figure it out and walk in here all cocky because you'd guessed.”
Wynn kissed him again, and once more for good measure. “You smell good,” she said, blurting the first thing that came to mind. “I didn't guess at all. Maybe I've just been distracted by the busy day or something.”
He smiled, staring down into her eyes. “I'm glad you were surprised then. Come on, I hope you're hungry.” Taking her hand, he led her to the table and held a chair while she sat down.
“But Chey and the girls are--”
“Are going out for drinks. They'll be back to pick you up in exactly one hour.” Leander whisked the covers off the platters, exposing two plates loaded with Wynn's favorite Chinese food.
Royal Elite: Leander Page 16