Billionaire Ever After

by Blair Babylon

That was yet another problem that he would handle delicately.

  He strode out of the suite, finding Friedhelm, Matthias, and three men from Dieter’s team in the hallway, waiting for him. He reinserted his earpiece in his ear and tapped it on.

  “Stay here,” he told Matthias and one of Dieter’s men, and then he updated the rest of the team over the bluetooth of the new assignments. He finished by telling Matthias, “If anyone comes out of that suite, restrain them. If they resist, use whatever force is necessary. Friedhelm, you’re with me.”

  Wulf strode away from the door down the hallway. Friedhelm and the other men followed.

  In his ear, Dieter asked, “Did you just tell Matthias to kill your father?”

  “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Wulf muttered.

  “I’m on my way back,” Dieter said. “Screw being best man. I’ve had dibs on taking out your father for years.”

  “You’re not getting out of standing up with me that easily. Meet me at the church.”

  “Your sister is already orchestrating the revised transportation maneuver,” he said. “She would make a brilliant general, pushing tin tanks around a map of Europe.”

  Wulf entered the elevator. Friedhelm and the others entered after him and stood at parade rest between Wulf and the doors. He said, “Our family tried that once. It didn’t go so well.”

  His ancestor had chosen the wrong side in the Austro-Prussian War of 1866 and lost the kingdom.

  Dieter said, “She’s having everything sent over from the hotel. We’ll make it on time, but Durchlaucht, Flicka tells me that you need to go straight to the church.”

  Wulf said, “I will assure Rae that I am well but delayed, and I shall arrive at the church soon.”

  Through the earpiece, his sister’s voice rose and accelerated.

  Dieter said, “I’ll bring your clothes. Get to the church or I’ll send the rest of my men after you. We’ve come too far.”

  “Where’s Rae?” Wulf asked.

  “Still at the hotel. They’re readying her to travel to the church.”

  His heart stilled. “Who is with her?”

  “Her security, as we planned.”

  “Frau Keller?” Wulf asked. He stared at his old military boots, wearing with age, and the elevator carpeting.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Romain and your men will take Rae to the church immediately. Have them stand up right now, put her in the car, and take her. Leave Julian with Frau Keller at the hotel.”

  “Is this an emergency?” Dieter asked.

  Scenarios scrolled through Wulf’s mind, each more devastating than the last. “Yes.”

  The word left a foul taste in his mouth.

  Dieter said, “On it.”

  Through the earpiece, Wulf heard his sister’s voice rise in a ribbon of lecturing and a click as the phone cut off.

  Wulf took his earpiece out of his ear.

  The elevator doors opened.

  Friedhelm walked out ahead of him. “The hotel?”

  “Yes,” Wulf said. “The hotel.”

  Rosamunde

  Wulf von Hannover

  Wulf walked into his suite, feeling the way the air moved and watching the shadows on the walls. He could feel that Rae and her entourage were gone, already being driven to the church.

  He was alone but for Frau Keller sitting on the couch, her hands clenched in her lap, and Julian standing by a hallway table. Julian’s hand hovered near his hip, and he frowned.

  Wulf said, “Julian, please wait outside with Friedhelm.”

  Julian looked up, glancing at Wulf and then returning to watch Frau Keller. The clench of his blond eyebrows made him seem angry, having to guard the woman who had run the house and been considered one of the most trusted staff members for years.

  Wulf had spoken with Rae for a few moments while she had been in the car, ending with her saying, “Get there as soon as you can. I’ll cover for you.”

  His heart had mended a little at her words, but right now, it ached.

  The door closed behind Julian and Friedhelm.

  Wulf sat in a chair near Rosamunde and leaned his arms on his knees, clasping his hands. He spoke German with her, his first language, the language of his childhood. It used to feel comforting. “Tell me about Liesel.”

  Rosamunde blinked, and the crease between her eyes deepened. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, yes, she’s fine. Did you know that she is here?”

  “In Montreux?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why would she be here? She hasn’t called me. I would have met her.”

  “Tell me about her,” Wulf said.

  “She was married before we came into your service. That didn’t work out, but she’s all right.”

  “You’ve never mentioned her name to me.”

  “Well, I guess there was no need. How did you know her name?”

  “I believe I just met her.” Wulf bit his lip, feeling his own flesh between his teeth. “Did you know that she is working for my father?”

  “What?” Rosamunde rose to her feet, her hands fluttering. “She works in a restaurant. She is a waitstaff and a hostess. She is not in service.”

  Wulf felt his shoulders fall in relief. Rosamunde hadn’t known, and with such a reaction from his stoic manager, he believed her. “She was in my father’s suite. She was wearing the usual black uniform and carrying a coffee tray.”

  “You are sure?” Horror shrilled in her voice.

  “Do you have her picture?”

  “Yes, of course.” Rosamunde found her phone in her purse and scrolled through the pictures. She turned the screen toward Wulf. “It couldn’t be her.”

  Wulf looked at the woman on the screen and sighed. She had the same cheekbones and firm line of her lips as Rosamunde. “That is the woman in Phillipp’s rooms.”

  “No,” Rosamunde looked at the screen of her own phone, and she sat heavily. “She would have told me.”

  “You have been telling her our travel plans, our situations, how Rae’s family is?”

  Rosamunde’s hand crept up to her mouth. “Oh, Wulfram. I am so sorry. I give you my resignation, mine and for Georg.” Her husband, Georg, had been Wulf’s first driver while he was in high school and now served as his senior butler.

  “No,” Wulf said. “I don’t accept your resignations, and I will not, but we must discuss boundaries of what you can tell Liesel.”

  “I can’t believe that she would tell him, that she would turn spy. I am sorry. I thought that I was speaking in confidence with her. She knows what I think of him, of the things he had done.”

  “Has Liesel mentioned that she is seeing anyone?”

  “Well, yes,” Rosamunde said, slightly less dour. “She has said that there is someone, that she is optimistic about their chances.”

  “You must dissuade her. He is using her. He is cruel, and he has no feelings for her.”

  “Oh.” Rosamunde said, understanding, and then horrified. “No, surely she isn’t.”

  “He will manipulate anyone.”

  Rosamunde closed her eyes. “I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her that she cannot trust him, and then I’ll not speak to her again.”

  “That is not a good solution,” Wulf said. “She’s your daughter. You can’t remove yourself from the relationship. You should not divulge anything about us or our plans.”

  “I won’t. Oh, Wulfram. I am so sorry.”

  “He played us all. I should have realized that he would do something as reprehensible as this.”

  Wulf would have to plant a bit of misinformation with Rosamunde, something specific, and then have his new security forces watch to see if his father acted on it, but he was confident that this was at an end.

  Rosamunde. Of all people, Rosamunde had been his father’s unwitting spy, and Wulf despised his father all the more for using her.

  Dressing Room

  Rae Stone-von Hannover

  Rae waited in the dressi
ng room in the basement of the church, trussed up in the fancy wedding dress that Flicka had helped her pick out. The corset under it was truly a marvel of mechanical engineering. If they had gotten themselves stranded, Rae was quite sure that it could be unfolded into a suspension bridge.

  Rae’s college friend Lizzy had been fussing over her all afternoon, evidently taking over for Wulf in that department, but she was taking a break. She was all tucked up into a tiny, blond ball in one corner of a loveseat, clicking on her phone.

  “Is he here yet?” Rae asked Flicka.

  Flicka was alternately talking and texting and swiping on her phone so fast that her fingers blurred. Her white bridesmaid’s dress, a comfortable-looking silk sheath, flowed perfectly around her, not a wrinkle marring the fabric.

  She grunted and held up one finger while she finished the text with her other thumb. “There. I can’t believe that asshole kidnapped me for three whole hours. I am going to cut off someone’s head. The reception napkins are white. White. And polyester. We specified ivory, unbleached raw silk months ago.”

  Rae asked, “Is Wulf here yet?”

  Flicka shook her head. “Julian pinged that Wulfie and Mrs. Keller just left the hotel for the church.”

  Rae blew her breath out because, with Wulf, she always worried. Even when he was surrounded by a security team, she worried.

  Flicka said, “He still isn’t dressed. His clothes are here. We’re already delayed by fifteen minutes. It’s going to be an hour. The delay is going to be an hour.”

  Rae smiled. “It’ll be okay. We have four hours built in before we’re supposed to make the entrance at the reception. It’ll be fine.” She glanced over at Dieter, who was sitting in a chair, his hands resting on his knees, facing the door. Even when he tried to appear casual, he always looked like he was ready to leap and grapple or shoot if needed. “I wish Georgie were here.”

  Georgie was the third leg of their perfect triad of college friends: Lizzy, Georgie, and Rae. Georgie had run off with a rock band, but that was a long story.

  Flicka glanced up at her, paused, and then reached over and stroked Rae’s arm. “If she can come, I’m sure she will.”

  “You haven’t gotten any more texts?”

  “Not since the exceedingly tardy RSVP yesterday,” Flicka sniffed.

  “Do you think that she’s okay?”

  Flicka glanced up at her. “She keeps saying that she’s going to disappear, to escape everyone who’s after her, everyone who has been hounding her. It must be nice to think that you are so inconsequential that you can just run away like that.”

  “But she’s not inconsequential,” Rae said. “She has people who love her.”

  “Maybe it’s the best option for her,” Flicka said, pausing, frowning. “Maybe she’s afraid that the people who are after her will kill her friends if the bullets miss her. They have been hunting her for her whole life, ever since her father swindled those criminals, anyway. Maybe her life is so miserable and shallow and wrong and imprisoning that she actually wants to die but just can’t bring herself to do it, so she keeps running away instead.”

  Rae, a budding psychologist, felt all those warning words as if they glowed with violent red light, and her chest squeezed.

  “Did she say that to you?” Rae asked, reaching over to touch Flicka’s arm. “Did Georgie say that she was thinking about harming herself?”

  “No, I’m just playing armchair shrink. Indeed, I’ve barely talked to her or to anyone for months except for wedding planners and caterers and florists and designers, and now I’ve lost three whole damn hours. I’ve got to get these napkins right, or people will talk. Good God, Rae. White, polyester napkins! What would people say?”

  People would probably say that the napkins adequately wiped the food crumbs and wine smears off their faces, but Rae refrained. Flicka had poured her heart into this wedding, managing to set up a high-society shindig on an insanely short timeline, then postponing the date at the last minute for a month later, when Rae would not have known where to start.

  “You’ve done a brilliant job, Flicka,” is what she said. “I appreciate everything that you’ve done, and it’s beautiful and it’s perfect.”

  The wary suspicion in Flicka’s dark green eyes hurt Rae’s heart.

  “Really!” Rae told her. “I mean it. I am stunned by how much you’ve done. Everything is absolutely beautiful and perfect. You have done a wonderful job with this. Thank you, and I mean every word.”

  Flicka blinked, her lips sucking inward. “Okay. Thanks. I’m glad that you like it.” She still didn’t smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me for a few minutes, I have to make sure that my fashion-challenged brother puts on the right suit because if there are two suits in the garment bag, he will choose the wrong one, and then I have a table designer to disembowel if he doesn’t produce two thousand unbleached silk napkins in the next three hours.”

  “Four hours,” Rae reminded her, hoping to reduce the tension.

  “Three,” Flicka said. “I need an hour to whip all the waitstaff into folding them into two thousand perfect little goddamn swans.”

  Not A Ploy

  Wulf von Hannover

  Wulf stepped out of the car onto the sidewalk in the mild August sunlight. The church where he was to marry Reagan loomed above, soaring into the clear breeze from Lake Geneva and the mountains around it, a particular fertile scent that filled his childhood memories.

  The large wooden doors on the front of the church swung open with a gentle pull of his hand, and he slipped through a small opening between them, not letting the sunlight glare into the church.

  After Flicka’s abduction, the ceremony had already been delayed. In the main part of the church, wedding guests packed the pews, standing and chatting with people in different rows. Considering that most of them lived in the limelight, this was probably a welcome chance for them to talk with friends unobserved.

  In the relative gloom of the foyer, he found the staircase going down to the rooms below the main level. The dusty scent of old incense smoke clung to the walls and fresh carpeting under his feet.

  At the intersection of three hallways at the base of the stairs, Wulf paused, listening.

  Rae’s laughter, a raucous, jubilant laugh, trickled through the air.

  Left.

  He followed the trail of Reagan’s laughter chortling between the wooden walls and sconce lights that seemed reminiscent of medieval torches.

  From the second that he had heard her laugh, he had known that she was fine. He had already conversed with Dieter, who had assured him that he and Flicka had arrived at the church and Rae was present, healthy, and not angry at him. Before that, in the car, he had been in contact with Romain, who had assured him that they had removed Rae from the hotel and arrived at the church safely.

  He knew she was safe. The door muffled her laughter, and she was healthy and fine on the other side of that door. There was no need to open the door. Doing so might cause her distress due to the bad luck that might be incurred.

  And yet, Wulf opened the door.

  Not to tease her about seeing the bride before the wedding and luck.

  He pushed open the wooden door because a lurking, illogical tremor lived in the back of his mind that Flicka’s kidnapping might have been a diversion, and his father might have sent someone to hurt his wife while Wulf ran after his sister. Deadly anger flickered near that shiver of fear.

  The door swung to reveal Reagan, giggling with Lizzy about something. Both wore pristine white dresses, though Reagan’s was more elaborate.

  Her sweet, brown eyes widened. “Wulf! I declare, you are going to push this, aren’t you? I am actually in my dress!”

  Wulf gestured to the tiny, blond woman beside his wife. “Lizbeth, we need the room.”

  “What, dude? You’re not The—” Lizbeth began.

  Rae was watching him. When her eyes locked on him like that, he felt like she was the only person in the world who could reall
y see him. Everyone else’s gaze ricocheted off him, sliding over the sharp edges of his history and projected image, and they never really saw.

  She turned, but she didn’t take her huge, brown eyes off him. “Lizzy, give us a sec.”

  “Fine.” Lizzy tramped past him, and he shut the door behind her.

  Rae was still watching him. She was so beautiful, all made up and tucked into that hourglass dress. A ghostly white veil had been sewn to the wedding tiara that his sister had retrieved from Schloss Marienburg. Diamonds glistened in the dark blaze of her hair. She said, “Flicka just went to find you. Are you okay?”

  He covered the room in two steps and crushed her to him. Her strong arms wrapped around his waist. “It might have been a ploy,” he said.

  “It wasn’t,” she said, her arms reaching around his body. “There wasn’t a hint of a problem. I still have the Walther PPK in a holster in my garter.”

  Wulf let his head fall forward to rest his cheek against her temple. “Wear it during the ceremony.”

  “I had every intention of it.”

  He chuckled and held her curving body in his arms for just a moment longer. “I had to see you, to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine. I promise you. I’m fine.”

  Wulf ran his hands up her back, feeling the strong sinews along her spine under the dress.

  Here was everything in his life that was most valuable. Here was everything he needed.

  Wedding

  Wulf von Hannover

  Wulf left the bride’s room, found his own dressing room, was directed by his incorrigible younger sister as to which tuxedo to put on and which honors to pin in a small row across his left pectoral in the exact place (as if she hadn’t instructed him in this only that morning and over a video-call at least once a week for months,) and stood near the altar for the processional. Flicka seemed none the worse for her recent kidnapping, just as bustling and efficient as she ever was. Her orders to the make-up artists and dressers seemed particularly crisp, even driven, as she wove everyone into a perfect tapestry.