Compromising Kessen

by Rachel Van Dyken

Kessen yawned. So the duke got what he wanted after all. The servant girl was actually a princess, and they lived happily ever after. Puke.

  That was entirely unrealistic she thought, yet she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her lips.

  London.

  In two days.

  London, England.

  May God save her … forget the queen.

  Chapter Two

  Kessen woke up groggy. Proving her theory that nothing good ever happened after ten o’clock. She had stayed up and purchased the next two books in the duke series on her e-reader only to find she couldn’t sleep until everything was resolved.

  All in all, she had gotten around two hours of sleep, and it was definitely showing all over her face. She needed to go tanning; she looked like a ghost. She should probably have her roots done as well as her nails. Who knew what the spas were like in London, or if they even had them. After watching some made-for television movies on BBC, she had her doubts.

  Kessen went into her large gleaming bathroom and showered before putting on her comfortable sweats and bounding down the stairs. She grabbed a breakfast bar, her new PDA, the keys to her sports car, and ran outside. She needed a spa visit and a coffee. She quickly dialed Nick’s number and waited for him to answer.

  “It’s too early,” his voice scratched on the other end. Nick was like a brother to her, and consequently one of the dearest friends she had in this world, not to mention ridiculously attractive and altogether in love with her other best friend, Sammy, who was equally beautiful and charming. They lived down the street from her and were just as much a part of her family as her own father. The wedding had taken place just a few months ago and had been partially paid for by her dad.

  He would never admit to how much he actually needed Nick to run the HR department in the local branch of Newberry and Co.

  “I’m going to London,” she blurted.

  Her revelation was met with a long silence before Nick finally said, “I’ll be right there.”

  “I’m going to the spa.”

  He mumbled something under his breath she could only assume to being appropriate for her ears, and hung up.

  It left her smiling. Nick hated the spa, mainly because Sammy loved the spa and often forced him to join her there so she could show him off to all the nice old ladies who worked there. He usually escaped with only having to succumb to a pedicure, but he considered it a knock to his manhood.

  But he loved Sammy. So although it nearly killed him each time she asked, he would often accompany his wife on spa day. He just refused to enjoy it. In fact, though he wasn’t one to drink, he consumed a ridiculous amount of champagne while he sat in the plush chairs, as if someone was purposely torturing him.

  “Inside, he probably likes it—though he’ll die before admitting it,” Sammy had told Kessen one day.

  Kessen merely glanced at Nick and tried not to smile; he returned a searing glare that said, “I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.” She had turned back to Sammy and nodded. “Oh yes, I think you’re right.”

  Nick had stopped talking to Kessen for two days, but finally broke his oath of silence when she promised to fake an accident during his next spa outing.

  Thus the reason Nick was not happy about having to meet Kessen at the spa today.

  Kessen drove through Boulder with a vengeance. She pulled her car into the first open space she could find and slammed her door. The receptionist, noticing her strained face, smiled tightly and pointed a perfectly manicured nail towards the waiting area.

  “Coffee?” she asked, getting out of her seat.

  “Yes.”

  Kessen waited for five minutes before Nick came bounding through the door. It was obvious she had woken him up. His brown Twilight-styled hair was mussed all over his head. His designer faded jeans and muscle shirt were wrinkled and mismatched.

  She shook her head at him and smiled. “You, my friend, do not match.”

  He mimicked her words with his mouth before sitting down in a huff. “It’s not like I had many options this morning. It is laundry day, and it’s not every morning I get a call at the crack of dawn from my best friend telling me she’s going to London.” He turned towards her and scowled. “You despise London. What gives? Don’t tell me your father is singing the national anthem over you again. He’s been humming it at work lately, too. I think it’s gotten worse since—”

  He didn’t finish the sentence. Tension hung in the air like a cloud. What he meant to say was since Lady Newberry’s death, but the guilty look on his face told Kessen he felt bad for bringing it up.

  When the receptionist set the coffee in front of Kessen, Nick grabbed it before she had a chance.

  “Nick, I swear I will cut your lips off if they touch that blessed drink before mine do.”

  He challenged her with a glare before he finally gave up and handed the coffee over, but not before ordering one of his own—double shots.

  Kessen sipped the black brew and sighed. “It’s not that I hate London, I just hate what it represents.”

  Nick nodded knowingly. “Tea.”

  It was his typical Newberry answer. After working at Newberry and Co., employees were so overwhelmed with tea products, they blamed everything on tea itself, including world hunger. Naturally it was just a joke, considering tea was literally their bread and butter, but it didn’t keep them from teasing one another about it.

  Kessen laughed. “More than tea.”

  “Stuffy old British people who can’t hug?” He winked.

  “Why can’t they hug?” Kessen asked thoughtfully. “I’ve always wanted to know why British people are so emotionally unresponsive. Then again, all of our evidence is based on stories from my father and from watching too much TV.”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s the tea.”

  Kessen rolled her eyes. “I think it’s all the weird aristocratic bloodlines not allowing themselves to mix. They have no flavor, for crying out loud!”

  “And when you say mix,” Nick said, smiling, “you mean—”

  “Stop being a guy,” Kessen interrupted.

  His response was putting his hands up while he laughed silently. Do boys ever grow into men?

  Kessen needed a change of subject. “Where’s Sammy?”

  Nick looked sheepish. “It’s possible I told her you were going to London, and she panicked and is trying to get here as soon as she can.” His words gushed out in breathtaking speed.

  He put his head down like a little boy who had just been punished.

  “Why would you worry her like that?” Kessen slapped the back of his head. “She has enough on her plate right now!”

  Sammy was the senior marketing director at competing tea company headquartered in Boulder as well. Her new product launches were due in a matter of days.

  Nick rubbed the back of his head and shot Kessen a deadly glare. “She’s a big girl. She can handle herself. Plus, what was your plan? Go to London, then call and tell her where you were? She would have been worried sick!”

  Kessen bit her lip. He did have a point. “In my defense,” she said, “I was planning to call her from the airport, not from London.”

  “It’s the same thing,” he snorted.

  “Is not!”

  “Are we going to do this? Really? Stop arguing. You always get so argumentative when you’re nervous. How long do you have to stay in London anyway?”

  Kessen sighed. “A Season.”

  “Oh, so for the summer?” Nick said, winking at the sixty-year-old receptionist.

  “Focus,” Kessen snapped. “And no, not for the summer. A Season, as in a London Season, where they have all the parties, and I don’t know if they still call them balls? I’m ignorant. Anyway, it will be more like four or five months.” She left out the forever part. Poor Nick couldn’t handle that much information this early in the morning.

  Nick spit out his coffee, spraying it all over the new fashion magazine in front of him. “That long? And why does your father
think you need to have a Season?”

  Ah, the dreaded question Kessen knew he would ask. She silently contemplated lying. It wouldn’t matter, because he would find out anyway, most likely from her father.

  “Um… I’m being launched into society. Oh, look! It’s my turn for a pedicure!” She jumped up from her seat.

  Nick moved his hands to brace Kessen’s shoulders. “Please repeat,” he ordered.

  “I’d rather not, my throat hurts.”

  “Stop lying.”

  She gave him a puppy dog look, but it didn’t work.

  “Kessen?” he urged.

  “Fine!” Anger welled up in her chest. “My dad’s going to disinherit me, and he refuses to pass the company to me unless I go to London and experience my heritage.“

  Nick laughed. “Um, you’re American. As American as they come. For crying out loud, Kessen, you still say the pledge of allegiance every day!”

  Her face reddened. “I’m being patriotic, Nick!”

  “No,” he laughed. “You’re being a first grader.”

  She punched him in the arm.

  “Easy,” he mumbled, setting the magazine down.

  “Does your dad know you at all? Does he know when you were small you dreamed you would be president, or that you have all of our founding fathers’ names memorized? Good grief, Kessen! This must a bloody nightmare for you!”

  The last part was said with a British accent, which Kessen didn’t find at all funny. Nick backed up in anticipation of her slap.

  “Nick.” Her teeth were clenched along with her fists. “Don’t you dare tell him any of those things. It would crush him! Just yesterday he was singing “God Save the Queen” and nearly cried when I told him to stop!”

  Nick covered his mouth with his hands. “Holy Hannah, Kessen! You are so totally going to have to go to London.” Then as if the seriousness of the situation actually hit him, he added, “Wait. He isn’t trying to marry you off during this Season, is he?”

  Kessen’s mouth dropped open as she struggled to shake her head no. Words were not coming for the first time in days. Surely her father wouldn’t do that to her.

  Her companion looked at her like she was an idiot. “Um, Kessen, isn’t that what they do? You don’t think your dad…?” He let the question hang in the air.

  “He wouldn’t,” Kessen said, although her voice sounded weak.

  “Would he?” Nick asked pointedly.

  “Oh, my gosh.” Kessen gasped.

  Nick clapped his hands and said, “You’re being sent to London to get married!”

  “Who’s getting married?” Sammy swept into the reception area.

  Nick laughed. “Guess!”

  Kessen groaned. “Ugh, please do not guess.” She sent Nick a sharp glance before hugging Sammy. “It’s good to see you, but you shouldn’t be here. You have so much work to do today!”

  “I’m not the one going to London.” Sammy crossed her arms. She was hard to argue with, what with being five-foot-two and totally adorable. Even in her flats Kessen still towered over her friend.

  Nick pushed between the two ladies. “Oh, no worries, Sam. It’s only for a Season.” The British accent was back, but this time Nick was hiding behind his tiny wife.

  Sammy looked perplexed. “You mean for the summer?”

  “Americans.” Nick fake-coughed behind Sammy.

  Kessen scratched her head and avoided eye contact. “No. A real London Season, where they have pretty dresses and balls.”

  Sammy clapped her hands. “Oooh! How fun! And attractive men?”

  “Hey!’ Nick interjected from behind her.

  Sammy rolled her eyes and guided Kessen to the couch. “Do you think we could visit you?”

  Kessen suddenly felt as if a weight had been lifted. “You guys would do that for me?”

  “No.” Nick grumbled, plopping back down into his chair. “But I would definitely do it just so I could watch the train wreck in person.”

  Sammy glared; Kessen giggled. “He spilled part of his coffee, so he’s a little testy.”

  Nick sighed and picked up the magazine again. He had a weird obsession with women’s magazines, said it helped him understand how to deal with women.

  He obviously wasn’t retaining the information.

  Kessen glanced back at Sammy, who was returning email on her phone. “Sammy, go! I’m fine! I leave tomorrow afternoon, fly all night, and I’ll call you when I land. You guys can visit once I’m settled in.”

  “Don’t worry, we will.” Nick laughed.

  Sammy kissed them both goodbye on the cheek and left.

  “Sometimes I hate you,” Kessen said to Nick.

  Nick frowned. “You don’t mean that. Now how about I take you out for sushi one last time before you say goodbye to dentists, hugs, and spas forever?”

  “After my appointment?” Kessen asked.

  Nick nodded and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll meet you in a couple hours.” He obviously had better things to do than sit around and be miserable in the spa.

  Kessen, although sad to be alone, was content to have some time to read. There was one final book in the Vandenbrook series she wanted to attack. She started reading from her e-reader and sighed.

  The book told details of the duke’s love for his wife. He would write her love letters every day and lay them across her pillow. Fresh roses were always picked for her in the springtime, and he accompanied her to the opera as often as possible.

  This made him the perfect man, because even women sometimes find it hard to sit through musical numbers in foreign languages.

  Men weren’t made like that anymore. They were made more like Nick—not that Nick was bad. He was just so … well, Nick, and American, though she loathed saying it. Times had changed; people didn’t write long letters by hand anymore. They emailed. They didn’t update you on their lives; they updated their status. And if you wanted to know where your friend was at ten o’clock last night, or what they were doing right then, all you needed to do was check out their latest social media and respond.

  On the outside it looked like life had gotten easier. Connecting was just one click away. Yet it wasn’t truly connecting; it wasn’t sharing. What she wouldn’t give to actually have a date on which the man didn’t constantly text his friend’s updates about how Kessen looked or what she ordered.

  Chapter Three

  The spa was grand, her nails and hair were perfect and her skin was restored to its glowing beauty. Lunch was also great with Nick, except he—like every other man on the planet—was busy texting his buddies the latest news about the stock market.

  Kessen groaned, then silently wondered if she should download the e-reader application for her phone she could pretend to be texting but be reading instead. It might look odd for her to be staring at her phone for long periods of time.

  “Kessen,” Nick interrupted. “Have you heard anything I’ve said?”

  She swallowed some water and shrugged, allowing him to take it however he wanted.

  “The news update said there was another attempted airline attack, that nobody was injured, but security for tomorrow is going to be tight. Just be prepared.”

  Kessen gave a weak smile and nodded.

  She wasn’t at all prepared for what took place at the airport that day. Lines were longer than she had ever seen them, and international flight security was the stuff of legends. She had been searched three times by the time she reached her gate and was actually exhausted by the time she boarded the plane.

  Luckily, her dad loved her enough to book her first class, even though she normally didn’t fly anything but business. Flying first class had never been necessary, plus in her mind it was just that much closer to the cockpit. She was better off not knowing if they were going to crash into the ocean, but today she welcomed the plush seats and good service.

  She took two herbal supplements, so her body could relax, and she could go to sleep. After dimming the overhead lights, she tried to
get as comfortable as possible and prayed she wouldn’t have nightmares of what tomorrow might bring.

  ****

  It was midnight, and Christian was not in the mood for arguing. Unfortunately that was exactly what was taking place in the middle of the street. Duncan, his best friend, was tirelessly going over the differences between Newberry and Co. and another giant American coffee chain. He had already put a severely long day in at the office; this was the last topic he wanted to discuss.

  “How many times do we need to do this?” Christian pleaded.

  Duncan bristled. “As many times as it takes for you to get it right! Newberry was nearly bought out this year; you need to know our strengths and weaknesses.”

  “Why is that again?”

  “Because you’re picking up Lord Newberry’s daughter tomorrow morning,” Duncan said, taking sudden interest in his shoes, or as Christian suspected, avoiding eye contact.

  “What was that?” Christian asked, mainly hoping he had heard wrong and was hallucinating from lack of sleep.

  Duncan lifted his watch. “Oh, look at the time! Must go! You understand. Cheerio!”

  Christian pulled Duncan quite forcibly back toward him. “I’m picking up whom?”

  The panic on Duncan’s face would have been amusing if Christian weren’t so upset about the topic of discussion. “Lord Newberry’s daughter. She’s been groomed by her father to take over European operations.” He cleared his throat. “Rumor has it he’s sending her here to learn about her English heritage before he allows her to fully take his place.”

  Christian rolled his eyes and groaned. Babysitting was not what he had planned for the next few weeks.

  “So, I have to pick her up and show her the sights, like some bloody tourist?” Christian struggled to keep his voice calm. He usually prided himself on his calm demeanor, but today had been a hard day for him—in the wake of his recent breakup, his father told him today that if he didn’t marry within the year, he would simply live forever and pray that rules of society would change enough to allow him to pass the title to someone other than his ungrateful son.

  It was almost as if he lived in Regency times. It was frightening how set in his ways his father was, but then again the entire family was like that. They even had books written about their bloodlines. A lot of good it did them. If anything, it just sent more fortune hunters and wanna-be nobility their way.