Chey read it three times. It had to be Sander, although he hadn't so much as signed his initial to the paper. K stood for King, unless she missed her guess. Uncomfortable with the idea that bad news was coming, she set the note aside and picked up the bundle of money. Five thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills was the sum of his gift.
Unsure how she felt about accepting it, she nevertheless understood his intent. It came across as charming and caring instead of overbearing and domineering. He knew she was out of a job, and perhaps whatever bad news was on the horizon would affect her ability to find one.
What the hell was going on? Frustrated at being kept in the dark, Chey tucked the money back into the envelope and brought the paper he'd written on to her nose.
It smelled like him. The scent was subtle, but definable.
Had he left one of his trusted men behind in the United States to do his bidding while he was half a world away? That was the only scenario that seemed plausible. He wouldn't risk sending cash, plus the note, to just any delivery service.
Rubbing her head, Chey slid the note in with the money and placed the envelope inside her nightstand. Turning out the light, she flopped back against the bed and pulled the covers to her chin.
At least she didn't have to worry about keeping the power on or buying food.
Small comfort.
. . .
Five days after the arrival of the envelope, Chey returned from a trip to the grocery store and let herself into the apartment. Everything she'd needed fit into one bag that she carried into the kitchen. Putting away fruit, lettuce for salad and fresh chicken, she was just about to make herself a cup of tea when her doorbell rang.
Leaving the kitchen, she walked back to the door and peered through the peephole. It was just before noon, which told her it was either a salesman, the mailman or another mysterious delivery.
It was neither.
Chey opened the door with a smile for Wynn and stood aside to let her enter. “It's been a week since I've seen you, what's up?”
“I know, that's what I told myself this morning when I went to work.” Wynn paused to hug Chey on her way inside. She worked for her father in his law offices, and pretty much set whatever hours she wanted to. If she needed half the day off, she took it.
“It's good to see you. I just got home like ten minutes ago.” Chey glanced along the landing and out to the parking lot, but didn't see anything familiar or suspicious. Closing the door, she engaged the bolt and followed Wynn into the living room.
“I know. I was out in the parking lot, waiting. Except I got a call from mom and you know how that goes. Tough to get her off the phone.” Wynn dropped her purse on the floor, smoothed a palm down the hip of her black slacks, then peeled out of the crocheted sweater of ash gray and draped it over the back of the couch.
“I didn't see your car.” Chey kicked her shoes off, walked to the kitchen to shut the light off, then headed back into the living room. She felt bad that she'd not told Wynn about Sander at the Halloween party or the ensuing note. Sander wanted her to keep a low profile, however, so she adhered to his wish.
“That's because mine's in the shop. I have Dad's today.” Wynn sat on the edge of the sofa and removed her sunglasses. Setting those aside, she glanced at Chey again in a way that indicated she was searching for something.
“What?” Chey glanced down at herself while at the same time running a palm over her hair. The ponytail swayed past her nape, free of twigs or other unexpected debris. The jeans she wore with a sweater in autumn colors, nothing special or notable, lacked stains, rips or bugs that might be causing Wynn to watch her so curiously.
“I take it you haven't been on the internet yet today,” Wynn said.
Right away, Chey knew this was the 'something bad' Sander had cautioned her about. Wynn would have blurted whatever news it was otherwise without hesitation. She reminded herself that Wynn didn't know about Sander's visit and pretended that she knew nothing about what was to come. Which wasn't all a lie; Chey didn't have specific details, only a generic warning.
“No, I haven't,” Chey said. “Why?”
Wynn rubbed her hands together. “I stumbled across it by accident myself. I figured you might need a shoulder to cry on or something.”
“Wynn, what is it?” Chey braced herself. Scared senseless that Wynn would tell her Sander had been the one in an 'accident', she hugged her arms around her middle.
“The article was dated several days ago, but it announced that the Heir to Latvala's wedding was going to be streamed live on the internet. Like...tomorrow. I think it's happening tomorrow.” Wynn winced.
Chey sat forward, shocked. “What?”
“I know babe, I really do. It's a good thing you've cut all contact with him, right? I mean, obviously he was lying to you when he said he wasn't going to marry that Princess.”
Feeling like her head was going to start spinning around Exorcist style, Chey buried her forehead into her palms. This couldn't be happening. Sander, marrying Valentina. Why hadn't he told her? He must have known when he'd spent the night in her bed.
“It must have been a mistake, Wynn. An old article from--”
“No, it was recent. Published a few days ago. I'm sure of it,” Wynn said. “That whole thing is a mess. It's probably better that you're not involved anymore.”
Chey surged up off the couch. “But I am involved! He was here, Wynn. That man I was dancing with half the night at the Halloween party? That was Sander. He spent time here with me, spent the night after flying to Sacramento and back. We went to Milford's, went to the flea market. We had plans.”
Wynn's mouth fell open. “That was Sander? Why didn't you tell me? This whole time, I thought you were getting over him and moving on.” She paused, then added, “He spent the night here?”
“Yes. Yes. He planned to spend two whole days with me, except he got a call while we were at the flea market that his father had an accident. We weren't sure that he hadn't just become King. I still don't know if he is, or he isn't! King I mean. I never found any information about Aksel when I searched online.” Chey paced through the living room, distraught and disturbed. Sander wouldn't have lied to her. It didn't make sense. He needn't fly across the world to be with a lover for one night. Sander had his pick of women and he didn't have to set foot out of the castle to get them with the way they flocked to his side.
“Oh man, I can't believe I'm hearing this.” Wynn slouched back against the cushions.
“He sent a delivery person to my door in the middle of the night about five or six days ago. There was five grand in cash he wanted me to have, along with a note. He predicted that this week would be rough—I guess this is what he was talking about.” It was rough all right. Chey didn't know what to think, what to believe.
“I hate to play devil's advocate here,” Wynn said. “But are you sure that's not a payoff? To keep quiet, to keep your legs open whenever he wants to get laid while he's in town?”
Chey stopped pacing and stared at Wynn. “Absolutely not. He doesn't need to do those things. He can get any number of different women at any time, all without having to leave the comfort of his home. I'm sure the same applies when he travels. Women make it known when they're 'open for business', you know?”
Wynn flashed her palms. “I'm just saying. It's something to consider. If you really think he's serious about you, then maybe this whole wedding thing is just...”
Chey waited for Wynn to continue. She didn't.
“I don't know what it is. All I can think is that the King succeeded in brow beating him to the altar. Maybe he didn't know how to tell me. Didn't want to hurt me.” None of it made sense to Chey.
“Maybe. Are you going to watch it tomorrow on the internet?” Wynn asked, pushing to her feet.
“I'm...I don't know.” Chey considered it a moment. “I suppose I will, if it really happens. I'll need to see it for myself.” Morose at the thought, she decided it was a necessary evil. That way, she
could once and for all put Sander behind her. Whatever else she was or wasn't, Chey would not sleep with a married man. Vows were vows and a trip down the aisle meant Sander was off limits forever. Chey couldn't decide whether she was feeling heartbroken or homicidal.
Had Sander known the whole time, and neglected to tell her?
Chey pressed a palm against her forehead. She felt hot. Sick. Dizzy. Denial raged around inside like a dervish.
Wynn stepped over and pulled Chey into a hug. The women embraced for long minutes.
“I know it's hard, Chey. I know you're suffering. Maybe this is for the best, although I'm sure that's not what you want to hear. This thing needs resolution and it needs resolution now.” Wynn leaned back with a compassionate smile. “I'll stop by tomorrow, okay? We'll watch together.”
“Yeah. I'll figure out what time and everything and text you later, all right?” Chey couldn't work up a smile for Wynn in return. She couldn't meet her best friend's eyes, didn't want to see the sympathy she knew must be lurking there.
“Good. I'll be waiting. I'm going to get back to work so I can get off a little early and stop by to have dinner with you.” Wynn kissed Chey's brow in a sisterly manner, then gathered her things and headed to the door.
“It's just chicken and vegetables,” Chey said. She wouldn't be eating a thing. Her stomach wouldn't allow it. But she would make it for Wynn regardless.
“It'll taste like sawdust, but you have to eat. I'll bring dinner instead, how's that? Some deli sandwiches so you don't have to cook.” Wynn paused at the door.
“All right. Drive safe.” Chey hovered near the couch. She watched Wynn head out, then crossed the room to throw the bolt over. Tilting her forehead against the door, Chey closed her eyes and swallowed back more tears.
Could it be real? Was it true?
Was Sander Ahtissari, one of ten most eligible bachelors in the world—her lover—walking down the aisle tomorrow?
Chapter Fifteen
Thanks to the time difference, Chey got out of bed at three a.m. the next morning, not that she'd been asleep, and wandered into the kitchen to make coffee. Hair a mess around her head from tossing and turning, she yawned and dumped water into the reservoir before adding two scoops of coffee grounds into the filter.
Research yesterday afternoon led to the discovery that the Ahtissari wedding would begin at three p.m. Latvala time, which meant Chey and Wynn needed to be parked in front of the laptop by five.
Dressed in her favorite candy cane pajamas, she got the coffee brewing and went out to the living room. She'd left her laptop on the coffee table the night before; it glowed to life when she woke it out of sleep mode and pulled up the link to the site hosting the nuptials.
The whole thing felt like a bad nightmare. She'd cried for hours after Wynn went back to work, had cried half the night while she laid in bed and stared at the ceiling. All the information she'd pulled up had proven to be recent and authentic. There were even photos of Sander and Valentina—not together, but separate—on the loading page. His face stared out at the world, jaw tight, blue eyes keen. Valentina, in her regal pose, looked almost smug. The sight antagonized Chey to the point that she'd positioned a sticky note over the woman's face so she didn't have to see it. It was still there, a big pink square, blocking out part of the screen.
In anticipation of the event, the site was already showing pre-video shots of snowy Kalev, people in bars ready to watch the wedding and celebrate. There were several links available for different videos, though Chey wasn't prepared to press any. One in particular was all about Sander. A glowing montage, she was sure, from boyhood to manhood with sentimental music that would probably make her want to scream or stab things.
Getting up, leaving the laptop on, she scraped back her hair into a messy knot and brought two mugs down out of the cupboard. She sniffed, then rubbed her stinging eyelid with a knuckle. Crying had rendered her lids puffy and itchy.
Pulling the pot out before it was half full, she poured herself a half cup and set the pot back. Wynn would want some the second she got there.
Walking the coffee back out to the living room, she curled down on the couch and drew the laptop onto her knees. She clicked onto a link against her better judgment, and choked on the first sip of her coffee when one of the photos she'd taken of the entire family popped up.
Those bastards, using her pictures after all this!
It was the one taken the day she'd discovered Sander was actually a Royal, with the men in their uniforms. Two more clicks proved the family was using several of her shots, not just of the King and Queen, but of the castle and the grounds.
Snorting, she took another sip of coffee and tried not to let the images upset her more than she already was. She wondered, too, if they'd used the photos on purpose, because they knew she'd be watching. Bastards.
She refused to check and see if they gave her credit anywhere on the site. It would be a boon for any photographer to have their name associated with a project this big. At this point, she really didn't care about credit. She had no desire to photograph any other elite group of people, ever. Small weddings, birthdays, graduation ceremonies, that was her ticket.
Several short videos showed Valentina's family arriving in grand flair at the airport, with snippets of Valentina smiling for the camera. Personable shots that she knew were supposed to help warm the Latvala people to her.
Chey felt sick all over again.
This was really happening.
The video cut away to a zooming shot of a stunning cathedral. Gray stone, with a peaked roof and heavy carved doors that the camera swerved down into. It was a great special effect, Chey had to admit, never mind that she was getting a bird's eye view of the route Valentina would walk to marry Sander. Up the aisle it went, where pews on both sides were decorated with all white bouquets of calla lilies and sheer white ribbon. At the altar stood a podium flanked by enormous sprays of more calla lilies tucked into waist high, fluted vases. In that exact spot, not long from now, Sander would promise himself to another, effectively severing any chance of a future for himself and Chey. The picture had a dreamy quality, fitting for a Prince and Princess's romance.
Chey looked away from the screen down into her mug. The whole ordeal was making her bipolar. Half of her wanted to sob her sorrow into the pillows; the other half had an epic rant sitting right on the end of her tongue, ready for a blistering delivery. The scorching diatribe would only fall on the deaf ears of her apartment instead of pertinent Royal members of the family, making it useless and pointless.
She felt the inevitable sting of tears and refused to let any more fall. If she didn't need to see with her own eyes that Sander was really taking a wife, she would turn the whole thing off now and save herself hours of torture.
Forty-five minutes later, Wynn let herself in the front door.
Chey was on her third cup of coffee, the laptop perched once more on the coffee table instead of her thighs. The screen was dark.
“Hey. Have you been watching?” Wynn asked. Dressed in yoga pants of black and two layers of long sleeve shirts in gray and white, she dropped her purse near the door and went straight to the kitchen to help herself to coffee.
“I was,” Chey said. She heard the listlessness in her own voice and didn't care enough to correct it.
“I know it's hard. I caught glimpses while I was getting dressed. Have you heard anything from him? A call, text, another delivery?” Wynn walked her mug out to the couch and curled down next to Chey.
“Nothing, no.” Which made it worse, in Chey's mind. “He could have at least sent a note via his messenger that it was over. That he was sorry he'd lied, or whatever, and that he was getting married.”
Wynn rubbed Chey's shoulders, then reached over to wake the laptop. “I know. Let's see where things are. We've got...what, an hour left? They should be doing more of the pre-stuff. Letting people into the church even, maybe.”
The screen glowed to life, refreshed to the
front page of the wedding site. As Wynn guessed, more things were happening now. While Chey had clicked links to get to pre-recorded videos, a live streaming one was now rolling on the main page. The camera angle, pointed so it took in a view of the curving driveway leading to the door, picked up several official looking people hovering in front of the church. Security members, Chey decided, from their clothing.
A foot of snow lined the drive, which had been shoveled clear for cars that dropped off dignitaries and other prominent guests as the event wore on. More and more people were arriving now, everyone smiling, dressed to the nines. Closer to three o'clock Latvala time, limousines pulled to the curb and out stepped the Royals. Natalia first, with some man or another on her arm, dressed appropriately with a knowing, smug look on her face. The King and Queen came last. They paused to wave to the crowd gathered out on the other side of the street from the church before entering and following the procession of people down the aisle toward their prominent seat in the front pew.
Once seated, the groomsmen filed out a side door toward the front of the church. Mattias, Paavo and Gunnar took their positions, dressed in immaculate military uniforms, gloved hands caught behind their back.
Music made of pretty, lilting strings filled the background.
Blowing her nose, Chey watched it all like she was having an out of body experience. Nothing felt real, or it felt too real, she couldn't be sure which.
When Sander stepped out of the same side door moments later, Chey sobbed into a tissue. Resplendent in his uniform, he had his hair pulled back into a tail, face clean shaven, shoulders square and broad. He wasn't smiling when he took his place at the head of the groomsmen and faced down the aisle toward the now closed doors.
Chey wanted to turn it off. There was no stopping it now. Whatever she'd hoped to see, it wouldn't happen. No last minute intervention or change of plans. The church was full, cameras on, the Priest in place.
All they needed now, was the bride.
King and Kingdom (Royals Book 2) Page 15