by Maisey Yates
“You’re helping me.”
“I’m helping myself,” he responded.
“Yes,” she said. “I suppose so.”
But there was something in the way he said all that that made her question things. And one of the biggest was if his heart was truly a hollow place, or if the real issue was that it was too full of something darker, that he refused to talk about.
The location of Gunnar’s company surprised her. It wasn’t situated in the Gaslamp Quarter, or in the business district of downtown. Rather, it was somewhere near old town, back up in the hills and overlooking the ocean. The entire place was built into the side of the mountain, made from shipping containers, glass cut into it, running from floor to ceiling. Parts of it were fashioned with wings from an old Boeing 747, creating a light, steel roof with strange and interesting curves. It blended in with the mountain, just the slightest link of shine, that seemed reflected again in the crystal-clear waves of the Pacific.
“This isn’t what I expected,” she said.
“Why would anything I do be expected?” he asked.
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
The car wound up beside of the mountain, the wide, paved road offering a smooth, easy ride.
What surprised her, more than the appearance of the containers themselves, was that inside it was the epitome of modernity. Neutrals, and incredible natural light filtering in through all the glass and reflecting off the chrome beams that ran the length of the ceiling. The curves, and light metal of the wing that served as the roof offering strange interest to the place, which was more artiste than office.
He smiled when they entered. “Good morning,” he said.
There were a great many staff, right there in the room. The building was open, with desks situated all around.
“Good morning,” of course came back.
“Is there any news to report?” he asked.
“None,” one of the women sitting nearest the door said. She was looking sideways at Gunnar, a questioning expression on her face.
“This is my wife,” he said.
“We know that,” one of the men toward the back said. “Your wedding was international news. Not that any of us could talk about the fact that we know you.”
“I’ve been avoiding all mentions of it,” one of the women said. “I didn’t want to let anything slip.”
“Well,” Gunnar said. “Now you don’t have to worry about it. Because the press is going to be here in the next ten minutes. We’re going to go on a tour of the facility. This place isn’t a secret anymore. The good news is for your trouble, you will all be getting raises.”
A cheer erupted from the desks. And Latika couldn’t get over just how comfortable everyone seemed to be with him. There was an ease to his interactions with all of these people that she would never have expected to find.
They all spoke to him not even just like he was a normal boss, but like he was a normal person.
Gunnar was neither of those things. Latika couldn’t even squint and turn upside down to look at him and pretend it was so.
Latika did a brief circuit of the room, being introduced to everyone here in this portion of the office, and that was when the first reporter arrived.
All told, there were four of them, with cameras and recorders. And they followed Latika and Gunnar around the office, while he made broad, sweeping gestures and talked about the work this company had been doing for years, the strides they had made in both green energy and building.
Innovations that Latika knew about, but that she’d had no idea had been financed by research Gunnar had done.
“Why the secrecy?” One of the reporters asked when they reached the very top shipping crate, that was up two flights of stairs, nestled into a higher part of the mountain. The whole thing served as Gunnar’s office, his desk overlooking the pristine ocean.
He was a man that always seemed at ease in his own skin. But here there was something more to it. This was his. The palace in Bjornland was decorated in tradition. And there were updates done now, but they were Astrid’s.
This was Gunnar.
Large and at ease. Civilized. But with only a thin veneer between that civility and the wild, raging ocean.
“For a long while I felt it would distract from my efforts. My reputation has never been sterling. And I needed investors. Backers. People who would throw me their best researchers, so that we could make these things happen.”
She had a feeling that the words slipping off his tongue were a lie. Very nice lies that everyone around them seemed to be swallowing.
But she didn’t.
“And why is this a particular area of interest for you?” one of the reporters asked.
“Bjornland is one of the best examples of the majesty of nature. I grew up surrounded by mountains. Clear sky. I have always loved the outdoors. And I have always felt passionate about preserving it. You may know that I was part of creating a preserve in my home country that left many of the mountains off-limits to development.”
He continued. “I was part of that effort in my late teens, and it is something that I found a great deal of satisfaction in. Going out and drinking the night away is fun, but there is little left of that good time in the morning. To be able to invest in something that will last, and to make that investment in the world that we all live in, that is the best thing I can think to do with my money. And it has been a profitable endeavor. Do not imagine that I am entirely altruistic. I assure you that I’m not.” He laughed. “But, being with Latika has inspired me to live differently.”
“And so the timing of this reveal does coincide with the wedding?” one of the reporters asked.
“How could it not?” Gunnar asked. “It has changed me. This marriage. Being with her. I can make of no better way to mark that, than by laying bare every aspect of who I am. I had to do it with her before we wed. The good and the ugly. I feel that the whole world is fairly apprised of my ugly. For Latika’s sake, if nothing else, perhaps more of my good should be out there as well.”
He took a few more questions, and then he dismissed them, leaving Gunnar and herself alone in the office.
“Is that all true?” she asked, her voice small in the large space. “About your investment in these projects?”
“Yes,” he said. “I blackmailed my father for that preserve. I hope you know.”
“You what?”
“I was eighteen, and he was considering an offer from a businessman to build resorts in some of the mountains that surrounded Bjornland. I’m not entirely opposed to development, Latika, you should understand. I’m a businessman in my heart, possibly more than I’ve ever been a prince. But the proposed plans were grotesque, and the footprint would have been disastrous on the natural wilderness. I went to my father with the proposed plans. That the resorts be put on a side of the country that had mountains already developed, and that we preserve a wilderness area for future generations. He... He did not agree. I reminded him that there were a few skeletons in his closet he would not like to be revealed. He wasn’t happy with that. Wasn’t happy with the realization that I had ammunition to lobby at him. But there was nothing he could do. So, that’s how the preserve came to be. And so it remains. Astrid has expanded those protections. And, it is something that I have made an area of expertise. How we might continue to develop in the world in a smarter, more responsible way. We must live here on this planet. Why should we not live on it more gently?”
“Says a man with a private jet?”
A rueful smile curved his lips. “That was such a predictable statement, Latika, it was nearly boring.”
“Then don’t be a stereotype,” she said.
“I didn’t say I was a paragon of any sort of virtue. Simply that I care. And I attempt to affect change in the ways I do care. As humans what else can we do? We can talk about the things t
hat concern us, but if we have the resources to change them and we never do... Better to never even pretend that we care.”
She had nothing flippant to say to that. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to care about anything but myself. It’s exhausting.”
He frowned. “I have never been given to the impression that you are selfish.”
“I am,” she said. “The past three years of my life has been entirely devoted to avoiding detection. It doesn’t mean that I don’t care about Astrid. I always have. But beneath all of it, has been concern for myself. I’ve had to be wrapped up in the concerns of my own survival all this time. I look forward to being able to care about something else.”
She had been so mired in the idea that marrying Gunnar was to submit herself to another version of captivity that she hadn’t seen it from that angle. But hearing Gunnar talking about caring for bigger things brought the reality of her own existence sharply to life. It had become closed. It had become small and mean, of necessity and that wasn’t the life she wanted.
“Are you hungry?”
She blinked. “My body has no idea what time it is. I think I might be hungry. I might be exhausted. Or ready to run a marathon.”
“I find the best thing to do with jet lag is to just start eating, and keep eating so that you don’t fall asleep before you are supposed to. Difficult to go to sleep while chewing steak.”
She laughed. “I suppose it would be.”
“Come,” he said. “And let us return to my house.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
GUNNAR KNEW THAT his home was impressive.
A feat of architecture. Made entirely of recycled woods and metals, and constructed into the natural shape of the mountain it was built into. He took for granted the effortless beauty of the place.
But Latika’s expression of awe when they pulled up to the house forced him to look at it with new eyes. It created in him a strange sense of pride that was almost entirely unfamiliar.
He had instructed his staff to be absent upon their arrival, and to have dinner laid out and waiting. He was not disappointed, he never was. For he had learned early on that if he surrounded himself with people who thrived on the same level of excellence that he did, then everyone could exist happily.
Every member of his staff had to be almost as type A as he was. Those with less intense personality types would be miserable working for him anyway. And he found, oddly, that surrounding himself with people who had similar levels of intensity created a more serene work environment. Everyone bumped along nicely, no one impeding the progress of anyone else. Gunnar had gone and dressed for dinner, a white shirt and a pair of black pants, and he had asked Latika to do the same. Much like dinner, clothing had been laid out in advance already as well.
Some of her own things had been packed when they had left Bjornland, but he had also taken the liberty of having Astrid’s stylist procure some new items.
He had expected the spread set out for them on the expansive terrace that overlooked the ocean to be perfect. And he had expected Latika to look beautiful. She always did. But he had not expected the site of her walking out of the house, wearing a dress that exposed her shapely, brown legs, and showed off her body in a way that would make any man fall to his knees and worship, to leave him utterly breathless.
He had been with some of the most beautiful women in the world. He considered his palate somewhat jaded.
But he had never been with Latika.
And suddenly, that truth felt like too heavy a thing to endure. He wanted her. With ferocity, he wanted her. There was something to her that went beyond beauty. It shimmered across her skin, captured him by the throat, with each shift and slide of that glossy black hair that hung down past her shoulder.
The dress was red. But that didn’t matter. Because it covered her. Obscured her from his view, and that made it an irritation, rather than anything of note. She seemed oblivious to the fact that she had stunned him completely. That she had reached down inside of him and rearranged things within him so that he could not find his balance.
Like walking into a familiar room and finding the furniture somewhere unexpected.
“This really is quite lovely,” she said, crossing the place.
He moved, pulling her chair out for her.
She lifted a brow. “Aren’t you the perfect gentleman?”
He chuckled. “I should think a rather imperfect one.”
“Perhaps.” She pondered that for a moment. “Yes, you do like that story.”
“It is isn’t a story. It’s true. The fact that I put work into a nature preserve, and give a damn about the future of the planet doesn’t change these other things about me.”
“I suppose not,” she said.
“Does it make you feel better to imagine you might be married to someone a bit more decent then you initially thought? After all, ours is not a romantic entanglement. Is it just that you feel the need to have good feelings about partnerships?”
“No,” she said. “It’s because I find this version of you slightly more interesting.”
“Well, I do live to be of interest to you.” The words felt true. And he couldn’t figure out why, when he’d meant them to be dry.
“I want to know the story,” she said. “Because I can’t quite piece together all these things I know about you and make one picture. I don’t quite understand. I would like to.”
“Why?”
“Because from the first moment I met you I... I felt drawn to you. I could not figure out why. I think the answer is in this, and I want the answer.”
“Because it damages you so much to think that you want a man you don’t like?”
“Maybe,” she said. “But I’d like to think it’s more complex than that.”
“It probably isn’t. We people are not overly complex. We want peace. And that’s hard to come by, so when we can’t find that, we chase oblivion. Through drink. Through drugs. Sex. Our bodies are inclined toward that which is a natural stimulant to us. Oftentimes emotion is separate entirely from that. People will sacrifice whole lives they’ve built on the offer of being entertained for a few hours. Why should you imagine you’re above that?”
“Mostly because I’d like to think I don’t even see a carnival ride or a glass of whiskey.”
“If you have concerns about that, make it for your own sensibilities, not mine. I for one am completely comfortable being a ride for you.”
“Even a ride came into being somehow. Everything was built, Gunnar, even you. And as much as you like to pretend that isn’t so, as much as you like to pretend there is no authenticity in you, we both know it isn’t true.”
“My story is altogether uninteresting. I’m nothing more than a pampered prince, after all.”
“If that’s what you need me to believe.”
It was the boredom in her voice that bothered him. And as they ate their meal, looking out at the ocean beyond, he did his best not to brood on it. It didn’t matter whether Latika thought him interesting. He was beyond caring what other people thought, and that included her. They ate in relative silence, and he endeavored to not think overmuch about it.
“It’s a strange thing,” she said softly. “Growing up in a gilded cage. I understand that better than most. I was nothing but a pawn to my parents. The means by which they could gain some kind of power. I always suspected they weren’t able to have more children. Because if they had a son, I think they would have been happy. Except... Maybe not. Because a daughter is an interesting pawn to use to gain greater leverage. Nobility, that was their aim. A daughter is much more useful in that sense.”
“I have never thought of it that way, but I imagine so. My own father would have likely been much happier if he could have used me as a ruler, and my sister to consolidate power.”
“Of course,” Latika said. “My parents’ grea
test goal was to marry me off to someone like you. They poured every resource into me. Into making me beautiful. Into making me sophisticated. They gave me lessons. I play the piano, you know. And am minorly accomplished in ballet. I learned everything there was to know. Not so much that I would be too smart for whatever man they put me in front of, but just enough that I might be able to carry on a conversation seamlessly. That was very important to them. But none of it was about enriching me. It was all about making me into the prettiest of pets.”
Gunnar’s lip curled. “Like being sent to obedience training.”
The idea of Latika being used in that way appalled him.
She continued. “And I understand that so many people on this earth have it worse. That they must worry about their daily survival. In terms of when they might eat again. How they can find shelter. But for so long I was a creation of my parents, and then I spent all those years in hiding. I understand. I understand that you can be surrounded by the greatest beauty in the world, by all the things that money can buy. But if the people around you only want to use you...it’s empty.”
“Yes, well,” he said, “That is very unusual. A couple of poor little rich kids who feel assaulted by their privileged pasts. Actually, that’s most dinner parties that I go to on a given day.”
He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, because Latika had been sincere. Sincerity was not something he had a great deal of experience with and it showed here. It made him deeply uncomfortable, her sharing with him. He had given her nothing and yet, she shared things that had wounded her.
But as far as he could see, it wouldn’t benefit anyone for him to get into an in-depth discussion of his past.
On the other hand, there was also no reason not to.
He knew why he didn’t tell Astrid. She didn’t want his sister bearing any measure of burden over the things their father had done to him. But even more so, he didn’t want her wounded by the knowledge of just how drastic the measures her father had been willing to take were. She knew that he had opposed her. But, all that their father had ever let Astrid see was vague disapproval. He had set up a council to obstruct her, and that had been an inconvenience. She had certainly felt the sting, the lack of their father’s trust. But she didn’t know the more sinister elements of his opposition.