She remembered. The whole world did. That was how the enemies of Veronia had been punished—death by firing squad.
“I’ll be good.”
“Sascha, you’re many things, but good isn’t one of them.”
Snickering, she reached for her cell phone when it buzzed. Eying the screen, she cocked a brow and answered, “Kurt? What is it?”
“Sascha, where are you? This house is too damn big. I can’t find anyone.”
She blinked at the curious note in his voice. “What’s wrong? I’m with Sawyer and Devon in their office on the ground floor.”
“East wing,” Sawyer prompted, brow furrowed at her as she repeated that to Kurt.
“I’m on my way.”
“Tell me, Kurt. What’s wrong?”
Kurt was the most even-tempered of her men but he sounded rattled, on edge, and that made her nervous.
He cleared his throat. “My father just called.”
“Your father?” She knew Rudi never called Kurt. He barely spoke to either of his parents, in fact.
“His father?” Sawyer repeated, eyes wide in surprise.
“Mother died last night,” was Kurt’s reply. “Heart attack. I… She’s being buried in two days’ time.”
Heart in her throat, she whispered, “Are you okay?”
Kurt grunted. “Of course.”
When he cut the call, she winced and stared down at her phone. Sawyer’s hand reached out to cup her wrist. “Margritte’s passed?”
She nodded, the gesture was jerky. He sighed and said, “Christ.”
That about summed it up.
❖
Though Sean spoke German, there was no need to understand the language to recognize the sorrowful words that were spoken as Margritte Keller was laid to rest.
Well, as much rest as she’d ever allow.
On the rare occasions they’d met, Sean knew she was the least restful woman he’d ever encountered, and the least pleasant.
They’d all disliked her. Not just because of her manner, but for the way she’d treated Kurt. Not only had she forced him into a miserable marriage, but she’d practically disowned him when he’d divorced his ex-wife too. All because she’d feared her straight son was gay, since that was the only reason he could possibly want to share a house with men that were like brothers to him…
Rolling his eyes at the thought, he felt Sascha’s grip on his hand tighten. She stood between him and Kurt. One hand on Tin’s shoulder, the other in his, while Kurt’s arm was around her waist. Behind them, Devon, Andrei, and Sawyer stood, silent sentinels at the society-packed funeral.
He wasn’t a part of this world, but he knew Margritte had been infamous among this set. The Elizabeth Taylor, almost, of Germany thanks to her past and the family’s fame.
Rudi, Kurt’s father, was the one who seemed the least affected, and maybe he was. Hell knew what Margritte had been like to live with. Maybe the man didn’t have PTSD at all, just selected muteness. With a woman like Margritte at his side, Sean knew he’d pretend to be deaf as well.
Thankfully, because it was colder than a witch’s tit outside, the service didn’t go on too long. They hung around longer than most as Kurt shook hands with people who gave him their condolences and he ‘hosted’ the event more than his father did, whose gaze alternated between looking at the pit where his wife was now buried and staring out onto the misty graveyard.
It was creepy here, creepy and cold. He couldn’t blame Sascha for snuggling into him and Kurt, and he didn’t even give a fuck about the ramifications of it either. People could think what they wanted. This was a funeral, and there wasn’t a more natural time for anyone to need comfort and succor, so they could go screw themselves.
When they began to wend their way through the cemetery, their destination the front parking lot where their car was waiting on them, they did so in silence. The hem of Sean’s trousers were wet from the slick grass, and Sascha and Tin were routinely shivering.
This was Tin’s first brush with death, but as far as he could tell, their son wasn’t overly affected. More than anything, he was confused. He didn’t understand why they were standing outside in the cold, didn’t understand why they’d traveled to Germany so suddenly, and didn’t understand why he had to be quiet and why he couldn’t play.
Truth was, Sean didn’t want to explain the truth to him yet.
He was happy for Tin to be in the dark, and considering most discussions of a ‘heavy’ nature were something the others left to him and Sascha where Tin was concerned, he was relieved that it wasn’t on the top of their to-do list, because they could have forced the issue when he didn’t want that.
Tin wasn’t even three yet. It was too soon to learn about death, especially when it was around a woman who hadn’t given a fuck about him and who he didn’t even know that well.
Kurt’s arm was tight around Sascha’s waist as he hauled her into his side before they separated so they could climb into the limo. Rudi being Rudi, aka weird, didn’t join them. He’d had the family chauffeur bring him separately, and now they were alone in the back of their limo, Sean was glad for it.
When they were on the return journey to the family mausoleum—i.e. Kurt’s childhood home—he blew out a breath and reached up to rub the back of his neck as the relief of being out of the spotlight hit him.
“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Sascha asked Kurt softly.
He shrugged, turned to her and reaching for her chin, tipped her head so he could kiss her. After he’d thoroughly flustered her, a sight that made Sean’s lips twitch, he pulled back and murmured, “I am now.”
She winced. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I do, and I’m okay, Sascha. I promise. My…” He didn’t say the word, just cast a look at Tin. “We had a difficult relationship. I just never expected her to be the first to go. Not when Rudi is so fragile.”
That was the one word that summed Rudi up. He was like porcelain. That, or bone china. He looked like a good wind could and would knock him over. He coughed pretty much constantly, thanks to some kind of gas the Stasi had exposed him to during his time in one of their torture chambers, and his skin had a strange gray pallor that reminded Sean of a corpse—not the best of looks.
Considering Margritte could be considered hale and hearty for a woman of her advanced years, of the two of them, it was definitely a surprise that Rudi had outlasted his spouse.
And Sean didn’t give a fuck about how rotten that sounded. How cold. Margritte made snow look warm and cozy, so she’d approve of his chilly outlook on her nature, he was sure.
Kurt raised an arm and curved it about Sascha’s shoulders, then he eyed Tin who’d caved in and had his head buried in Andrei’s lap, his daddy’s hands stroking his hair softly as he slept. The drive home would take ninety minutes because Margritte just had to be buried at this particular cemetery, and after the long day and the time spent outside, Sean hoped that a nap would prep Tin for the next part of this torment—the wake.
“I rearranged the schedule with the production company,” Kurt announced a few moments later after they all watched Tin sleep.
Sean tipped his chin. “Why?”
“Because, now I’m here, I don’t intend to stay all that long. Rudi’s away with the fairies and he doesn’t need me here. Nor does he want me. I’d prefer to get the business out of the way then return to Veronia, that way I can work on my next project without further interruption.”
Sascha stilled in his hold, then she turned her head and murmured, “You don’t have to like her to grieve her, Kurt.”
The other man swallowed at Sascha’s soft words, and though Sean half-expected Kurt to shrug her off, Kurt didn’t. Instead, he murmured, “I know, Sascha, but I don’t have that much to grieve about. She pushed me until I didn’t even bother pulling back. I just drifted away. I don’t know her, didn’t know her at all these past few years, and to be honest, I never anticipated our visit to even go that well.” He bl
ew out a breath. “I rented us rooms at the nearest hotel—”
“But we were supposed to stay with your parents!” Sascha argued.
“I know we were,” Kurt confirmed, “but that was never going to happen.”
“He’s right, Sascha,” Sean interrupted. “It was a pipe dream hoping that she’d even let us in through the door. When she saw Tin, then the three of us? It never would have worked unless she thought Tin looked like Kurt, which he doesn’t.”
Andrei cleared his throat. “She was an old bitch, and she doesn’t deserve an ounce of Kurt’s energy, Sascha.”
“Andrei!” Sascha chided. “That’s hurtful.”
He snorted. “You didn’t meet her. If you had, you’d know what hurtful is.”
“He’s right,” Kurt said sadly. “I wish he wasn’t, and I wish there was something to defend, but Liebchen, there isn’t. There’s nothing to defend, no memory to protect.” He reached up and rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe this is for the best. It’s closure, at least.”
Sascha frowned at him but didn’t counter his words. Sean did though. “When are you meeting the production team?”
“Two days from now. There’s a business meeting, and then, it’s quite good timing actually, on Wednesday, there’s a party. My publicist didn’t bother scheduling me there because she knew I wouldn’t go, but now I’m here, there’s no reason to avoid it.” He tugged at Sascha’s waist. “Do you have something to wear?”
“No, but I can find something,” she teased. “There are shops in Germany I assume?”
“Smartass,” he mocked, but he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.
“Is it wise for me to go? Dreyford was weird last time, and I wanted to bitch slap Jennifer Houghton.”
Sean’s brows furrowed at that. “They’re the main actors in the film, aren’t they?”
Sascha’s lips curved. “Trust you not to know who they are really.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know Hollywood means shit to me.”
“Oh, I do, and I’m not making fun.” But she was smiling, and he wasn’t about to chide her on that. He loved her smile, and he especially loved that it was shining more and more often for them all.
Jane and her presence in their world might have been the straw that broke the camel’s back, but it hadn’t been. Somehow, they’d come through the bitch’s invasion in their life, and their first few forays out of the quagmire of grief that had settled around them seemed to have drawn them closer together.
Eight months ago, Devon and Sawyer would never have attended Margritte’s funeral. Andrei probably wouldn’t have either. But now? After losing Camilla, after the stress of learning about Horowich’s perfidy, the drama of Devon’s arrest, and then the cluster fuck with Jane? Yes, they’d come together, morphing into a tighter, closer unit.
Sean couldn’t find it in himself to be anything other than thankful about that. When their entire world might have disintegrated to dust, here they were, still together and stronger than ever.
These past six months had been a sharp learning curve for them all. Sean knew he’d made mistakes, done things he was ashamed of, things he’d never be able to forgive himself for, but these men did. His woman did. They accepted that he wasn’t perfect, loved him for his imperfections.
The end didn’t justify the means, but he was damn content to have his brothers, son, and the love of his life with him today and for the rest of his days. As long as they were at his side, he could learn to accept his flaws, start the journey to self-forgiveness.
Rome wasn’t built in a day, but with his family at his back, he had all the time in the world to be a better man. The man they needed him to be.
Chapter Eight
The dress was tight. It clung to her every curve and then some. So much so she felt uncomfortable. The zipper felt on the brink of bursting, but it was technically the right size for her, with the fit being just a little too snug.
When had her tits grown? And her ass? Jesus. She’d obviously packed away more food than she’d thought back at the ducal estate in Veronia.
As she stared at the navy body con dress that she’d teamed with a pair of strappy heels, she wondered if it was too much, and then she thought back to the few times she’d seen that bitch Jennifer Houghton this week. The woman made ‘barely there’ look overdressed, and every time she saw Kurt, she was practically drooling over him.
The time to be amused over this was way in the past, and it wasn’t like she could even be jealous about Kurt’s reaction. He didn’t even notice her, and if he did, he was frowning at her with distaste. He didn’t encourage her, didn’t lead her on, but Jennifer was determined to get in his face, determined to be his leading lady.
Ha.
Sascha thought not.
She dipped her hands into her dress and jiggled her tits, repositioning them in the sweetheart neckline. A groan sounded behind her. “I’ll give you a thousand pounds to do that again.”
She turned around to grin at Sawyer. “Only a thousand?”
“Two?” he doubled, strolling into the bedroom with an ease that made her pussy melt. He wore a tuxedo, one that was tailored to the long lines of his body, and fuck, he was a dream in the flesh.
The white crispness of his shirt made his red hair seem all the more vibrant and, for once, he’d shaved, so when she reached up to rub his jaw, it was like touching silk.
“You shaved.”
He cocked a brow. “I can, I just don’t.”
“You’re telling me. I’m the one with stubble rash everywhere.”
His lips cocked up in a smirk. “That a complaint, lass?”
“Only when you rub my pussy raw.”
He repeated drolly, “That a complaint, lass?”
She huffed and pushed off him, but he didn’t move an inch. Ignoring him, she turned around and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Too much?” she asked.
“For war?” He shook his head, his eyes narrowed on her. “Nope.”
“War?”
He snorted. “I’ve seen the way you watch that actress. Have a care, lass. Your claws are showing.”
She stuck out her tongue at him. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”
It was his turn to ignore her, and he reached around, held her tits over her dress and jiggled them himself. “You look like fucking sin rolled up in fur,” he drawled. “I’m going to fuck you in this dress tonight.”
“Promises promises,” she whispered breathily.
“And you’ll have to get in line,” Kurt grated out as he too made an appearance in the room. “This is my night, Sawyer,” he grumbled, and the Scot pulled a face at him.
“Hey, I’m always down for taking both of you on,” she said with a grin, staring at their faces in the mirror’s reflection.
When the two of them growled, she giggled, then she finished gawking at herself and sucked down a deep breath.
The navy fabric clung to her in all the wrong places, but the guys’ reaction was positive so she couldn’t complain. Her tits looked huge and they were almost spilling out of the neckline, but between her cleavage was a heavy sapphire necklace, which nestled within the curves of her snowy flesh. She had matching earrings and a cuff on her forearm that came from the same set.
It seemed incredible to her that she owned these pieces, and they were hers. Not gifts from her men. The estate she’d inherited from her father—her biological one not her adoptive one—came complete with ancestral jewels that required storage in a safety deposit box.
She didn’t often travel with them, but when you went to a kingdom at the invitation of a Duke? With the knowledge that at some point you’d meet with a King and a Queen? When was there a better time to take out ancestral jewelry?
Turning on her heel, she reached for the wrap that Kurt held out for her. It was a heavy silk pashmina that she curved about her form before Sawyer tucked her into a coat that half belonged in a 1940s film. It was pure glamor.
When she was nestl
ed in its folds, she arranged her long curls about her shoulders and said, “I’m good to go.”
“You’re more than good, and I wish we didn’t have to go anywhere,” Sawyer grumbled as he planted his hand on her ass.
Amused, turned on, and feeling a little buzzed from their reaction to her dress, she strode out of the room with her head held high. As she did, she saw Devon and Tin waiting for her, and her heart nearly fucking melted at the sight of the pair of them. Andrei slouched out of his room then in a pair of jeans that should be illegal.
Fuck, she wanted them all.
So. Badly.
Pussy and heart melting at her family, she murmured, “Hey baby.”
Tin squinted at her. “Mummy’s boobies are mine.”
Devon grinned. “Boy after my own heart.”
The others snorted, and she just grinned as she bent down and scooped Tin up. His hand clapped against her breasts and she tutted. “Tin, they’re not exclusively yours anymore.”
Another squint. “Not mine, then whose?”
“Mine,” she retorted, amused even more when he huffed and shook his head like she didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. He turned around and stared at Devon who just sighed.
“She’s not wrong, champ.”
“I’m just not right, huh?” she challenged, smirking when he winked at her.
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Andrei rasped, and she could see the fire in his gaze that backed up his words.
His cock was thick and hard against his fly, and she felt her mouth water at the sight.
“Thank you, darling,” she told him huskily.
Devon stepped forward, sandwiching Tin between them as he kissed her. It wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t hard. What it was, was thorough.
She groaned and grumbled when he pulled back. Thankful she hadn’t painted her lips yet, knowing kisses were going to happen, she sighed as he grabbed Tin and hugged him to his hip.
Sean: Quintessence The Sequel: Part IV Page 12