Bastian

by Piper Collins

  I agreed with that. “Seems they adore you too. I was interrogated on the spot, both demanding to know my intentions with you and threatening to disembowel me if I did anything to compromise your happiness. Quite medieval if you ask me…” I took the shot. Vodka for sure.

  “They did not!” she scoffed.

  “But they did,” I corrected her, amused. “Well, maybe not the disembowel part, but it was implied,” I winked. I hadn’t wanted to change the subject and potentially have the mood turn sour, but the need to know Alana was alright outweighed the bad.

  “Are you doing ok today, love? Zara mentioned why you weren’t at work…” She seemed upbeat and there wasn’t any evidence of streaking mascara under her eyes, but if it was one thing I understood, it was that women were elusive and if they wanted to hide an emotion, they could.

  “Yeah, I’m alright, and I find it cute how you seemed nervous of selling her out; it’s not a secret.” She took a deep breath, reflecting. “It was a strange day—not funny strange or even weird strange—but more just peculiar in the fact that it wasn’t as sad as I had imagined.” There she was, opening up and trusting me with such guarded emotions, and I knew it was special, these moments where she’d allow me to glimpse hidden parts of her and her past.

  I motioned for her to continue, and she did. “I mean, it was sad because I physically miss them; grandmother isn’t just in the kitchen or out back in her garden, and grandfather isn’t sitting with his favorite book in the wingback. I’ll never see them or speak with them again. But today I felt them so strongly, almost as if they were here.” She paused, looking up at me. “I’m sorry, this is probably boring you to tears…”

  “Not at all,” I told her truthfully. “Did you feel their presence or was it something more obvious?” I wasn’t by any means a paranormal expert, but I definitely believed there were several mediums for loved ones to be with us, to let us know they were fine or in turn make sure we were fine.

  She regarded my question, looking at me with surprise. “I, well, it was more obvious. It was a sign. It was unmistakable.” Alana confided with me about the budding rose on an otherwise dormant bush. “I know that sounds crazy, but I just knew.”

  “It’s not crazy at all.” The truth was, I understood completely. And so, I told her something I’d never told anyone before. “I had a twin who didn’t survive.”

  She didn’t give me false words of hope or empty I’m sorrys, she simply took my hand in hers and let me speak.

  “My mother had TTTS or twin to twin transfusion syndrome—it’s where one fetus get the majority of the placenta’s blood supply, while the other doesn’t develop at a normal rate.” I could see her backtracking mentally, trying to remember. “It was kept secret from the public. It was such a private and painful time for my parents, and the last thing they wanted to do was have it printed on every newspaper in the country—and the world—just to have their heartache made public. It was a difficult time for them, a confusing time. Where they were overjoyed with my birth, they were mourning the loss of their infant child, my brother, at the same time.

  “They named him Ivan and buried him under the largest, most majestic magnolia tree at the castle. The tree blooms on the same day every year since he was buried—our birthday. Instead of having an effigy or a mausoleum built, mother and father had a beautiful plaque commemorated with the image of a magnolia tree—symbolic for something dear held in your heart. It sits at the base of the very tree it depicts, and I often wonder how different my life would have been if he had survived.”

  It was the first time I had spoken these things aloud outside of my parents. It felt odd, the words flowing but feeling foreign, as if I was retelling the story of someone else’s life.

  And though I never grew up with Ivan in the normal sense, had never been able to play or learn with him, we had shared a womb together. They say that twins have a bond that was beyond explanation and I’d be damned if I didn’t feel him from time to time.

  I leaned over to Alana, catching a single tear that had made its way down her cheek, leaving a glistening track. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said softly.

  “You didn’t upset me, Bastian. I was just thinking how unreal our experiences are; Ivan’s tree blooms without fail on the same day each year, and my grandmother had a hand in blooming a single rose.” She offered me a timid smile, but it was me who was smiling more.

  It was the first time I had heard Ivan’s name come from anyone but the king and queen; she had made him real, treated him like he wasn’t a pile of dust in the ground, brought a tangible quality to someone who up until now had seemed a mere myth or fable.

  Our similarities were indeed uncanny. Something I never realized had burdened me before broke free inside, dislodging itself from my heart. Funny, how things were less burdensome since Alana had entered my life.

  “I like what you said,” I told her. She cocked her head inquisitively. “You called it ‘Ivan’s Tree’,” I explained. “It’s fitting.”

  Alana smiled so big it changed her entire expression. She was stunning. “Almost as fitting as Love Knot.”

  Now I was the one mirroring her inquisitive look from seconds ago.

  “The name of the rose that bloomed today.”

  I considered that. “Do you think your grandmother and Ivan are horticulture buddies in heaven?” I teased, not doubting any possibilities.

  “Perhaps they are,” she mused. “You know what I could go for?” she asked, changing the subject.

  I could think of a few things, but decided to humor her. “What’s that, Sugar Tits?”

  Alana swatted my arm—one of her signature moves of late—and answered me. “Ice cream. Double scoop, waffle cone, sprinkles, the works…” Her expression grew dreamy, disappearing to a land I could only imagine was made up of a smorgasbord of different types of ice creams, frozen yogurts, and sorbets.

  It was adorably amusing to watch the emotions play out on her face. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to get ice cream with her. I had tasted her and once was not enough. For purely selfish reasons, I needed to witness her eating it; quick flicks of her tongue, long slow, sweeping licks, and the idea of it lingering as we kissed was making me curse my dress pants.

  I gave her a wolfish grin.

  Grabbing her hand, I said, “I know just the place. Come on.”

  Chapter 8

  Alana

  The week following our impromptu ice cream date, which ended with heated kissing, Bastian and I had fallen into a routine of sorts.

  On the days he had commitments, we spent each night on the phone, talking until we were on the verge of sleeping. On the days he had free, we spent the evenings doing things a normal couple would do.

  We’d get takeout, go for walks as the weather permitted and on one occasion, we even played board games. It was all so normal and easy.

  Bastian held titles, his friends were nobility and fellow monarchs, he would be king someday, but as each day passed, and more and more was revealed, he simply became Bastian to me. Each day I learned something new and surprising about him, and each day his character was stripped down, and what was left was a man. A kind, generous and humorous man.

  I had never been awestruck by what he represented like so many women had, but his looks made me weak in the knees, turning me to jelly whenever I was around him.

  And his lips. Those lips. They were warm and full and passionate. It didn’t matter if they were claiming my mouth with such ferocity, I thought I’d combust, or if they were merely lazing their way down my neck—I was infatuated. I was infatuated with everything about him.

  Bastian had left this morning for a Unity Ceremony in Icaria. He’d be making an appearance alongside Prince Remy, and this evening there was to be a state dinner in his honor. He’d be home tomorrow and since Icaria was an adjoining country, the travel time was minimal.

  I was already looking forward to our nightly chat, though I guessed it’d be later than normal
if he was attending the dinner at the palace.

  By the time I had gotten home from work, I was actually too tired to make much for myself. Work hadn’t been hard, but I felt mentally exhausted for some reason. Maybe it’d be good to get to bed earlier tonight; I didn’t necessarily want to cut our evening short, but a proper eight hours would do me some good.

  My phone rang earlier than I expected, and when I went to answer it, I was surprised to see it was Bastian calling on FaceTime.

  Swiping my phone open, I smiled in greeting. “Hey. Still in your tux I see, though I prefer the collar and bowtie undone—you know you wear the ‘unkempt’ look quite well.” I was admiring the view I had in my screen. His hair was coiffed in a deliberately messy but well put together look. A section of it had come loose, hanging down on his forehead.

  He could model for anything if he chose to. It was kind of ridiculous and slightly infuriating.

  “Hey Sugar Tits,” he said smiling. “Aren’t you an eager thing, requesting me to strip in lieu of a proper ‘hello, how are you’.” Bastian gave me a wink followed with a million-dollar smile, and I melted just a little.

  “I like how you take everything and twist it so it suits your sexual humor.” It was meant to be a joke, but I found his raunchy jokes kind of hot. And I was a little ashamed of that.

  “Just the tip of the iceberg, love.”

  He stared me down and with him saying nothing after a beat, I spoke up. “You left yourself the perfect opening with that one; kind of disappointed you didn’t make a joke about a ‘tip’,” I teased.

  “If we were to discuss ‘tips’, it’d be in person, and it most certainly wouldn’t be a joke…So,” he said switching gears, “how was work?”

  I knew what he was referring to: late in the afternoon, a dozen long-stemmed roses were delivered to me. And not just your average florist in town either. No, Bastian had the Royal Florist not only hand pick and arrange the devastatingly beautiful bouquet, but they were delivered by an official of the castle.

  “Work was titillating as usual,” I said, choosing the word purposefully. “But if you’re referring to the roses, I was waiting to thank you on the phone tonight—texting wouldn’t convey my sincerity. Thank you, Bastian, they’re stunning.”

  “So are you.”

  I blushed. “You’re earning quite the reputation at the office, you know. 1-800-FLOWERS would’ve sufficed,” I told him, giggling.

  “Never heard of them before. Is it a commoner thing?” Bastian didn’t break the seriousness on his face. He completely deadpanned the question.

  “And this is why you are saved in my phone the way you are…”

  That garnered a smile from him. “Got to keep up the reputation, love.” Bastian must’ve been walking, because what little I could see of the background was moving.

  “Where are you? Are you in the palace?” What I was able to see seemed rich and opulent. Golds and reds and high ceilings were visible.

  “On my way to my room,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Have you had dinner yet?”

  I shook my head sighing. “I kind of hit a wall at the end of the day and I have drunk my dinner like the mature adult that I am,” I explained.

  There was a knock at my door suddenly. I never had visitors and it was starting to get dark, so I had no clue who could be there.

  “Who’s that?” I heard Bastian asking as I pulled my sweater around my middle, making my way to the door.

  Opening the door, I was surprised to see a delivery guy from my favorite restaurant. “Oh, may I help you?” I asked him, placing my phone in the rather large pocket of my boyfriend cardigan.

  “Delivery for Alana,” he said, double checking the receipt.

  “But I didn’t order anything,” I said, confused. But my stomach was grumbling at the scent of what I could tell was a dish I ordered all the time.

  The delivery guy shrugged and practically shoved the bags in my hand and then left.

  I could hear Bastian speaking, but it was muffled. Quickly placing the food down, I pulled the phone back out and told him what was just delivered.

  He had made it to his room and was sitting at a small table with a glass of amber liquid. He raised it in salute. “Bon appétit! I wanted to have you on my arm tonight at dinner, but since that didn’t work, I wanted to bring dinner to you, and now via this wonderful thing called a smart phone, we can dine together.”

  “Wooing me from another country, even. Ten points for you, Your Majesty,” I said sarcastically.

  “I would’ve thought that was more like fifty points, Sugar Tits. The lengths a man has to go…” He shook his head mockingly, enjoying the back and forth exchange.

  “So, you’re just going to drink while I eat like a famished swine?” I asked, arranging each container in front me. It was from my favorite Greek restaurant, and so far, there were all the fixings for a gyro. But what made it my favorite place was their feta. I’d never had such fresh feta. The texture and the tang made my mouth water whenever I thought of it.

  He laughed at my description. “There’s nothing swine-like about you, and to answer your question, yes. I did eat at the dinner in honor of yours truly, so this is my dessert.”

  I was already digging in, my stomach appreciating the sudden surge of food it was receiving. Talking around a piece of cucumber, I said, “Tell me about the dinner. Was it stuffy or sort of fun?”

  Bastian went on to tell me about his day at the Unity Ceremony before recounting the dinner. “It was a small affair, just the king and queen, a few dignitaries and of course Remy. It was good to see him—it’s been too long since he and I have had a chance to catch up.”

  I recalled sleep overs when I was younger, or going home with friends after school and as a family I’d join them by default at dinner. That was normal. What Bastian was describing was similar, but on a whole other level. We’d been seated with my friend’s parents and maybe a sibling or two, not a king and queen and dignitaries.

  “Are you two close?” I wanted to say something like ‘he seems nice’ or ‘how long have you guys known each other?’ but it seemed absurd in this situation.

  He took a sip of his drink, nodding. “We used to spend summers together when we were growing up. Once our duties started dictating our time, we never got to see each other unless it was some formal thing we were attending.” He set his glass down on the table. “It’s stupid really. We’re practically neighbors and still don’t see each other.”

  I could relate to that. In primary school my best friend had moved two towns over, and though it was only a ten-minute train ride, we never saw each other.

  Bastian continued telling me stories of Remy and him growing up, their shared love of fast cars and more pranks the two played on their respective nannies. Apparently, it was a competition between the two of them, Remy having won.

  “Sounds like a devil, if you ask me,” I commented, finishing up my dinner.

  “The truth of it is, Remy was willing to stick his neck out no matter the cost. He had nothing to lose by pulling fast ones on them, and endless entertainment to gain. Hell, he’s much the same these days, what with his racing and such,” Bastian said as an afterthought.

  I pictured two little princes, each in their regal settings, wreaking havoc on the hired help. “I do hope your nannies were paid a king’s ransom for your shenanigans,” I said. “Pun intended.”

  That earned me a laugh, Bastian refilling his glass with a double’s worth.

  “Enough about them,” he said dismissively, shaking a hand flippantly in the air. “Did you enjoy your dinner?”

  Looking at the ransacked take out boxes, I guess I was hungrier than I had thought. I was full, that was for sure. I shook my head in appraisal.

  “Good.”

  Grabbing a napkin to wipe my mouth, I saw one last box in the take out bag. Baklava!

  I dove in with a last surge of hunger, the sweetness satisfying my taste buds. Not realizing how fast
I consumed them, I found myself licking my fingers clean.

  “Are you trying to kill me? If I’d known you ate baklava like that, I’d taken you for Greek food a lot sooner,” he jested. Then, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

  I felt the same. We’d only been apart for barely a day, but I felt his absence stronger than I’d like to admit. “I miss you.” The sentiment was simple, but it was honest and true.

  Bastian placed his glass down, the crystal echoing off the rich wood of the table top. “I miss you more than you know, love.” He openly looked me up and down, and though it was a less than stellar image on the screen, his gaze made me hot.

  Feeling energized from my meal, boldness overtook me. I adjusted the glasses on the bridge of my nose before asking, “And if you were here with me, what would you do?” Bastian was not one for holding back, and again, I knew his answer would be truthful regardless of what he said.

  “So, you want to play this game tonight, huh?” His tone was mischievous, but it had grown serious, his voice becoming lower as he spoke. “If I were there with you, my lips would be on yours, devouring, sucking, taking.”

  Oh.

  Ohh.

  We were going to play this game…

  “I would taste with you with my tongue, starting at the base of your throat…you would elicit that little mewling sound you do that makes me mad with want. I’d pull you on to my lap, shimmy your tight little skirt up until it was high enough on your gorgeous hips, and as you straddled me, I’d tease you, feel your heat and wetness before I even plunged inside you. You’d ride my fingers until you begged for me to fill you up,” he told me, licking his lips inadvertently. “And Alana?” he asked, needing me to respond.

  It took me a second before I realized I had to at least nod my head or give a gesture relaying I had been listening. I’d been listening alright, hanging on every dirty word that was falling out of his gorgeous mouth. My heart began to beat faster, I felt a sudden flush everywhere and I was already wet.