King and Kingdom (6 page)

“They were The Breakfast Club. You're Pretty Woman.”

Sander barked a laugh that drew several pairs of eyes. He tilted his head toward hers to keep his next remark between them. “Does that make you the whore?”

Chey gasped, mouth shaping an 'o' of shock. Eyes wide as saucers, she stared up at Sander. She was surely the only woman present expressing so much indecent animation. In Pretty Woman, the female lead had started out as a hooker to an austere, affluent businessman.

Sander tipped his head back and laughed the kind of laugh that drew half the room's attention. Rolling, rich and deep, it could almost be considered a guffaw. Almost.

Chey lost her battle to remain stern and trembled with amusement. One glance at the room assured her they had just become the topic of several people's conversation.

“You're a pest,” Chey announced just loud enough for Sander to hear. “Look, they're staring.”

He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, though his eyes gleamed with mirth. “Do you care?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“...maybe just a little. I feel like we're under a microscope.”

“That's because we are. Another thing to get used to.”

“I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it.” Chey smiled at a distinguished looking couple standing to the side of a dance floor that took up a good portion of the room.

“You're doing fine, don't worry. I'll let you know if you stumble.” Sander paused to shake hands with several men and trade generic greetings.

A waitress came by with a tray filled with flutes of wine. Sander declined with a subtle shake of his head. Chey figured there was a reason, and followed suit. While he made small talk with the gentlemen, who had all inclined their heads to her and greeted her cordially, Chey tipped her attention to the room. She didn't recognize one person so far. Not that she really expected to.

“Sander Ahtissari, you walked right by without even a hello,” a feminine voice said behind them.

Chey glanced back to see a stunning woman in a white fitted gown with elegant layers of tulle from her waist to the floor. Gray eyed, lashes long and thick, she had flawless tawny skin and highlighted brown hair styled into a classic updo. Her features were delicate, refined, with a straight nose and full mouth.

Sander stilled, then turned he and Chey around to face the new arrival. It took a moment for a smile to hook onto the corners of his mouth.

“Princess Valentina, what a surprise to see you here,” he said.

So this was the woman who the Queen wanted to become Sander's wife. And she was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Cultured, statuesque, the Princess looked confident and capable. Her accent was different than Sander's, more clipped and defined.

“I could say the same about you.” Valentina's attention switched to Chey, as if expecting an introduction. Her expression was curious, intrigued.

“Princess Valentina, may I introduce Miss Chey Sinclair.” Sander indulged the introductions while never taking his eyes off Valentina.

For a moment, Chey panicked. Was she required to bow? Curtsy? Shake hands? She wasn't sure what the protocol was in situations like these. She declined to extend a hand and only greeted Valentina verbally.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Chey said.

“Likewise, Miss Sinclair,” she replied. Valentina switched her attention back to the Prince. “I wasn't aware you were slated to attend this event, Prince Dare.”

“It was a last minute invitation. The Ambassador was kind enough to contact my people when we arrived. If you'll ex--”

“How ironic,” Valentina said, delicately interrupting as if she sensed he was about to beg off. “We were notified rather late ourselves. Your mother, the Queen, seemed to know you would be attending before you did, it appears.”

Chey bit back irritation. So this was another finagling of the Queen. No wonder Sander had mentioned that sometimes, he wound up with Valentina by surprise.

“Isn't that something,” Sander retorted, droll and unamused.

“Have you heard the news?” Valentina inquired.

Chey decided that whatever Valentina had to say would change the course of their evening. Intuition this strong had never failed her yet.

“I'm sure I haven't,” Sander said. He wore a mantle of polite indifference that sharpened at Valentina's leading question.

Valentina smiled, gaze traveling intimately over Sander's features. It might as well have been a lover's caress.

“My father said yes. Our wedding, yours and mine, will be in the spring.”

. . .

Chey felt Sander tighten beside her. The news did not seem to sit well with the heir to the throne. Yet he tempered his response, a low roll of laughter filling the sudden silence.

“Not only have I not been notified of that event, I have not agreed, which means all the wedding planners and advisers will have to hold off. I'm sorry if you were led to believe it was set in stone.”

Valentina arched her brows. “I didn't think it needed to be set in stone, Dare. We both know how long this has been volleyed back and forth between countries. Your people made the offer, ours agreed.”

Chey cut a quick look aside to Sander. She recalled his words about their own relationship being an uphill battle, that they would have to stand firm against those whose job it was to orchestrate the affairs of the state. Once more, she wondered just how much choice Sander really had. Was he kidding himself, thinking he would marry who he wanted to? An uneasy knot began to take shape in her stomach. After the day just passed, and the easy way she and Sander had warmed to each other's company, Chey knew it would already hurt if she was forced out of his life by forces stronger than them both.

“This really isn't the time or the place,” Sander said.

Valentina lifted her chin a fraction, as if she was fending off hurt of her own at his apparent wish not to take her to wife. “We have much to discuss. When you've come around, call me.”

“Valentina--”

“You know this is the way, Dare. Call me.” Valentina, too classy by far to be rude in public, dipped Chey a polite nod and turned to leave.

Sander escorted Chey the opposite direction, expression neutral.

Chey detected the tension in his body through the connection of her fingers on his arm.

“Dance?” he asked, glancing down to meet her eyes.

Chey inclined her head. “I might trip all over your feet, because I don't waltz well, but yes. Let's go.”

“Just follow my lead. That's all you have to do.” He seemed to be speaking of more than just the dance right then.

Sander led her onto the floor, swinging her into an easy, practiced twirl before finding more routine footing. He was expert at leading, graceful and smooth, and obviously skilled at the dance.

Chey stared up into his eyes, finding it effortless to match his rhythm. He made everything so easy. All the political schemes, confusion and conflict fell away during the three minute dance. It was just Chey and Sander, turning and twirling, gazing at each other like no one else existed.

When the song ended, Sander brought them to a halt and inclined his head in chivalrous fashion. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he dusted a kiss across her glove covered knuckles.

“People are going to talk,” she said, whispering.

“They're already talking.”

“Well, then they're going to assume.”

“They're already doing that, too,” he said with a rakish gleam in his eyes.

After a brief look past his shoulders, Chey discovered he was right. Certain groups were watching their every move, some with their heads bent together. She even caught several glancing between her and Sander as well as Valentina, as if attempting to figure out what the game was and whether Chey was a serious contender for Sander's hand.

His loyalty to Chey was put to the test a moment later when a new song began, and a gentleman decked out in a black and white tux asked after Chey for a dance.

“She's taken,” Sander said without preamble and a broad grin.

The gentleman arched his brows, lips ticking with amusement, then bowed out and approached someone else instead.

“You're assuming an awful lot, aren't you Prince Ahtissari?” Chey asked with a coy bat of her lashes.

Sander led her into another waltz, laughing low and quiet. “Am I?”

“I don't remember you asking me to be exclusive with you, which means I'm not taken in the way you're suggesting.”

“Which in turn means you're available to dance with other men,” Sander said, wearing an amused look on his handsome features.

“Exactly.”

“Except you don't
want
to dance with other men.” Sander dropped his voice to a stage whisper.

“I don't?” Chey tilted her head as if to better hear his explanation.

“Of course not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you're looking at me with an infatuated, doe-eyed stare and you couldn't be bothered to even glance at the other man when he asked for a dance.”

“I'm not infatuated,” she scoffed, laughing.

“Yes, you are. Don't make me prove it.”

“And how would you do that?” she challenged, then decided a moment later she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Sander was known for pulling tricks out of his hat that she never expected. “Wait...I don't think I want to know.”

He set his shoulders back, chin lifting in triumph. “See?”

“You're incorrigible. I still don't agree that I'm infatuated, but I
am
smitten. How's that?”

“Smitten, infatuated, it's the same thing.”

“It is not.” She scoffed again, stepping into a turn, then out for a twirl. He caught her around the waist and brought her back close to his body. Chey got lost in the possessive hold of his hand low on her spine and the equally possessive look in his eyes. She wondered if anyone else noticed or if she was just seeing things she wanted to see. The way he focused on her, as if she was the only woman in the room, couldn't be her imagination.

The song wound to a conclusion, leaving Sander bowing elegantly over her knuckles once more. Chey smiled and feigned a curtsy, which brought a flicker of amusement to Sander's eyes.

“Pardon,” Valentina said, appearing at their side. She turned an expectant look up to Sander. “May I have this dance?”

. . .

Chey watched Sander and Valentina from the side of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in her fingers. It wasn't like he could turn Valentina down when the Princess so blatantly put him on the spot. Half the room had been focused on Sander's answer and Chey chose to take the high road, demurring away from the couple with a specific look at Sander that said she didn't blame him and wouldn't hold it against him.

How could she?

People expected things from him. Tongues were wagging and even someone as inexperienced as Chey could see the schemes churning beneath the surface of society. It would have caused a minor uproar if Sander had refused Valentina out of hand.

Even so, it worked Chey's patience to see the Princess in Sander's arms. From this new, unique perspective, she saw just how commanding the heir to the throne was on the dance floor, how polished and smooth he took Valentina through the turns. He filled out his suit in a way that most other men did not, shoulders broad and strong, his coloring setting him apart from the rest.

No wonder Sander was considered one of the top ten bachelors in the world. He had everything going for him from position to money to looks.

She wasn't the only woman who noticed, either. Chey caught glimpses of other debutante types whispering behind their hands, watching Sander on the dance floor. Chey could just imagine what they were saying.

“They make a stunning pair, do they not?” a man said at her side.

Caught off guard daydreaming, Chey glanced over. Her new companion must have been someone of importance, considering his security team hovered not far behind. He was middle aged with distinctive, darker coloring and clothing that suggested mid-eastern descent.

“Yes, they do,” Chey finally said, cautioning herself not to say too much. She glanced at the dance floor, back to Sander and Valentina, since they were the object of discussion.

“Rumor has it they will be married in the spring. A strategic move, if I say so myself.” He took a drink from his glass, watching Chey rather than the Prince and Princess.

“As far as I know, it's just a rumor,” Chey said, glancing back to the man.

“Really,” he said, and it wasn't a question. “It seems the entire congregation thinks otherwise. What do you know that we don't, I wonder.”

“Only that it's a rumor, rather than solid fact.” Chey bristled at the thought Sander and Valentina's 'engagement' was already a done deal.

“Interesting,” the man said. “That will change a few people's political affiliation with Weithan Isle if so. The connection with the Ahtissari family was an important factor in decisions on importing goods from an untried source.”