The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (22 page)

“You're looking pensive all of a sudden,” Sander said at her ear.

Startled, Chey cut a look across her body. She hadn't seen him break off from the other group, too intent on Natalia and Bashir. “Is it just me, or do you think Bashir had a word with your sister?”

“I don't know. He seems annoyed or perturbed or something, though, and he came in right behind her. Natalia hasn't said anything, or taken her leave, so until she indicates she's uncomfortable or he's pressuring her, I'll keep my distance,” Sander said. He rested his palm at the small of Chey's spine.

“I have to admit, I thought he would have shunned her by now,” Chey admitted, keeping her voice to a whisper.

“In his mind, he's got a lot at stake. I talked to someone earlier about Bashir's situation in his country and we weren't far off the mark. He's been accumulating 'assets' to secure his rise to the position of King and it looks like the deal with us plays a big part in his plans. As long as he toes the line while he's here, I don't care what else he does.”

Chey glanced up at Sander's profile. “Are his people still balking at the renegotiated terms for the contract?”

“They have been the whole time. I pulled my offer though. I won't pander to their antics.” He accepted a tumbler from a waitress who dipped a small curtsy before leaving.

Chey remembered late that she was supposed to be doing that to people like Mattias and Gunnar and Krislin. She had a hard time remembering until she saw someone else do it.

“What happens when they get back to their country? Do you think they'll drop it, or keep attempting to come to an agreement?” she asked.

“I'm sure the lawyers will have a field day on both sides. It'll drag out for six months or so until they get tired of it.” Sander had another drink, blue eyes locked on the group his sister and Bashir stood with.

A few couples peeled away for the dance floor. Gunnar excused himself and waylaid Krislin on her return from the restroom, guiding her to the floor with gentlemanly ease. Bashir's two acquaintances drew Mattias off for a more private conversation, gesturing expressively with their hands.

Just then, Bashir extended his hand to Natalia, obviously an offer to dance. Chey noticed Natalia's spine stiffen. The Princess denied him with a shake of her head.

In the next second, Bashir had taken a step closer, bringing their bodies within inches of each other. Head bent, he appeared to be cajoling or trying to coerce her to join him. It was subtle, the pursuit of Natalia, but Chey regarded the interaction like a hawk. After finding the woman slumped on the floor, crying, Chey felt a natural instinct to protect her. Which was absurd. Natalia of all people didn't need protecting.

“Here.” Sander handed off his tumbler to Chey.

Taking the glass, she followed Sander's path toward Natalia and Bashir at a slower pace. It took the King less than a minute to come even with the few people forming the loose circle. Chey observed the stare between Sander and Bashir, a look from King to Prince that clearly said
back off.

Coming up on Sander's other side, Chey smiled to the remaining couples before they decided to join the others partaking in the steps of a waltz. It was better that way, Chey thought, so Bashir wouldn't feel upstaged or insulted by Natalia's denial. No one else appeared to be paying much attention, too caught up in their own good time.

“I hardly think the Princess needs a babysitter,” Bashir said to Sander, voice low. His dark eyes gleamed with discontent.

“And I hardly think she needs you shoving your attention down her throat,” Sander countered.

Bashir turned a look on Natalia. He took a step even closer while he exchanged barbs with Sander. “A polite inquiry to dance is hardly shoving my attention down anyone's throat. Careful, your Majesty, you're treading a fine line that borders on overbearing.”

Before Bashir could make contact with Natalia, Sander stepped between his sister and Bashir, using his big body to block one from the other. The look in Sander's eyes grew cold, hard. “You need to take about ten steps back. Or, if you prefer, I'll physically remove you myself.”

Chey drew in a breath and held it. A quick scan of the room told her the test of wills went unseen by most everyone else. Mattias had Bashir's friends preoccupied, the Russians were distracted by the dance and any other guests had gathered near the buffet tables, loading up on a late dinner. She knew their oblivion wouldn't last long.

Natalia, who had remained unusually non-combative and quiet, looked up at the back of Sander's head. Reaching a hand out, she touched her fingertips to his shoulder, as if acknowledging his seriousness in protecting her from Bashir's advances. Not just acknowledgement but gratitude.

Chey thought a gap had just been bridged between siblings, if not permanently, then temporarily. Maybe, too, Natalia's breakdown changed how the Princess thought and felt, resulting in the subdued woman they saw here tonight. Bashir, a predator sensitive to the shift, was trying to take advantage in an attempt to sway her decision.

“Come on, why don't we go get a drink?” Chey whispered to Natalia, stepping in to aid Sander in keeping the two separate. She cupped Natalia's elbow, guiding the woman away from the quiet confrontation. Natalia let her fingers fall away from Sander's back and willingly went where Chey led, saying little.

Bashir's cheek twitched. He stared Sander down, then, after noting Natalia's retreat, mockingly inclined his head. His hands came up, palms out.

“No one will say I did not try. Someday, when she is forced to marry below her station because that's all who will accept her, remember that you were the roadblock who stopped her from having better,” Bashir said. He turned then, clasping his hands behind his back, strolling toward his acquaintances and Mattias.

Pressing a fresh wine glass into Natalia's hand, Chey marked Bashir's retreat. Sander remained where he was for a full minute longer, following Bashir with his eyes. Only when the Crown Prince joined his comrades, smiling and entering the conversation, did Sander pivot toward the buffet tables where Chey waited with Natalia.

Exchanging a glance with her fiance, Chey smiled. It was as subtle as his dealings with Bashir but full of affection and relief.

Sander cut her a smile in return and winked. Coming up behind Natalia, he reached for his drink and said, “He won't be bothering you anymore.”

Natalia looked up. Met his eyes. “Thank you, Dare.”

“You're welcome. Will you be all right if I steal Chey away to the dance floor? Mattias is on his way over to keep you company,” Sander said.

As if on cue, Mattias appeared between bodies, headed their way.

“I don't mind. Thank you, too, Chey,” Natalia said.

“It's what sisters do,” Chey replied. She wouldn't have ever thought to call Natalia that until five minutes ago. Whatever happened from here, at least Natalia would know Chey intended to step in and help when she could.

Taking Sander's hand, she let him lead her toward the dance floor.

. . .

From the corner of the hall, Paavo regarded the interplay between Dare, Natalia and Bashir. He watched without interrupting, without drawing notice to himself. Taking swallows from a rocks glass, one hand in his pocket, he marked Chey's intervention in tandem to Dare's standoff and the detectable change in his sister. Natalia seemed strangely vulnerable, accepting help without snarky comebacks or hateful glances.

Bashir appeared to forget Natalia ever existed moments after rejoining his acquaintances, indulging in animated conversation and eventually, the waiting buffet.

Setting down his empty glass, Paavo cleared his throat and stepped from obscurity into the light, putting a dashing smile on his mouth to greet their guests with.

C'est la vie. What will be, will be.

. . .

The days settled into a routine of companionship, planning, dinners, parties and increasing excitement as the wedding drew near. Chey dragged Wynn to her history and language lessons, where the girls threw themselves wholeheartedly into learning and in turn, taught their teachers a few new slang terms they'd never heard. Krislin and Esta joined in just for the fun of it, adding to the camaraderie and hilarity. A surprise shopping trip set up by Sander into the heart of the city delighted them all; they spent hours touring exclusive boutiques and shops, lunched in an open air cafe and descended upon a spa where the masseuses massaged them into a stupor. They sipped wine (ice water for Chey) in a mud bath, lounged in heated chairs for pedicures and manicures, and breathed aromatic scents while getting facials.

Pampered beyond reason, the girls returned to the castle happy and exhausted. Later in the evening, Chey re-taped her interview, this time with a reporter who didn't spring uncomfortable questions on her at the end. Relaxed and confident, Chey felt she did a decent job of portraying who she really was, rather than a cutout of someone the council wanted her to be.

Two days before the ceremony, Wynn, Krislin and Esta accompanied Chey on a trip to the stables. Saddled up, the girls spent several hours in the late afternoon on meandering trails, enjoying wildlife and the temperate weather. Winter had receded enough to allow a few shoots of green grass to pop up amidst the dreary landscape, along with a few brave wildflowers that added spots of color here and there.

Arriving back at the castle as the sun started its descent toward the horizon, they stepped into the foyer with laughter on their lips and a flush on their cheeks. The activity and busy schedule helped Chey keep her nerves at bay, allowing her to do something other than dwell on the stress of getting married on live television.

What she
didn't
expect, was the trio of women crossing the foyer from some other room, heading down a corridor hiding secretive laughter behind their gloved fingers. Not only were they staggeringly beautiful, each wore a racy outfit that exposed
far
too much skin. A 'Nurse', whose skirt rode indecently high on her thighs, the 'Belly Dancer' with a whole lot of belly on display, and a 'Maid' with legs ten miles long. The shocking amount of cleavage they flashed was scandalous.

The first thought that hit Chey's mind:
Strippers.
Narrowing her eyes, she glanced at the other girls to see if they'd seen what she'd seen. Wynn looked as surprised as Chey felt. Krislin, fingertips covering her lips, gasped as realization struck. Esta clucked her tongue and glanced at Chey.

“
Strippers,
” Esta whispered in the same incredulous tone Chey silently used.

“They're throwing him a bachelor party,” Wynn guessed, shaking her head. She used her body to herd Chey toward the staircase. “Don't look. Pretend you didn't see, and that you don't know that they're going to jiggle their ta-tas in his face, or grind on his lap—”

“Wynn! You're not helping!” Chey said.

Esta and Krislin erupted into laughter.

“It's all a part of getting married. Right?
Every
bachelor does it. Or his friends do it, actually, and the bachelor just goes along. Either way it's only a one time thing. There's no need to get your feathers all ruffled,” Wynn said.

Chey side-stepped Wynn's 'helpful' herding and stared down the corridor. Where were the strippers going? The extensive map of sitting rooms and parlors flashed behind Chey's eyes while she wondered which one had been converted into a sleazy stage for the strippers to strip. Thanks to Wynn, Chey had all kinds of hideous images of the Nurse gyrating on Sander's thighs and the Belly Dancer offering her navel for him to lick.

“What's that saying? What happens at the bachelor party stays at the bachelor party?” Wynn said.

“
I don't think so.
” Chey took off, marching down the same corridor as the strippers. All she had to do was listen for music, or flirty giggling to locate them. At the juncture where another main artery ran horizontal both directions, she glanced left and right, looking for signs.

“Chey! You can't barge in!” Wynn called, hurrying in Chey's wake. Krislin and Esta were right behind her. Little bursts of breathless laughter floated through the hall.

“Shh! I can't hear with you hen-pecking me,” Chey said to Wynn, holding a hand up for silence. The girls stood at the center of the T shaped hallways. Listening.

“I really have to advise against thi--”

“
Wynn,
so help me--”

“I'm just saying!”

A sexy whistle came from somewhere down the hall to their right. Music with a sultry beat followed, the volume discreet but discernible.

Swallowing down a knot of fury, Chey started that direction. Gaining momentum, she closed in on one of the more informal parlors that she didn't think hardly anyone used anymore. It was off the beaten path, so to speak, and smaller than the ones close to the front near the foyer. Still large by normal standards, large enough to house a strip show.

Wynn rushed ahead and plastered her spine to the door, arms splayed out to her sides. A blockade of Wynn-like proportions. “One more time, I
really
think you should reassess the wisdo--”

A chorus of masculine appreciation and hoots of encouragement followed by another, racier whistle halted Wynn in her tracks. Her eyes darted side-to-side, then fixed on Chey.

“Move, Wynn. Right now,” Chey said. Her stomach was doing flips and twisting into painful knots. It wasn't a reaction Chey expected at all. Yet the thought of another woman flashing indecent parts of her body at Sander threw her into a snit.

Instead of waiting, she reached under Wynn's splayed arm for the doorknob.

Inside, a woman's silky voice said, “You can touch
anywhere
you want, your Majesty.”

Sucking in a breath, cheeks red with indignation, Chey brushed past Wynn and shoved the door open.

The scene Chey burst in on was every bit as scandalous as she imagined. All the regular furniture had been removed; in its place, black silk on the walls, a black armless chair centered in the middle of a staging area complete with glossy black floor, a gold stripper pole and even a glittery disco ball hanging from the ceiling.