Heir Untamed (12 page)

“No, I'll be fine. What else is on the agenda?” Chey glanced over.

He was still regarding her in his serious, sober way. “Lunch, first, and then a stop at the Royal park. Are you hungry?”

Chey discovered that she was. Looking out the window instead of at Mattias, she absorbed the details of the city. “Yes, actually.”

“Excellent. You will enjoy this restaurant, I believe.”

The restaurant turned out to be an old mission right on the shoreline. Much of the structure remained as it had been, preserved well enough to function as a skeleton for the upscale dining experience it offered. Inside, the owners had added paintings of the mission in its heyday, a few potted plants and plush chairs fitting a spartan, mission style theme.

On the third floor, a waiter led them to a private balcony overlooking the water. Hydrangea and bougainvillea clustered at each end, filling pots and trailing up wrought iron scroll work attached to the outside walls.

“This is stunning,” Chey said, setting her camera down in an empty chair. The owner had, of course, been gracious about her taking as many pictures as she wanted. Nothing would be denied a guest of the Prince.

Mattias settled into a chair and waved security back through the balcony doors, leaving them with a modicum of privacy. “And the food is as good as it seems it should be. Would you like wine?”

Getting comfortable in her chair, inhaling the scent of salt on the air, she glanced across at Mattias. He watched her rather than the scenery.

“Please. I'm going to request you order for me, too. You know the cuisine better than I do.”

“Oh, getting brave, I see. Very well.” Mattias didn't need to look at a menu. He gestured and a waiter appeared as if by magic. Rattling off an order in his native tongue, he dismissed the waiter and reclined in his seat.

“As long as you didn't just order snails or goat's feet, I should be all right.” She quirked a smile. He looked entirely regal and masculine, and, on impulse, Chey snatched up her camera.

He didn't pose or posture; Mattias smiled indulgently when she lined him up in her sights. Slightly slouched in his chair, he gave off an air of capable command and alluring negligence.

When she lowered the camera, Mattias held out his hand.

Chey stared at it, confused at first over what he wanted her to do. Did he want to hold hands?

Laughing, as if he guessed her thoughts, he reached across and gently eased the camera from her fingers.

“I thought you said you were terrible with cameras?” she said, releasing the camera to his care.

“I am. Let's hope I don't drop it.”

“You're not very reassuring.”

Grinning, he lifted the camera and sighted her in. Chey always felt weirdly conspicuous when someone else took her picture. She noted that Mattias held the equipment with poise and confidence, not like someone who was uncomfortable with it.

“You're a fibber,” she accused.

He snapped off three photos, then peered at her over the top of the camera. “A what? I am not.”

“Yes. You've used one of those before. Extensively, if I had to guess.”

“Nonsense.” He lifted it and leaned to get a different angle of her face. “Smile.”

She quirked her mouth and laughed when he caught a picture of it. “Stop that. Give me my camera back.”

“I rather think I like this picture taking thing. One more.”

Chey flashed her teeth, because she knew that's what he was waiting for.

“Good, perfect.” He depressed the shutter and finally set her camera down on the chair next to him. “That wasn't hard, was it?”

“Yes. I'm not very photogenic.”

“What you are,” he said, cocking his chin. “Is modest. I bet all of those photos will flatter you.”

The waiter returned with their wine, pausing to pour each a glass before retreating.

“Shall we bet on it? I say I blinked in at least three, and have a funny expression in the rest.” She picked up her glass, brows lifted in challenge.

Mattias lifted his glass to scent the wine and give it a slow swirl. “You're on. What are we betting?”

“You tell me what the formal dress is for if I look dorky in the majority of the photos. If I don't, then you tell me what the formal dress is for anyway.”

“So this is something like...what's yours is mine, and what's mine is mine, yes?” He swirled the wine once more, dark eyes glinting with amusement.

Chey laughed. “That's right. I can't lose.”

“Hardly a fair proposition. If you look decent in the photos, you agree to a horseback ride tomorrow afternoon.” This time it was Mattias who arched his brows in challenge.

Tomorrow she was supposed to go on the canoe trip with Sander. She really wanted to go, and didn't know how to get out of the suggestion of horse back riding.

“Can't do it. Something else.”

“Have a hot date?” he asked with an incisive look.

Chey felt her cheeks grow hot. “What? No. I've made plans though that involve work.”

“Horseback riding. Tomorrow afternoon.” Mattias didn't back down and didn't change his request.

Chey saw an opportunity and took it. “Are you sure that's wise? I mean, after the shooting?”

“The threat has been eliminated. We will be perfectly safe. Agreed?”

She couldn't go horseback riding tomorrow with Mattias. The canoe trip wasn't something she was willing to give up. All she could hope was that she looked as awkward in the photos as she usually did.

In the meantime, she wondered exactly what 'eliminated' meant.

“Agreed.” She lifted her glass to toast him and seal the deal.

He tapped the rim of his gently against her own, eyes holding hers. “To a long ride.”

Was that a euphemism for something else? Maybe he was really asking to meet her for a tryst. Panic settled in her chest.

“To...knowing what the formal gown is for.” She almost forgot what she'd bargained him with. Tapping glasses, she took a sip of the wine, finding it sweet and pleasant on the tongue.

Setting the wine glass down, she held her hand out for the camera. Time to find out who was right.

He picked it up and held it out.

Chey flipped the viewfinder around and scanned through the pictures, praying silently for the bet to swing in her favor.

“Ha! What did I tell you? Look there, blinking in two photos, a half blink in another two.” Triumphant, Chey leaned over to show him the viewfinder.

Mattias leaned as well, putting them almost shoulder to shoulder. Chey hated how potent he was this close. She could smell his cologne again, feel the heat of his skin. Hadn't she just been annoyed with him, deciding he was trying to seduce her and make her his mistress?

Mattias made a considering noise in the back of his throat and settled once more in his chair. He studied her contemplatively while he sipped his wine.

“I told you. I'm a terrible model.” Turning the camera off, she set it aside.

“Even you have to admit that the last one, with you smiling, is exemplary however.”

Chey couldn't deny it. He'd snapped a one in a million shot. “I'll give you that one. But it's not the majority, so I win.”

He smiled and set down his glass, fingers toying with the stem. “The dress is for tomorrow evening. We're hosting several important dignitaries. You'll accompany me as my date.”

. . .

She bobbled the wine glass while lifting it to her mouth. Saving herself the embarrassment of a spill, she gawked at Mattias. “
What?”

He repeated himself. Slowly. “The dress is for tomorrow--”

“I heard you. Mattias, are you sure about that?” Chey set her glass down without remembering to take a drink.

“Why wouldn't I be?” He watched her like he didn't understand her shock.

Of course not. He was a Prince. Most women would jump at the chance just to have this lunch with him, much less be his date to anything.

Forced to pause when the waiter brought their lunch—sauteed scallions over filet minion, grilled zucchini and caesar salad—Chey considered what to say. Her usual way was to be blunt and honest, especially when she felt out of her depth. Like now.

She sliced off a delectable bite of the filet, then toyed with it on the end of her fork. Finally, she met his eyes. “What are you doing?”

“I'm about to eat. And I'm waiting to hear why you shouldn't accompany me tomorrow evening.” He lifted a brow and picked up his utensils.

Chey set down her fork and leaned a few inches forward. She took the proverbial bull by the horns. “What is Viia going to say?”

“Make no mistake, Miss Sinclair.
I
choose who I am escorting to what event, not Viia. She is not my wife, nor my keeper,” he informed her with a matter-of-fact, no nonsense tone.

Chey took several small bites of the food. It was as good as he'd promised it would be. Brow furrowed, she thought over what to say next. He'd effectively put her in her place about his position of power—Mattias could do any damn thing he wanted—and at the same time, indicated Viia's standing was not as solid as Viia would have everyone believe.

The threats from her attacker rolled through her mind. She was doing exactly what that person told her not to. What she
should
do, is confess about her head. She should explain the attack, lay out the details of the threats.

Yet what came out of her mouth wasn't what she expected to say.

“What are your intentions with me, Mattias?”

“To finish lunch, take you to the Royal Park after, and tomorrow night, attend the event with you.” He didn't hesitate to answer and watched her across the table the whole time.

“I think you know what I mean.”

He forked up a bite of salad, dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin, then tossed it down before leaning back in his chair. Washing down the food with a swallow of wine, Mattias took his time answering her question.

“Are you asking whether I'm thinking of having an affair with you on the side? Because you're living in the castle, an easy 'target'?”

Unprepared for him to hit so close to the truth on the first try, Chey looked down at her plate.

“No. I'm not. It's not my style to seduce women in a clandestine way. If I'm going to seduce you, I'll just come out and do it,” he said.

“Good. I feel better knowing what's on your mind.” Even if he'd flustered her with his candor, Chey didn't regret her forward question. At least now she knew.

“I can understand why you'd think so. There's no denying the spark, hm? And your position puts you within easy reach.”

“Then why? This can't all be because of my job. I won't even be bringing the camera tomorrow night.” Chey knew instinctively that it would be taboo to snap shots at a formal function unless invited to do so.

“Because you're different than the women I'm usually subjected to. You speak your mind, you're candid, and you don't look at me like I'm a title instead of a person. Isn't that enough? I may be a Prince, Chey, but I'm also human and like to be treated as such.” He paused to take a drink. “Besides. I enjoy the way your eyes light up at all the new and different things. The jaded women I officially court lost that quality a long time ago. If they ever had it to begin with.”

“You almost make it sound like courting Viia is an act of tolerance.” Holding his eyes, she had another sip of wine. Mattias was nothing if not honest. At least about this.

“Choosing a woman who will bear the title of Princess is a tedious process. There is a lot more to it than meets the eye. I admit that I am not enamored with any of it.” He smiled, a wry twist of his lips, and finished off his zucchini.

“Like your older brother, the one your mother tried to set up with someone else?” Chey recalled the mention of Dare and the mystery woman.

“Yes, except Dare has it ten times worse than I do,” Mattias said with a wry laugh. “He is considered one of the top ten bachelors in the world.”

“What a hardship.” Chey muttered the quip without thinking.

He laughed. “It can be. Imagine that everyone you meet wants you only for the title you'll provide them. Rarely is love, real love, involved in all this. We know it, our parents knew it, and our ancestors before that. Viia has an esteemed background, comes from a notable family, is well educated and because of her extensive family tree, is a good bet to bear several heirs. She is one of five children, and her aunts and uncles all have three to five children each. That's what they look for. It's not always a guarantee that offspring will be as fertile, but it's a better bet than choosing someone whose family has histories of miscarriages or trouble conceiving.”

Fascinated, Chey sliced off a few more bites of meat and scallions while she listened. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were describing a brood mare.”

“Yes, it does sound like that, doesn't it?” His tone implied that it was exactly what Viia was being judged for.

“How do you live in a loveless marriage? And don't give me
I do it for my country,
bunk, either. There has to be more to it.” She watched him while she chewed. Mattias, Chey discovered, hid most of his reactions behind a casual veneer that was difficult to penetrate. Except when he laughed.

“Not just for my country, but for my lineage, my family. It's my duty to marry well.” Finishing his lunch, Mattias lounged in his seat with the last of his wine.

“I could never do it,” she confessed, picking at a last bite of salad. “I'm poor company when I'm miserable, and that sounds like a miserable life.”

“It's only as miserable as you make it.”

“Or as miserable as the other person makes you,” she countered.

“Does Viia seem that hateful, then?”

“Not hateful, exactly.” Chey didn't know the woman very well and had only seen a few interactions with her and everyone else. Then again, she could be biased thinking Viia might be the culprit of her attack.

“Then what?”

“I'm not really sure I'm in a position to say. I don't know her well.” Chey pushed her plate away and picked up her wine.

“You're thinking of that little dust up with Viia and Aurora.”

“Yes.”

“Would you be surprised to know that it's typical in these circles? Most women want to be the one setting trends, to be looked up to and admired.”