Heir Untamed (2 page)

Chey, clutching the packet and her purse, rose as well. When Allar extended his hand for a shake, Chey slipped hers into his and sealed the deal. For an extra five thousand dollars, she would have had everything ready to go by dinner if she had to.

“It shouldn't take me longer than twenty-four hours to get everything in order,” she said, releasing his hand. Hendrik didn't offer his, and she didn't push it. Chey had the idea he was the actual security rather than security-negotiator.

“We have your cell phone number, Miss Sinclair. We'll be in touch in the morning.” Allar, briefcase secure in his grip, departed the clubhouse with Hendrik on his heels.

Chey bid them farewell, watching until they were gone.

Excited, nervous, and still shocked, she left the clubhouse for her apartment. Royalty, castles, foreign countries oh
my.

She hoped her life had just taken an abrupt turn for the better.

. . .

The private jet was the most luxurious thing Chey had seen in a long time. White leather seats and sofas trimmed in gold sat in a spacious layout which included a television, a wet bar and a kitchen further back near the bathroom. Opulence reigned, from the fine carpet to the sleek color scheme to the little luxuries such as fine chocolate, wine and the plush make of the furniture.

They had been in the air for eight hours already, the plane cutting through a dark sky with impressive speed. Before leaving Seattle, she had deposited the first check in the bank, pre-paid her rent for six months, and arranged for her neighbor to collect her mail.

As promised, Allar had a passport waiting when they arrived in a sedan to pick her up. Contracts signed, the only thing left to do was travel.

After an hour layover to refuel, they were back in the air. The stewardess,
attired in a neat, dark blue suit, served her an early breakfast of fruit and toast at her request. Chey didn't want anything heavy sitting on her stomach when they landed. While she ate, she lamented that she hadn't had any time in Seattle to do
research on the Royals. She wondered what they were like, and how many of them there
were. Just how big was the castle?

Despite herself, intrigue crept in. She was going to be photographing Royalty. Rulers of a kingdom. Would they speak to her, or would they simply pose as she instructed and ignore her?

What a surreal turn of events.

Out the small oval window next to her seat, Chey watched the sun breech the horizon. At least they would be landing in daylight. She didn't want to arrive in the dark, when the impact of the country and the castle would be diminished.

An hour later, the captain announced their imminent arrival. Handing over her empty bottle and her plate to the stewardess, she buckled up and awaited landing. She caught glimpses of Latvala bathed in colors of the sunrise. It was difficult to tell any detail from this height, but she made out patches of farmland and a snaking river with ease.

The smooth transition from air to ground happened in a matter of minutes. After landing, taxiing and disembarking, Allar and Hendrik showed her to a waiting limousine. Painted a deep, royal blue, the vehicle sported silver accents which carried over to the plush interior.

Luggage stowed in the back, Chey watched the private landing strip fall away in favor of pristine, wild landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see. Chey likened the view to something primordial, lost to time, something one might find if they'd inhabited Earth a half million years ago. Broad meadows, mist clinging to the tops of the grass, were flanked by the distant outline of trees. The forest sprawled for miles, promising abundant wildlife and more importantly, privacy.

To her right, after a stand of Spruce fell away that had been choking the side of the road, the terrain gave way to the sea. Waves crashed hard on a shore with stretches of creamy looking sand interrupted by collections of boulders thrusting up from the ground. It was primal, beautiful, undisturbed by the advance of man.

Chey wanted to get out and start photographing immediately.

“We're here,” Allar said from the seat across. He gestured to the left.

Chey switched her attention from one window to another, gasping in shock as the Ahtissari family seat came into view.

Nestled in broad swathes of open land sat a castle worthy of fairy tales. It had everything a castle should: incredible architecture, turrets with spires, an iron toothed gate and the family standard flying high.

The only thing missing was a moat.

After passing through an initial checkpoint, they approached the iron gate. It cranked up a foot at a time as a guard, dressed in a dove gray uniform with silver trim, stepped out of the guardhouse to greet them. Exchanging brief words with the guard, the driver cruised through a fifty foot long tunnel that emerged into an immense courtyard. A fountain stood in the middle, carved of back-to-back lions standing on their hind legs, front claws raking the air.

Supported by eight columns, a porch ran the length of the main entrance, offset by enormous archways and broad, flat steps leading to a set of carved double doors.

The effect was imposing, stunning.

Chey could only gawk at the grandeur and the sense of history that emanated from every stone. She hadn't been able to appreciate the sheer enormity of what she was getting into until now.

When the car came to a stop, the driver got out and opened her door. Allar and Hendrik disembarked, standing aside to wait.

Following them out of the limousine, she shielded her eyes and swept a look all the way up the facade of the castle, awed by the size and scope. It was one thing to look at it out the tinted window of a car, and another to actually stand before it, feeling as impotent as a speck of dust on the pavement.

Relieved that she'd had the foresight to wear a business suit instead of something more casual, she smoothed a palm down the pale pink pencil skirt and straightened her matching short coat with a tug. The collar of a crisp white shirt showed beneath. On her feet, a pair of taupe heels added a modest three inches to her five-nine height.

More guards in military uniforms flanked the front doors.

“We'll be meeting with the liaison first thing,” Allar said, escorting her to the steps. Someone else obtained her luggage from the trunk and toted it behind.

“The liaison?” Chey parroted, falling in at Allar's flank. Hendrik, she noted, hovered in periphery.

“Yes. He is who you will report to, work through. When the family wants pictures, he is the one that will relay all pertinent information.” Allar preceded her through the front doors that one of the guards opened.

Chey sucked in a breath as she crossed the threshold in his wake. A foyer with a domed ceiling opened off the entrance, stunning with its arching beams and sparkling chandelier the size of a small car. Gray stone blended into cream walls and gold gilded baroque molding. A round table in the center held a floral display so colorful and striking that it nearly dominated the entire room. Shafts of sunlight spilling in tall windows illuminated two Great Halls that stretched to either side of the foyer, the décor a study in antiques and rich fabrics that probably cost more than she made in a year.

It was the most striking interior Chey had ever seen. Paintings from the hand of masters lined the walls and statuettes in marble stood near potted plants that added a touch of greenery to the austere décor. A double set of stairs swerved from the foyer to the first of several floors, ending in a long landing that seemed perfect for a Royal family to stand and look down at visitors from behind a banister carved in white.

“Miss Sinclair?”

Chey realized she was standing there gawking like a schoolgirl. “Yes?”

“This way, please.” Allar waited between the staircase in another hallway leading deeper into the castle.

“Of course.” Chey fell into step behind Allar. He led her past smaller rooms set off that main artery in the castle toward a smaller archway to the left. Here, doors to libraries, parlors and other formal gathering places opened off each side. So many that Chey wasn't sure how anyone didn't get lost on a regular basis.

Allar took a sharp turn through an open doorway toward the end of the hall.

Chey discovered a great room—great by her standards, at least—with a high ceiling, ancestral paintings in gilt frames and lavishly appointed furniture situated near a fireplace a grown man could walk into. Persian rugs decorated the floor and floor to ceiling windows at one end threw early morning light through the entire space.

“This is where the first photos will take place,” Allar explained, gesturing to the collection of divans and settees gathered at one end.

“It's certainly a beautiful room.” Chey had a difficult time dragging her attention off the splendor long enough to concentrated on work related things.

A man, perhaps six foot in height, with salt and pepper hair combed carefully away from his face swept into the room. He wore a strict suit in navy with a white shirt and tie.

“Miss Sinclair, I imagine,” he said, approaching with an appraising once over.

“Hello, yes.” She glanced away from Allar to the man she suspected to be the liaison.

He extended a well manicured hand once he reached her, a vague smile on his lips. “I'm Mister Urmas, your liaison to the Royal family.”

Chey shook his hand and released. “Allar mentioned that. My pleasure, Mister Urmas.”

“Likewise. I realize you have just arrived, but the first photos are scheduled for just after lunch in this room. That leaves you roughly three to four hours to set up your equipment and plan your poses. I'll have your regular luggage taken to your room and have the rest brought here, if that suits you?” He arched a brow, one hand smoothing down the front of his tie.

“I...yes. Of course.” This was what she'd come here to do, after all. Work. If she could just ignore her surroundings, it would make things a lot easier. “How many family members will I be photographing this afternoon?”

“The King, the Queen, two of their four sons and their significant others, along with their daughter. Seven altogether. A few things,” Urmas said, meeting her eyes as if to indicate the importance of what he was about to say. “There is standard protocol when dealing with the Royal family. Do not speak unless spoken to, try not to gawk and fawn, hm? They expect professionalism. Certainly do not ask if you can take your photograph
with
them, and should you need to pose a hand or a body, it will be done with suggestion and not touch, understood?”

Chey listened to the instruction with a hundred questions crowding the end of her tongue. She wasn't sure if she was surprised at the sudden way Urmas put her in her place or not. The easiest thing to do, was agree. So she did.

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I'll show you to your quarters once the first session is over. There are certain floors and rooms you are not allowed into, despite that you're here to capture the essence of the Royal family. I'll let you know which those are. Otherwise, the guards are aware you're here to photograph the castle, the gardens and the grounds. You may come and go as you wish in between sessions with the family. I should like to see daily updates and photos,” he said, taking a sleek, black phone from his pocket. “Also. This is yours to use while here. It is a secure phone that I'll be contacting you on. My number, as well as Allar's and Hendrik's, are already in there. If you find yourself in trouble, or with questions, use this.”

“I understand. Thank you.” She accepted the phone, noting it was a make and model she'd never heard of.

“I'll leave you to your planning, Miss Sinclair. If you have need of anything, Allar will be close by.” Urmas smiled, pivoted on a polished shoe, and departed the room.

Chey set the phone on a small round table just as several men carrying her equipment came in.

Time to get busy.

. . .

Once she delved into work, Chey became distracted with the details. It took her a half hour to set up her camera and tripod to best use the available light spilling in the windows. She knew this room had been chosen for the diffused glow casting it into shades of gold and meant to use it to her advantage.

Men and women came and went the entire time. Allar hovered near a wall, at the doorway itself, and back near a corner as she worked. Maids flitted in and out, taking care of last minute cleaning errands. They did not wear traditional little skirt uniforms, but athletic type pants in dove gray and white shirts with three quarter sleeves. Their pristine white tennis shoes squeaked on the floor where ever the Persian carpets gave way to marble or stone.

Once she was ready to go, Chey nudged the sofas and chairs into exactly the formation she wanted. She might change the arrangement at the last second depending on the people involved, but for now, this suited.

A half hour before the appointed time, Urmas made another appearance, thoroughly inspecting her equipment, the angle of the lighting and the furniture. He seemed pleased. Informing her time was short, he swept back out, shoes clicking smartly with his brisk stride.

Ten minutes before the arrival of the Royals, Chey checked her appearance in one of the overlarge, framed mirrors. She didn't want to present as scattered and harried. Chey preferred to look professional, in control and confident. The pink suit, a subdued color instead of a brash one, complimented her olive complexion. She also thought it went well with her dark hair. Worn half up and half down, the mass fell past her shoulders in soft, wavy layers. The make up she'd applied so many hours ago made her high cheekbones look sharper and accentuated the blue of her eyes. A dusky rose lip color had, alas, begun to wear off.

Smoothing her palms over the narrow indent of her waist, she turned away from the mirror just as eight men swarmed into the room. Imposing, dressed in black on black business suits, eyes covered by sunglasses, they could only be the next stage in security.

Four broke away from the group; two split off to check her equipment and two more approached her without smiles.