Heir Untamed

chapter Nineteen




Chey dressed for the occasion as if they were attending a formal ball. She wore black, with a snug bodice embroidered in matching black thread and a skirt that floated around her calves. She secured the half up-half down style of her hair with a beaded clip and added a heavier layer of make up that accented her eyes, cheeks and lips.

No matter how many ways or angles she studied her reflection in the mirror, she still couldn't see a Princess or a Queen. She just saw Chey, American rebel, with rather plain features and a sassy pout.

Sander arrived at precisely five minutes to six.

She opened the door to find him standing behind a cart, resplendent in a suit of navy pin stripes, white shirt and polished shoes. It seemed they both had the same idea regarding attire.

Struck by his magnificence, she didn't immediately think to move out of the way so he could push the cart in.

He cleared his throat and arched a brow.

“Oh, sorry. Hello.” She stepped out of the way.

Sander pushed the cart in like he did it every day, as if he wasn't heir to the throne, used to other people doing it for him.

“You look fantastic.” He passed an appreciative glance at her as he went by.

“So do you. Who needs fancy, noisy restaurants?” She closed the door and locked it in his wake.

Sander set up the table with impressive speed and agility. He laid out china, silver platters laden with bias-sliced peppered beef, steamed vegetables on skewers and individual caesar salads. Wine followed, red as blood, with the bottle left to chill in a bucket.

He held her chair and then took his own after removing his coat.

“You miss no detail,” she pointed out, deferring to a sip of wine before anything else.

“Do you?” he asked with an arched brow.

“I'd probably forget two or three things if I tried to do this.” Chey smiled a lopsided smile.

He laughed. A warm, resonant laugh that left tingles on Chey's spine.

“We're brought up learning this. It's second nature to us all, boys and girls alike.” Without preamble or fuss, he started on his meal.

“Well, when you have to deal with Royalty and others of your ranking, then I suppose it's necessary. I know the basics, at least.” She liked that he didn't stand on ceremony just to eat, even if they were dressed so elegantly.

“It's sort of expected, yes.” His eyes met hers across the table.

Chey spent the next few minutes alternating between bites of food and staring at Sander. He was such a presence in the suite, and for more than the way his shoulders stretched broad under his shirt. He was the same man she'd consumed fajitas with in a cabin, and not the same man at all.

“What's on your mind?” he asked.

“How you seem so different than when we're at the cabin. Yet not different at all. It's weird.”

He laughed. “It's just the clothes and the castle. Changes perception.”

“Maybe it's the man instead.” She arched a brow.

“I'm the same Sander, trust me. You just didn't know then what you know now. It changes things.”

Chey considered it. “Could be. It's fascinating, though.”

“You don't look like the same woman, yet there's no escaping the blunt tongue and the gleam of cat-like curiosity in your eyes.” He looked amused.

She meowed.

Sander must not have been expecting it. He guffawed.

“I can't help that I'm curious.” Grinning, she straightened the lid on the platter of meat that had been sitting askew. “Or that I'm blunt.”

“No, I don't believe you can.” He had a drink of wine, blue eyes gleaming. Then, “Tell me five things I don't know about you yet.”

Chey took a bite, chewed, and considered his question.

“I suffer on-again, off-again OCD. It seems to get worse when I'm nervous.” She sat back in the chair, turning her wine glass around in circles by the stem.

His brows arched hearing that, but he said nothing.

“I'm fascinated by history, I love green olives, and I've always wanted to visit Holland.”

“Why Holland?”

“I saw pictures when I was a girl, and it's been an obsession ever since.” She had another drink of wine, watching Sander absorb her idiosyncrasies.

“Interesting. That's four,” he said.

Chey set down the wine glass and dabbed her mouth with the napkin. Done with her meal, she set the cloth aside and rested her hands in her lap. She'd saved the best for last.

“And I've decided to stay in Latvala and be courted by a Prince.”

Sander paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. Lowering it to the table, he stared. Then, he smiled. A devilish, pleased kind of smile.

“You're just full of surprises,” he said.

“I try. Now, tell me five things about you I don't know.”

He drew in a slow breath and regarded her across the table.

“I play the violin, I love Divinity candy, I've never been to Disneyland but always wanted to go--” He paused and gave her the stink eye, like he thought she might make fun of him. “I absolutely loathe figs and I planned to dance with you tonight after dinner.”

Chey echoed his guffaw from earlier and clapped her hands together in amusement. “Disneyland? That was random.”

“I know. I'm still a kid at heart or something.” He winked across the table.

“With all your money and position, I can't believe your parents never took you.”

“We were busy with other things. Mostly, the desire to go was from when I was about ten, but I'd still go now.”

“I've been twice. It's as fun as it seems,” she confessed. “Even when you get older.”

“Then we'll make plans to visit. Maybe when we go back to—what was it? Seattle?” He pushed his chair back and stood. Rounding the table, he walked over to the entertainment center and flipped on the stereo.

“Wait, when 'we' go back?” She covered the rest of the dishes, then left her chair. “You want to come to Seattle?”

“Why not? I'd like to see where you're from. Where you grew up.” Something dramatic and orchestral poured from the speakers. He turned back and advanced on her.

“I think that's an excellent idea, actually. I live in a small apartment. You won't be impressed,” she warned him. Meeting in the middle of the room, Chey set a hand in his and another on his biceps when he swept her into a slow sway.

He laughed. “You don't have to prepare me. I already know you don't hail from Royalty.”

Goosebumps rained down Chey's arms at the expert way he guided her through the easy steps of a dance. He was proficient, skilled. She skipped a glance from his mouth to his eyes, and smiled.

“It's going to be an interesting four months,” she whispered.

He held her gaze, then lowered his head until his lips were next to her ear.

“You can count on it.”