Royal Elite: Leander (22 page)

“You don't have any idea what we do when you're not around. You never know. Chey and I might take more chances than you think.” Sander arched a brow as if to suggest Leander might not know all there was to know about the king and queen.

“I'll ask Chey,” Leander said. Sander and Mattias both cracked a laugh.

“Then I really
will
take you down,” Sander retorted.

“Oh,
that
again. You're going to goad me into another wrestling match, aren't you?”

“When we're alone, and when you're not a day from getting married, yes. I wouldn't want your face to be bruised for wedding photos.” Sander took a drink, casual as you please.

Laughing, Leander slouched back into the booth. “We'll see, old man. That'll be a match in the making.”

“You two need new hobbies,” Mattias said with an amused glance between them.

“I'll get some—right after I best your brother.” Leander declined the offer of a drink when a waiter appeared, then looked back to the brothers. “So, what's the verdict on our little blackmail project? Is it having any effect, yet?”

“Yes. I don't know how you do it, Leander, but you knew
right
where to post that surveillance video. Through word of mouth, we heard our adversary has called off the chase, so to speak. Kristo is back home, safe and sound, and no ransom ever changed hands,” Mattias said, then finished off the contents of his drink.

Keen to find out details, Leander absorbed the news with a sense of satisfaction. He prided himself on doing his job well, and it appeared he nailed it this time around. The 'adversary', of course, was Franklin Carr. “Excellent. So you think that'll be the last we hear of him?”

Leander had his doubts, but perhaps some people simply wouldn't take the risk of video like that leaking to a much larger, international audience.

“He's pretty spooked, at least for now. That's the best we can hope for. If and when he tries again, hopefully we'll know in advance and be ready for him.” Mattias also declined a refill when the waiter appeared.

“I'll keep my eye on things.” Leander would do so anyway. Just to be on the safe side. “Well, I guess all we have left to do is catch a boat back to Pallan Island and get some sleep.”

“Forget the boat. The helicopter's here. We were just waiting on you.” Sander winked, then slid out of the booth.

Leander did likewise, then clapped Sander on the back of the shoulder. “So, let's talk about what I'll win when we have our next match.”

“How about I pay you both off in advance to
not
wrestle at all?” Mattias said.

“And deny me the pleasure of beating the king? You're crazy,” Leander teased Mattias, laughing.

“Listen, runt, there's a nice little empty field on the way to the helipad. We can make a quick stop,” Sander said. “I'll make sure any bruising happens below the neckline.”

“
Now
you're talking, old man. Now you're talking.” Leander rubbed his hands together, looking forward to picking up where the wrestling match left off.

Wynn stared at her reflection, critical of every detail. The white dress, with its strapless bodice and full skirt, glittered from late afternoon light slanting in through the window. Tiny crystals and intricate beading created the sparkling effect. Instead of ironing her hair straight, as she usually did, the dark strands had been gently rolled, leaving the style wispy and feminine. A tiara sat atop her head, the veil falling all the way to the small of her back. She thought she'd attended every detail, down to the matte peach lipstick and dangling, delicate earrings.

“You look beautiful, Wynn. Don't even think about changing anything now.” Chey said, coming up behind her to stare at the mirror over her shoulder.

“Are you sure? Is the make up too much? Too heavy?”

“No. It's perfect. He'll think it's perfect, too.”

“And the dress isn't too poofy?”

“You liked the poof when we were in the bridal store,” Chey reminded her.

Wynn grunted. Yes. Yes, she had. She liked it now, too. Nerves had set in over the last half hour, making her second guess everything from the eye shadow to the elbow length white gloves and even her modest heels.

“Besides. We have to get in the car in about ten minutes, so there's no time to change. You'll wreck your hair.”

“Always the voice of reason, aren't you?” Wynn met Chey's eyes in the mirror, lips tilted into a wry smile.

Chey laughed. “That's my job.”

“I guess everything looks all right.” Wynn knew she looked just fine to walk down the aisle. The nitpicking was normal, she told herself, especially when she wanted to look her best for the ceremony. Like any other bride on her wedding day.

“It does. Are you ready to start heading down?”

“I think so.” Wynn turned away from the mirror and gave Chey a careful hug. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Now let's go. It'll be slow going so we don't wreck the dress.” Chey gestured to the assistants hovering at the side of the room. Two girls came forward, grinning brightly, and picked up the trailing hem of the wedding gown.

Wynn, who knew the girls personally, shot a wink over her shoulder for them. She appreciated the help. Finally, she followed the entourage from the suite. The entire wedding party and all the guests had migrated to the Ahtissari stronghold on the mainland, taking up half a floor. The immense castle was the family seat for the king and queen, although they no longer lived there. Wynn had a room, a smaller suite on a separate wing, for the times she accompanied Chey here for business. The interior, a little less medieval than Kallaster castle on Pallan island, still sported many ancient heirlooms dating back throughout the Ahtissari's history. These stone walls had seen their share of tragedy and triumph.

Passing guards and other security, Wynn made her way down the long flight of stairs, taking it slow so she didn't trip up the girls holding the train. She smiled at a few staff members she recognized along the way, accepting their well wishes with gracious aplomb. Somewhere in the group, a photographer took snapshot after snapshot.

Exiting the castle, Wynn squinted against the late afternoon sun. She picked her way down a shorter, shallow set of steps to the waiting limousine and climbed inside, passing out many thank-yous to the assistants. The dress was intact, suffering no stains or tears during the trek.

Chey and Krislin, attired in champagne colored bridesmaids gowns, sat on either side, careful to keep their shoes off the white satin.

“Here we go. Not long now,” Chey said, handing Wynn a bouquet of stargazer lilies. Two smaller bouquets sat on an opposite seat, handed in from outside.

Wynn took it all in with a sense of the surreal. She almost felt like all this was happening to some other woman.

“I'm getting married today,” Wynn announced, as if that might make it more real.

Chey laughed as aides closed the car doors. “Yes you are. I'm excited for you and Leander.”

“I'm excited beneath all the nerves,” Wynn said with a quiet laugh.

In the limousine behind, Wynn knew her parents waited to follow to the church. She'd spent the morning with them and her bridesmaids before the craziness of preparation began.

As the limousine took to the road, leaving the castle behind, Wynn studied the landscape out the windows. She'd grown to love the rugged terrain, vast meadows and distant mountains. Veering away from the shoreline, they headed deeper inland where patches of tall trees sometimes crowded the asphalt.

This was where she wanted to live out her days, where she wanted to grow old. Near Chey and Sander and her 'nieces and nephews'. Leander, she knew, loved Latvala. To hear him talk, he wouldn't ever move back to the States. His job was here, as was his loyalty.

After a moment, realizing Chey was watching her rather than the scenery, Wynn smiled.

“I know exactly what's going through your mind. Every bride and groom probably thinks the same thing on the way to their wedding,” Chey said.

“Probably. It's hard not to reflect on the last year and a half as well as all the tomorrows,” Wynn admitted.

“Do you think you'll have children some day?” Krislin asked.

Wynn glanced the other way to the pretty woman with the soft accent. Gunnar's wife had become a dear, dear friend to Wynn in her time here. “I'm sure. Someday. We've talked about seeing more of the hinterlands in Latvala and doing a bit of traveling before that. But soon. Maybe next year.”

“Taking time for yourselves is important. Gunnar and I did the same thing before we got married,” Krislin said.

“Exactly.”

“I think we should leave the kids with a sitter and all take a vacation together,” Chey added.

“I'm all for that,” Wynn said. Krislin agreed a moment later. Wynn added, “If we can drag the men away from their
extracurricular
activities.”

Chey snorted.

Wynn didn't want to call the missions by name and alert Krislin. She wasn't sure if Gunnar was a part of the 'group' or not. No need to worry the woman if he wasn't.

A half hour later, the limousine turned onto the final road.

It wouldn't be long now.

. . .

“Nerves of steel. I've always said it. I'm almost envious,” Mattias said.

Leander smiled, looking up from the cuff he'd been fixing. “Like you'd be anything but calm on
your
wedding day.”

“You never know. I might have to resort to drinking.” Mattias leaned a hip against a heavy chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

The back room in the chapel, used for many purposes such as a holding place for grooms and their groomsmen, had two separate sitting areas, a long set of three mirrors, and a side table loaded with iced bottles of water. The furniture, all original antiques, complimented the rough hewn nature of the chapel and the stone walls. A hardwood floor, nicked and pocked from various incidents, stretched one end to the other.

Leander hid the fact that his fingers shook while attempting to do up the last button on his jacket. It wasn't wedding jitters so much as facing the crowd he knew was even then waiting beyond the doors. He could hear a low drone of voices through the thick wood. While being at galas and parties wasn't his favorite thing, he could tolerate it simply because he knew everyone's attention would be focused on royalty or the latest socialite scandal.

Out there,
he
would be the sole focus of the crowd.

Leander glanced up when Mattias covered his hand with his own, then turned Leander's wrist over to slip the final button through the hole. Mattias never mentioned the shaking, gentleman that Leander knew he could be.

“Thanks.” Leander left it at that.

“Those can be tricky when you're distracted.” Mattias stepped away to snag a bottle of water from a basin of ice. He tossed it to Leander.

Catching the bottle out of the air, he twisted off the cap and had a long drink. Then he played off Mattias's excuse. “Yeah, you're right about that. How much longer?”

Mattias checked a watch on his wrist. “About twenty minutes, give or take. Unless she's late.”

“Wynn's rarely late.” Leander hoped this wouldn't be the one time she was. He chuckled over the idea and ran a hand down his face. He'd shaved for the occasion and tied his hair half back at the top, like he preferred. The tuxedo, black on white, with a patterned vest and silk tie, fit him comfortably enough. He figured to be picking and pawing at the material by now given his dislike of formal attire.

Sander strolled in through the door leading to the front of the congregation, decked out in his own tuxedo. “It's not as busy out there as I thought it would be.”

“Busy enough,” Leander said, knowing Sander was trying to put him at ease. To an outward observer, Leander looked and acted as calm as any other day. To those who knew him best, they understood his distaste for big crowds. He finished off the water, tossed the bottle in the trash and dried his hands on a towel to keep from smearing them on the jacket.

“A hundred-fifty is better than--”

“
A hundred and fifty?”
Leander stopped, stared and felt his heart start to stammer in his chest. “She said there would be eighty, tops, up from the original
ten
I wanted.”

Mattias stared at Leander, as did Sander.

“You ass,” Leander picked up a napkin, balled it up, and chucked it at Sander. The bastard was having him on. Both brothers broke into laughter.

Sander caught the napkin and chucked it right back, proving his instincts were as honed as ever. “You're just sore you lost last night.”

Leander let the ball bounce off his shoulder. He snorted. “Your version of 'winning' and mine are two entirely different things.”

“Are we going to start this again? Because I know where it'll end up,” Mattias said, thumbing toward the side door to indicate the outside where the men had grappled before. “And then Wynn will rip your head off your shoulders Leander, and Chey will rip your—well. She won't be happy with you, Sander.”

Leander laughed along with Sander.

“I don't need to prove my point. I did that well enough last night,” Leander said.

“You sure did. The point that you need another few years of experience before you take on the big boys,” Sander said.

Just then, Gunnar poked his blonde head in the door. “I wanted to let you know her limo just pulled up.”

“Thanks, Gunnar.” Leander flashed the youngest Ahtissari brother a smile, then paced through the room.

The countdown was on.

. . .

“Just tilt your chin up a minute. I want to make sure there's nothing in your nose,” Chey said, using her fingers to gently guide Wynn's chin upward.

“This is ridiculous,” Wynn said with a laugh. “The Queen of Latvala is looking up my nose for unsightly visitors.”

“You don't want that in your pictures,” Chey said. “Okay, you're clear. Your make up looks good—no thanks to you. I had to smack your hands down three times just in the last mile.”

“I can't help it. My eyelids itch.”