Heir in Exile (19 page)

Sander inclined his head. “I hear you play the violin as well.”

“Yes. It is my favorite among many.”

“What others do you play?” Sander asked. “I play the violin myself.”

Laur's brow arched. “Yes? I play the piano, guitar and cello. Lately, the harp.”

Chey felt completely out of her league. She spoke one language and played no instruments.

“We should play before you go,” Sander said.

“It would be my pleasure,” Laur replied.

“How did you come to believe you were related to Royalty?” Mattias asked.

“The television. Usually we are limited as to what we may see. One day, during a parade, I saw Prince Dare and suspected then.”

“But you never asked your caretakers?” Mattias pressed.

“I did not think it prudent on my behalf,” Laur said with an arch of his good brow.

“Probably wise,” Sander said. He stood up off the arm of the chair and paced closer to the fireplace, where Laur lingered.

Chey, seeing them side by side, knew there was no way Laur wasn't directly related. The men were built almost identical and except for Laur's black hair, the facial features were eerily similar. It was mostly the jaw, a trait all but one Ahtissari brother shared. Chey recalled Gunnar's wasn't quite as well defined as the others.

“Did the King or Queen ever visit?” Sander asked, resting his elbow on the heavy mantle.

“Not to my knowledge,” Laur replied. “We had few visitors barring new tutors or staff.”

Sander's lips thinned. “Right. So I guess you're expected to live your life out there.”

Laur inclined his head, as if it were a foregone conclusion, something he had already come to terms with.

“Let's play, shall we?” Sander said, diverting away from the fireplace with a sudden pivot.

“Absolutely.” Laur finished the contents of his glass and set it aside on a side table.

“He's good. I hope you can keep up,” Mattias teased Laur.

“You should be wondering if he can keep up with
me,”
Laur countered. He ducked his chin, as if such self proclamations were rare and embarrassing.

Chey smiled to herself watching Laur. The brief glimpse of bashfulness was endearing. She couldn't believe how kind and easy going he was, considering what he was learning about his life. A cast aside because of his looks, Laur didn't seem angry to be overlooked or left alone from parents who ruled the country he lived in.

Not many people, she thought, would be so forgiving.

Cutting a sly glance across the room, Chey perused Sander's physique with a stark longing that surprised her. It wasn't just his body she missed, it was Sander himself. His teasing, the intensity, the way he made her feel special and unique.

He brought back two violins from a glass case and handed one to Laur. Sander, grinning at Laur's quip, added, “Put your money where your mouth is, brother.”

Laur, startled at the familiarity, took the violin in his big hands and tucked the end under his chin. “Prepare to be one upped, pup.”

Chey joined Mattias and Sander in laughter.

“Paganini?” Sander asked, mimicking the tuck, eyes on Laur.

“Twenty-fourth Caprice.”

“Of course,” Sander replied with a devilish grin.

Chey curled into the chair, taking the opportunity to enjoy the camaraderie and get her first look at Sander playing the violin. He looked dashing in black and white, the shirt thrown open at the throat. Tonight he'd left his hair loose instead of tied back, the golden strands brushing the tops of his broad shoulders.

Timing it precisely, the violins both sprang to life. The complicated finger work and fast pace of the piece presented many challenges, and the men met them all head on. Laur, intent and focused, regarded Sander as the parlor filled with the classical strains of a master. Sander, in turn, watched Laur like a hawk when he wasn't looking at the instrument.

Fascinated, Chey glanced from one to the other, lingering more on Sander than Laur. She hadn't forgotten their argument or her ire, but she also wouldn't pass up this experience for anything. Who knew when the men might get together to play again. More, once it was over, she would have to go back to ignoring Sander. It was becoming a burden to have this uncomfortable space between them.

Mattias did not waste the opportunity to commemorate the occasion. He used his phone to snap several photos during the evening.

The violinists finished with a flourish and a laugh from Sander. Laur pointed his bow at the Prince and settled into a slower piece. There were obvious places their pacing was off from one another, or a sour note hit the air, always prompting a playful cringe or grin from either man.

After fifteen minutes, they set the instruments aside, poured more drinks, and settled in while Laur cycled through a round of his own questions. Chey joined in the conversation here or there, enjoying Laur's company more and more. She saw Sander and Mattias were as well. It did her heart good to see the men bonding.

Over too soon, Mattias regretfully mentioned it was time to get Laur back to the house. Laur and Sander clasped hands, then bumped chests in a half hug. Mattias did the same. Chey repeated her cheek kiss and accepted a one armed embrace from Laur in turn.

It seemed to Chey that a gaping hole was left in Laur's wake. The second he was out of the room, she noticed what an impact he might have on someone's life. Right after that, she realized she was standing in the parlor alone with Sander. He stood somewhere behind her, out of sight. Should she confront him, attempt conversation? Wasn't it time to put all this behind them? All she wanted was an apology at this point.

Taking a fortifying breath, she turned around.

Sander leaned near the fireplace once more, elbow propped on the mantle. Watching her.

It was now or never.

. . .

“Look, Sander. This is ridiculous. We can't go on pretending the other doesn't exist--” Chey halted when Sander interrupted.

“Oh, I know you exist. The problem is, you still think you're right, and I don't, so until we come to some understanding about that, we're going to have this friction between us.” At some point he'd poured himself a drink and lifted the glass to his mouth, pulling down a swallow. He watched her over the rim.

A shiver of fresh irritation slithered down Chey's spine. “No, the real problem is that you don't want to admit that I was more than capable of obtaining that sample on my own. I mean look how kind Laur is. All I would have had to do was ask at that point.”

“How did you know that I wasn't planning something of my own?” he asked in a voice gone dark and silky. “What if--”

“But you didn't! You
didn't
plan anything...”

“
What if,”
he bellowed, cutting her off. “I had sent a team in there? They could have mistaken you for an adversary. You still fail to understand that there are forces beyond yourself here. It's not just Chey against the world. It's Chey and the Royal family, the covert operations I have at my command, and any number of other plans or personnel that could have flipped that situation on its ear.”

“If you would have trusted me to begin with, we wouldn't even be having this conversation! You should have realized I could handle it--”

“Yes, yes, I saw how well you were handling it. On the run, scared half to death, wondering if he was going to squish you under his pinky because he
could
have, or something far worse, if Laur was not the man he is.” Sander thumped the glass down and stalked across the room. Heading for her.

Chey stiffened, making herself taller, though for what good it would do, she didn't know. The closer he got, the more she had to tilt her chin up to retain eye contact. “So that's it then. That's all. I'm in the wrong and you won't ever see it differently.”

He stopped in front of her, staring down into her eyes. “You can't be doing this when you're my Queen, Chey. You run off like that on some hair brained 'mission',” his tone mocked the term, “and you'll wind up kidnapped for ransom or dead. So yes, you're in the wrong and come hell or high water, I'll make you realize it.”

“Who said I would do that if I was Queen?” she shouted. She got no further. Sander intercepted the conversation. Hijacked was more like it.

“Because you're doing it now and you still don't see the danger you put yourself in. You're so intent on proving whatever you think you have to prove--”

“I did it because I thought I had the best shot at getting the sample!” Furious, Chey swung away from him and jogged out of the parlor. She went fast up the stairs, so fast she caught the toe of her shoe on the stair and stumbled. Recovering, she ascended to the second floor, marched to her room and closed the door behind her with both hands. The bang echoed like cannon shot through the house.

So much for reconciliation.

. . .

Sander stared at the parlor archway, listening to Chey stumble up the stairs. He had half a mind to go after her and finish their argument until they came to some sort of understanding. His temper was too precarious and he knew it. What drove his anger was her recklessness and, if he was honest with himself, his fear that he would come upon her someday face down in a ditch or in a backwater cabin strapped to a chair, dead, all because she'd rushed off to prove she could help. It made his blood run cold, the thought of his enemies—and he did have them—getting their hands on her.

The slamming door set his teeth on edge.

Stalking out of the parlor, he took the stairs by two, veering down another hall at the top. He kept a room here with changes of clothes and a few other personal items for the times he visited. Entering his domain, he gathered both phones, the folder on the nightstand, and the backpack sitting at the end of his bed.

The best way to keep his little hellion safe was to obliterate as many threats as he could. Currently, that was his own mother and father. The next steps in this deadly dance had a high potential to backfire and he needed all his concentration to pull off their plan.

Distractions like this could cost someone their life.

Giving the room a last glance to make sure he wasn't forgetting something important, Sander departed. Not just the room but the house itself, mouth set in a grim line of determination. He would have preferred to settle things first, to replace Chey's tears with smiles.

Time was not on their side, however, and with a snarl of discontent, he piled into an SUV, backed out of the garage, and drove away into the night.

Chapter Fifteen

Chey knew something was wrong the second she opened her eyes the following morning. Stomach in knots, nausea holding her in its vicious grip, she hugged the toilet and heaved for an hour. If this had been the flu, like she suspected the night before, she wouldn't have had that lull after the first round of vomiting. Would she? It didn't fit the pattern, at least in her mind. Whenever she'd suffered the flu before, there were all those other symptoms, too. Fever, aches and pains. She didn't have a fever, that was easy enough to discern, and her aches and pains were relegated to sickness this morning. Chey sat up straighter, startled.
Morning sickness.

Gasping, she covered her lips with her fingers. Could it be?

Was she pregnant?

She cast back for the last time she'd gone through her monthly cycle. November. Had it really been that long ago? Shocked to her core, she wondered how she could have missed it in the ensuing months.

“Well, look at the chaos and the flying back and forth between countries. What did you expect?” she chided herself, talking out loud. Her voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

Pushing off the floor, she flushed the toilet and went to the sink. A long mirror ran the length of the equally long counter, bouncing her reflection back. She looked pale, cheeks more pronounced than usual, with dark circles under her eyes. Other clues were the tiredness she'd experienced lately and the fact that she couldn't do the button of her jeans yesterday.

“Oh my God, I'm pregnant.” She stared at her reflection, letting the shock of it sink in.

Pregnant. How far along was she? Her stunned brain couldn't calculate the math.

What she
did
know was that they were in the first weeks of February, a far cry from November. She wasn't sure when exactly to start counting from. Maybe ten weeks along? Twelve?

She needed a pregnancy test to be absolutely sure.

Brushing her teeth, she rinsed, splashed her face with cold water, then hopped in the shower. Too anxious to linger in the hot spray, she made a quick job of it. Changing into a pair of ash gray yoga pants and a thin ribbed sweater of white, she departed her room in search of Sander.

She couldn't wait to tell him she suspected she was carrying his child. Regardless of their argument and the tension between them, news of a baby was a joyous occasion. Their fight would melt away into nothingness, where it belonged.