The King Takes A Bride (Royals Book 4) (2 page)

“That's it. I think. There's a checklist I've been using to try and help keep it all organized. Now that I've seen the inside here, I have a better idea for the floral arrangements and whether I want smaller bouquets put on the end of each pew. I think maybe even a few lights strung up through some greenery would add a whimsical touch.” Chey filed away the ideas to add to her final list. Pleased at the progress, she nodded once and glanced at Sander to find him watching her instead of studying the interior.

“So we're ahead of the game. Good.” He cupped her jaw with his hand and smiled more with his eyes than his mouth. “In two weeks, you'll finally be my wife.”

The thought sent a thrill through Chey that had nothing to do with his royal status or the one she would gain when she said I Do. “Finally.”

“How are you feeling otherwise?” he asked.

“Pretty good. No morning sickness for the last four days straight, which I'm thankful for,” she replied. One of the reasons for rushing the wedding was to get her in a gown before the pregnancy showed. Already she couldn't button her old jeans, though the swell of her stomach was still mild. In a fluffy dress, no one should be able to tell.

“I'm glad to hear it. When is the next doctor visit?”

“After we get back from our honeymoon. We
are
going on a honeymoon, aren't we?” Chey wanted the time alone with Sander. More than anything, getting away from his duties and the suffocating presence of the council and advisers would be welcome. They would still have guards—would have them at all times now—but she could deal with that as long as they had time to themselves.

“Of course. It's a surprise, though, so don't ask any more questions.” He smiled his devilish smile and didn't offer up another hint about where they were going.

“You're terrible.” Chey loved it.

“That's what you love second best about me,” he said.

“What do I love first?”

He leaned down to put a hot, explicit whisper in her ear.

Chey blushed a thousand shades of red, glad he hadn't said that aloud. Even whispers carried in cloistered places like this. “
Terrible,”
she repeated.

Smug and confident, he leaned back with a knowing look on his face.

Allar Kusta, Sander's right hand man who had been promoted after Aksel's death, strode toward them from the back of the church. Dark haired, wearing a sharp suit in black, he carried a folder in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

Chey saw him coming and knew something was up.

Something will always be up,
she reminded herself. This was a royal family, with royal responsibilities.

Sander didn't look over until Allar drew close.

“Yes?” Sander said. In the space of a heartbeat, his expression changed from indiscreet devilry to stoic neutrality.

“Your Majesty, you have been summoned back to the castle proper. There is an urgent item of business Prince Mattias wishes to discuss with you,” Allar said.

“Very well. Inform him we're on our way,” Sander said with a nod to Allar.

Once Allar departed, phone at his ear, Chey glanced back to Sander. “What could
it be?”

“I don't know. But we'll find out. C'mon. Good thing we got this taken care of early.” He led her with an escort from his elbow out of the chapel and across the frozen ground toward the helicopter.

At least Chey knew Mattias would let her sit in on whatever news he had to deliver. A good thing, too. Her curiosity was a difficult beast to control of late.

The 'urgent' problem presented itself the second Chey and Sander stepped into the Ahtissari family seat. Shouts, slurs and slander spewed from one of the consulting rooms downstairs, offset by the low baritone rumble that belonged to Mattias. Chey couldn't understand what was being said, but she didn't have to. Natalia was in fine form, throwing another of her epic tantrums. One glance at Sander proved his temper was short and his patience thin.

“Do you want to wait in the hall?” Sander asked in a clipped voice before they reached the conference room.

“No. It's probably about me, so I should be there.” Under no illusions about Natalia's feelings towards her, Chey understood it was a thing to be tolerated and dealt with as swiftly as possible.

Sander opened the door and let her go first.

Chey crossed the threshold and found what she expected to find: Natalia in a fine rage and Mattias, dark eyes gleaming with anger, pacing at the far end. In an unusual move, Mattias had thrown the snug collar of his white shirt open, exposing two inches of olive skin. Likewise, his unbuttoned coat revealed more of the shirt than it should, along with the gleam of a buckle at his waist. The tie was nowhere to be seen. Natalia, dressed in the height of fashion straight off a Milan runway, wore layers in earth tones complimentary to her hair and eyes.

Catching sight of Chey, Natalia smacked a hand down on her thigh, mouth swerving into a condescending sneer. She switched to English, the better to understand her insults. “Oh, and here is the angel now. I'm telling you—
I will not be involved in this wedding!
I won't go, I will not dress up, and I certainly won't attend the reception.”

“Is this the catastrophe I was summoned back for?” Sander closed the door with a sharp click. He paused, met Natalia's eyes, and said, “Yes, you
will
attend the wedding, and you
will
pretend to be happy about it.”

Chey stood to the side, silent, hands clasped before her. A steadying mantra ran through her mind.
Better get used to it. This will be your life until you die. Natalia won't ever like or trust you, so just ignore the venom and take care of business. Be the bigger person.
She snorted at herself. An hour ago,
she
was the one suggesting Natalia be left out of the ceremony. Her pep talk had a healthy dose of hypocrisy involved.

Right before Chey's eyes, Sander's patience and tolerance disintegrated. His expression turned stony, blue gaze flinty and ice cold. She glanced from one sibling to another.

“It's more serious than it seems on the surface,” Mattias said. He inclined his head to Chey in greeting, then looked at Natalia.

Chey dipped a nod to Mattias. She added nothing to the conversation. Anything she said would only antagonize Natalia further.

“Really,” Sander said. It wasn't a question. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked between Mattias and Natalia. “What, then?”

“If you make me go? You'll regret it,” Natalia spat. “I will cause all kinds of problems, ones I don't think your little bride here would appreciate on her wedding day. What a pity it would be if I accidentally stepped on her train, or spilled wine all down the front of the dress. I'm sure she would
love
that on national television.”

“If I didn't know better, Nat, I would say you're still six years old in a snit over a doll fight. Are you serious?” Sander said. The quiet nature of his voice alluded to a slow burning fury that, unleashed, would rain hell down upon many heads.

Chey shuddered at the idea of Natalia fulfilling her promises. The media around the world would have a field day if the bride of the King suddenly face planted while attempting to be poised and demure.

Natalia didn't seem fearful in the slightest. She marched around the table toward Sander, chin in the air, eyes gleaming with indignation. “Don't you stand there and pass judgment on me! You're not my brother--”

“By half, and there's no getting around it,” Sander said, cutting her off. “Not only that, but I'm your King, and if you so much as raise a finger to defile this wedding, I will make your life miserable in ways you'd never expect. Grow up, Natalia. Aksel may have coddled you beyond good reason, but I will not.”

The tone in Sander's voice brought goose bumps to Chey's skin. He sounded deadly serious.

Natalia, face purple with rage, stopped five feet from Sander. “Your threats mean nothing to me. What are you going to do, ground me? Laughable. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but our cousins don't wish to be present in
her
wedding either. Are you going to threaten them as well?”

“I'll believe that when I see it. Our cousins will do the right thing. Also, Natalia, you should know by now that grounding would be the least of your worries. Don't push me on this, I'm warning you.” Sander stared at Natalia, blue eyes rife with disappointment.

Chey wished Sander would just put his foot down about this one thing. Maybe he knew the advisers would be relentless about having Natalia involved and persisted so they would stay off his back about it. This wasn't Sander pushing an agenda, it was the legislators and people who dealt with public perception pushing
their
agenda. Attempting to heal a nation beset by scandal and death.

Natalia arched a brow, haughty and undeterred. “Don't say I didn't tell you later, when the world is afire with the wreck of your wedding.”

Sander took a step forward and caught his sister under the chin with his fingers. Forcing her to maintain eye contact. “The world will be afire with your wrongdoings instead. You're so bitter you would bring shame to your own name? How can you think to perform all these atrocities and not be seen by the cameras? No man will want you then—not that any do now.”

Chey sucked in a quiet breath at the insult. It was true she'd never seen Natalia with the same man twice at any function.

Natalia's face reddened, eyes narrowing. She swatted at Sander's hand on her chin and met the cold steel of his resistance. He did not let go.

“I am much craftier than you give me credit for. The blame will fall to
her,
not me,” Natalia said. She wrenched her chin out of Sander's grasp then and stumbled
two steps back.

“As I said, Natalia. Interfere at your own peril. I have zero tolerance for your antics right now,” Sander said, following Natalia's path across the room with his eyes.

Natalia paused at the door, pinning a hateful look on Chey first, then Sander.
“Tell the advisers. Convince them to leave me and our cousins out. That's the last I'll say on it,” she said, before slamming the door in her wake.

. . .

“Trust us, Chey, we would rather leave her out of it at this point,” Mattias said several minutes after Natalia left. “But the advisers are concerned about the public, and what any more rifts in the family might do to the fabric that ties this country together.”

Chey, who had put her concerns about Natalia out there once more, paced alongside a line of chairs. She was too restless to sit down.

“I understand,” Chey said. “And what of their perception if she follows through with her threats? If I understand her right, she's going to be undermining
me,
not the rest of you. It doesn't set well.”

“My sister likes to run her mouth. She's more bark than bite—most of the time,” Sander said. He was still staring at the door as if he considered going after Natalia for a final word.

“She wasn't all bark when she threw her glass at me, or showed up at my hotel room with airplane tickets to leave the country. Never mind all the threats,” Chey said.

Sander switched his attention from the door to Chey. “She
won't
be doing anything like that.”

“I hope not.” That was all Chey decided to say about it. Sander needed to take care of it, and she put her faith in him to do so. One woman shouldn't be allowed to wreak such havoc.

A knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

Sander strode over to open it. On the other side stood Mister Urmas, the liaison between the King and the council members. Attired in a pristine navy suit, his white shirt cut through vertically by a red and blue striped tie, Urmas held a folder in his hands. He got right down to business.

“Excuse me, your Majesty. Princess Natalia informed me you were through with your meeting and I have some things to discuss with you and Miss Sinclair,” he said.

Sander looked briefly annoyed. “We weren't through, but come in anyway.”

With an uncertain glance at Mattias and Chey, Urmas stepped into the room. “Thank you. If you'll have a seat?”

Chey diverted to one of the chairs around the long table, whispering her gratitude to Mattias when he aided in seating her. Mattias headed for the door before Sander could close it.

“Sander, find me later. I'll have a talk with Natalia. Chey,” he said, and departed with a cordial nod.

After Mattias was gone, Sander circled the table and sat next to Chey. Leaning back in the chair, he sprawled his legs under the table and looked expectantly at Urmas.

Opening the folder after taking a seat of his own, Urmas got down to business. “I know I mentioned yesterday that time is running short, but the planners and coordinators are adamant that we have decisions about the final details by no later than tomorrow evening.”

“We're using the third church,” Sander said.

“Excellent.” Urmas took a pen out of his pocket and made notes on a page in the folder. “What of the floral arrangements and bridesmaid's dresses?”

“I'll have everything finalized by tonight,” Chey said to Urmas. “I needed to see which church we were using and get an idea for how many flowers. The swatches for the dresses, linens on the tables and other reception design are already attached to my notes.”

“Very good, Miss Sinclair. I'll have someone come collect your final notes tomorrow morning at Kallaster, is that sufficient?” he asked.

“Yes, it's fine.” Chey, edgy about working out the last minute details after viewing the church, wanted to get back to Kallaster to double check everything.

“The wedding dress?” he asked next.

“I'm wearing the one indicated by the advisers that best fits the ceremony,” she said. The devil on her shoulder wanted to blurt out that she was wearing the
other
one and to hell with the advisers.