Heir in Exile (Royals Book 3) Page 14

  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 ha
ve 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.

  Coming up empty on the upper floor, Chey descended to the main level. Mattias's voice coming from his office drew her that direction. Maybe he would know where Sander was.

  Mattias ended his call when she appeared in the doorway. He smiled his welcome and gestured to one of the chairs opposite his desk. Dressed in black slacks and a midnight blue button down, he looked like he'd been up for hours.

  “Good morning, Chey. You're looking better. Have a seat?” he said.

  “Hi. Actually Mattias, I'm looking for Sander. Do you know where he's gone to?” She rocked on the soles of her shoes. It was so hard not to confess what she thought might be happening.

  His expression sobered as he perched on the edge of his desk. “He left last night, Chey, to get our plans underway. We're expecting the results today or tomorrow from the samples, and once we have them, things will get dangerous quickly.”

  All she heard was that Sander was gone. Gone. Without a word of goodbye. It hurt so much that she glanced at the floor to hide the sudden sheen of tears.

  “I'm sorry,” Mattias said with a wealth of compassion.

  She teethed the inside of her lip. “It's all right. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised.” Yet she was.

  “It's a precarious time. If it makes you feel any better, I know it was difficult for him to go without talking to you first. Once this is over, this particular event, things will smooth out.” He got up off the desk and strode closer to set a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “I'm sure.” Chey wasn't sure at all. She wanted to believe they would work it out. They had to work it out. Confirmed hotheads, the both of them, and when they went at it, they really went at it. That didn't mean everything was over and done.

  “Chey,” he said, trying to get her attention.

  She glanced up. Met his eyes.

  “It'll be okay.” He squeezed her shoulder with gentle pressure. “Sander might have a temper, but he's rational in the end and he's loyal to those he loves. Things will be fine, trust me.”

  Chey smiled and wished it didn't feel so shaky. She would never understand how Aksel and Helina, considering how they were, had raised such compassionate, caring children. “You're the best almost brother-in-law a girl could ever have. Thanks.”

  He laughed. “You're welcome.”

  “Mattias?” She maintained eye contact so he would know what came next was serious instead of frivolous.

  “Yes?” he replied, a curious gleam in his gaze.

  “Is there any way someone can drive me to the closest town? I need...well. I need a few things that I don't have with me.” She made it sound of the feminine hygiene variety, which wasn't far from the truth. “I'll make sure I disguise myself so no one recognizes me.”

  Mattias considered it, expending a few seconds in silence. “Yes, of course. I'm waiting for an important call, or I would take you myself. I'll have Olev drive you in.”

  “I appreciate it. How long do you think it'll take? I can't remember where the closest store is around here.”

  “Twenty minutes. Here.” He released her, reached into his pocket, and withdrew a fold of money secured by a silver clip. Peeling off several bills, he extended them.

  “Thanks, I forgot about money.” Chey's money was sitting in a bank in another country and at Kallaster castle, inaccessible for now. She took the bills and folded them once more to fit in her palm. “I'll go change and meet Olev in the garage, all right?”

  “Sounds good.” He winked and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket after returning the money.

  Chey swung away and headed back upstairs to her bedroom. Once there, she changed again, drawing on a pair of jeans that had fit her a bit loose to begin with. They were loose everywhere except the button, which now fit against her skin instead of the usual inch gap. She traded tennis shoes for warmer boots, a beanie that she pulled over her head and all her hair, and a pair of sunglasses that obscured a good portion of her face. A glance in the mirror proved she was all but unrecognizable.

  Tucking the money into her front pocket, she descended the stairs and went straight to the garage, where Olev was already waiting in the SUV, engine idling with the bay door rolled up. Blonde, tall and broad, Olev wore dark clothes and a coat that hid the shoulder holster beneath.

  Chey got into the front instead of the back.

  “Miss Sinclair,” he said in greeting. Once her door was closed, he reversed out of the garage and headed toward the main gate.

  “Hi Olev.” Buckling in, Chey tilted her head against the seat.

  “Any particular place?” he asked as he got them on the road.

  “Just somewhere that sells a good variety of things.” She closed her eyes, caught between potential joy at the idea of being pregnant and sorrow that Sander was gone. Chey tried not to read too much into him leaving without seeking her out.

  “Got it,” Olev said. He sped along the streets, not too fast and not too slow, taking great care to avoid any ice patches or stranded cars.

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside a quaint looking store in a town with only one main street. All the shops faced the road with extra parking in the back. Snow lined the curbs from plows that had been running all night.

  Olev shut the engine off, disembarked, and came around to open Chey's door.

  “Thanks,” she said after undoing the buckle. Olev helped her down by a hand while scanning the area with discreet swivels of his head. Professional and aware of the need to stay undercover, he pretended to be a doting boyfriend as he escorted her casually to the front door.

  “I'll wait out here. If you need anything inside, raise your hand to flag me. I'll see it,” he said near her ear.

  Chey inclined her head, understanding he wanted to watch the road and sidewalks. “I will. Be right back.”

  Olev pulled out a cell phone and feigned a call while she went inside. The tall windows along the front of the store allowed him to mark her passage up and down the aisles.

  Grateful for the escort and the knowledge she had someone there if she needed them, Chey still hoped he didn't pay attention to where exact
ly in the store she went. The interior was set up a lot like corner pharmacies back home, with one wall dedicated to prescriptions and the other aisles catering to a wide array of products ranging from toys for babies to stationary to first aid.

  The smell was both clinical and floral thanks to a row of candles in jars on a rounder right inside the door.

  Feeling conspicuous, Chey stopped near a section of make up and other cosmetics. She chose a few lip balms, a new hair brush and several hair bands that went into the basket hanging on her arm. Swinging around into the feminine hygiene section, she went on the hunt for her primary target: pregnancy tests. Finding them with ease, she then debated what kind to get.

  It struck her then that she could be carrying the next King or Queen of Latvala. The knowledge made her hand shake. She chose a brand that looked easy to use and put three tests into the basket.

  Chey wasn't taking any chances.

  A few bottles of lotion followed the tests in with the rest of it before Chey headed to the counter. She traded hellos with the clerk in her halting use of their mother tongue. After paying and accepting her change, she scooped the bag off the counter, bid her goodbyes, and headed to the door.

  Olev saw her coming and had it open by the time she got there.

  “Find what you need?” he asked, ending his phone call.

  “I did, thanks.” Chey felt confident Olev hadn't pinpointed what products in particular she'd been after.

  Once in the SUV, Olev wasted no time getting them back on the road for home.

  Distracted by the possible pregnancy and the upcoming test, she stared out the window. Low music poured out the speakers while heat kept the temperature comfortable.

  Before she knew it, they were pulling into the garage at the house.

  “I appreciate you taking the time to drive me, Olev,” she said, climbing down from the car.