Royal Elite: Leander (20 page)

Setting the cup on a nearby crate, he brushed his palms over his jeans and angled between two trunks, aiming for a loose stone in the wall that he'd discovered by accident when they first moved in. Someone in an era gone by, a relative of Sander and Mattias, had created this little niche for hidden treasures and special heirlooms. Leander moved the rock, set it aside. Reaching into the three by two foot space, he grabbed an old cigar box, the maroon and gold colors faded by time. Glimpsing the gold lion's crest on the lid brought back a flood of memories.

Sitting on a crate, he opened the box. A small stash of items, ones too personal to leave in the bedside nightstand, fit loosely into the confines. Dog tags belonging to his grandfather on his mother's side jingled when he reached past for a handful of black and white photos with ric-rac shaped edges.

He studied the first one. A dark haired woman with pretty eyes smiled for the camera. She had the kind of smile that made a person want to smile right back. Warmth and compassion transcended time and space, effusing the attic as if the woman were there in person. She wore her hair in a beehive with one lock curled artfully over her forehead.

Leander smudged the pad of his thumb over the woman's features. He moved that picture to the back of the small pile and focused on the next. Again, the woman was the object of the photographer. This time, the woman, caught in a pensive stare across a small field with a weathered barn in the background, seemed to be contemplating a serious matter. Unaware, it appeared, that someone had snapped a shot of her in a private moment. This was Leander's favorite of the woman—his mother, Isabelle.

The next photo sported a beige stain on one corner and a dog-eared crease on another. Nathaniel, sans glasses but still in linen slacks and a striped button down with a ridiculously wide collar, had the exuberance of young adulthood on his
features and in his eyes. Holding a clipboard, with a laboratory in the backdrop, he seemed right at home in his preferred environment. The picture directly after was the only one Leander owned of him and his father together. Nathaniel had a five-year old Leander sitting high on his shoulders, glasses knocked askew, a broad smile on his face. Leander studied the boyish grin on his own face in the photo, trying to pinpoint the time when he'd gone from adoration of his father to a stage of cynical bitterness. He got his answer with the last image of the bunch.

It was Nathaniel in front of the redwood house, flanked by men in suits escorting him to a waiting vehicle. Leander remembered hiding in the woods with the camera, and how conspicuous he'd felt knowing their property was now under surveillance. The first shivers of apprehension had hit that day, a day that marked a decided turn in Leander's ignorance of his father's business. The suited men, government officials Leander would later understand, visited often in the early years after the laboratory buildings were built behind the house. Distance between the once happy family grew until one chilly fall morning when Leander had woken to find his mother—and all her belongings—gone.

From then, he'd been traded between households, passed off according to which parent had the most urgent business to attend. Fraught with anger and pain, his parents' relationship had deteriorated until no words were needed to make the transfer of their only child.

To combat his confusion and worry, Leander had made a game of surveilling the surveillance. He'd learned early how to find even the most well hidden cameras, and how to snap photos of the men who came to visit his father on a regular basis without being detected. The giant Redwoods harbored and housed him, guardians against the government's increasing intrusion into his life.

All these years later, the bitterness lingered. It surprised him to realize how dismayed he was by the fact. Going home had always brought his frustrations to the surface; this time, he brought back a sour taste along with the rest.

“You must be extremely distracted,” a voice said from the attic doorway.

Leander dropped the pictures, the box, and lurched to a half crouch with his hands held at the ready for defense. A second later, the voice registered with the face, and he eased his posture.

“Damn, why don't you announce yourself next time? I might have shot you if I'd been armed.” Leander bent down to pick the remnants of the box off the floor. The dull shine of an old wedding ring glinted near the crate along with a toy sheriff's badge. He'd 'sheriffed' the woods as a boy, the badge part and parcel of his life and his memories.

“I did. All throughout the lower level and on the second floor. I guess you didn't hear me. And you're too astute to shoot first and ask questions later,” Mattias said. He leaned against the door frame, arms crossing over his chest. Dressed in casual khaki colored pants and a white button down, the prince watched on.

Closing the lid once he had everything inside, Leander frowned and looked at Mattias. “I didn't hear you, no. Anyway, what's up?”

“Nothing much. I wanted to check in and see how you're doing.” Mattias made a point of glancing at the box, then back to Leander.

Leander knew what that meant. It was code speak for,
I wanted to make sure you weren't having second thoughts.
“I'm doing fine. I
do
stay alone now and then,” he said with a grunt. “And no, I'm not having second thoughts.”

Mattias smiled immediately, giving himself away. “You always had a knack for knowing exactly what I'm thinking. It's annoying.”

“Some day, I'll progress to outright reading your mind.”

Mattias laughed. “God help us all.”

“You're so pristine, Mattias, that there's probably nothing but chivalrous thoughts in that head of yours.” Leander goaded the prince as payback for taking him by surprise.

“I'm far from pristine.”

“Does that mean you've cheated on your girlfriend? Or is she your fiance now?” Leander sat down on a crate, not bothering to invite Mattias to sit. If the man wanted to get comfortable, he would.

“If she was my fiance, don't you think you would have read about it in the tabloids you love so much?” Mattias cocked a brow.

Leander guffawed. “I don't read the tabloids!”

“Yes you do. You always know before anyone else which socialite is doing what, and when. If we ever need to know who's where, all we have to do is call you.”

“That's called
research,
Mattias.”

“Convenient.”

“Apt. I make it my business to know other people's business, so I can better help you and Sander out of the scrapes you get into.” Leander was reaching with that tease and he knew it. Sander and Mattias were forces to be reckoned with, each on their own level. Mattias's bark of laughter assured Leander he was achieving his goal, at least, of entertaining the man.

“I guess it's a good thing I bought you a five year subscription to every major and non-major tabloid that exists, isn't it?” Mattias said.

“I
will
hurt you. I don't care how bad you beat me back, or what pounding I might take from your brothers. And the guards. And security.” There was an entire line of people who would bring the pain for any slight against the prince. Leander was usually counted among those willing to deliver in Mattias's name.

Laughing, Mattias said, “Just think about all the conversations it'll open up between you and Wynn on your honeymoon.”

“You bastard.” Leander couldn't help himself. He laughed. Wynn wasn't enamored of tabloids for the most part, but if a huge stack arrived at the same time, he knew she wouldn't be able to resist peeking at the contents.

“See? Not so pristine after all.”

“I'll wipe that smug look right off your--”

“What's going on up here? Leander, why are you sitting in an attic when you could be living it up on your last day as a single man?” Sander appeared at Mattias's side, frowning between the two.

“Mattias is holding me captive,” Leander lied.

“Leander was just explaining how he'd like to rearrange my face,” Mattias said, overlapping Leander's reply.

“All I wanted to know was if he'd proposed to Alannah yet,” Leander said, effectively putting Mattias back on the hot seat.

“No, but he has a ring,” Sander said.

Mattias shot Sander such a look, which had no effect at all on the king other than to bring a deviant grin to Sander's mouth.

“Oh ho-hooo,” Leander said, pointing a finger at Mattias.

“I have three words for you,” Mattias said, mock glowering at Leander. “
The Cheeky Socialite.”

“What the hell is a cheeky socialite?” Sander said with clear confusion.

“A certain tabloid that I'm positive Wynn will simply adore. A
tri-monthly
subscription, too. Just when Leander recovers from one, a new issue arrives.”

Leander groaned. “And we're right back to bodily harm. I swear, Mattias Ahtissari, that I'll--”

Sander interrupted the conversation with an abrupt spate of laughter. He said, “I'm not sure what disturbs me more. The fact that Leander thinks he can best Mattias in a
wrestling match,
of which he clearly lacks skill and talent, or that my brother even knows
The Cheeky Socialite
exists.”

Mattias smiled a devious smile, never looking away from Leander. “It's called
research.
Just ask Leander.”

. . .

Thanks to Chey, Wynn felt like the most pampered, spoiled woman in the world. The morning had started out with a bang: breakfast on the mainland of Latvala in an exclusive cafe overlooking the ocean, a quick stop for shopping and three hours in a spa where all the girls were treated to mud baths, manicures, pedicures, facials and massages. Wynn exited the spa feeling like a million bucks. She counted herself lucky to have such a thoughtful best friend and maid of honor, someone who planned everything down to the littlest detail.

Back on Pallan Island, in the enormous castle housing the king and queen, Wynn broke off from the group to creep upstairs to Chey and Sander's private wing. The guards allowed Wynn to pass with nary a glance. She had what amounted to an all access pass, freeing her to roam where she would.

Tiptoeing down the hallway, she paused outside a certain door and tilted her head to listen. Soft noises from within assured her she wouldn't be disrupting a nap. Opening the door, she stepped inside a baby's room. The medieval style of the castle lent itself to stone walls and a stone floor, but even those rough textures couldn't compete with the draping folds of pale pink and cream satin, buttery soft rugs, lush microsuede furniture hand carved by expert craftsmen and the very girly décor. Little ballerinas in pink tutus spun above a crib, the mobile well out of reach of a chubby hand.

Wynn approached on quiet feet, a smile in place. “Hellooo, little Emily. Did you wake up from your nap?”

Sitting up, the dark haired, blue eyed baby refocused her attention on Wynn. Immediately, a squeal of happiness split the room.

Laughing at the familiar reaction, Wynn reached inside the crib, automatically bringing the baby out to prop on her hip. Emily babbled and swung a fist up and down, then promptly tried to grab Wynn's hair.

“Oh no you don't, little Miss. I lost a fistful of hair the last time that happened.” Wynn rocked side to side and peppered a dozen kisses all over Emily's face and neck, eliciting adorable giggles.

Wynn arched back to get a better look at the sleep tousled infant. Emily, with her dark silky hair and blue eyes, resembled Chey to a shocking degree. Wynn loved the little girl and her older brother, Elias, as if they were her own. Being an 'aunt' had changed Wynn's life, and to a degree, Leander's as well. She babysat whenever she could, bringing the babies to the cottage for entire afternoons. Leander had been shockingly good with the children as well, showing a propensity for fatherhood that Wynn viewed in a different light now that she'd met Nathaniel.

“So tomorrow, I'm going to marry your uncle Leander, and you're going to wear a gorgeous tiny dress with frills and bows, while Elias gets all decked out in a miniature suit. You'll be the sharpest dressed guests at the church.” Wynn kissed Emily's cheek, laughing, as the baby babbled sweet nothings. She rocked in place, pleased and at peace to spend some time with the baby.

From the hallway outside, a sudden ruckus drew Wynn's attention. Even Emily paused and stared, eyes round and luminous. A toddler bumbled around the corner into the room, going as fast as his little legs could carry him. Which happened to be fast enough to evade Chey, who came trotting in behind, grinning a motherly, affectionate grin.

“Oh, there you are! We all wondered where you gotten off to,” Chey said, coming up short when she saw Wynn.

“Ninn, Ninn, Ninn!” Elias stomped a foot and ran to Wynn, throwing his arms around her knees.

Laughing, Wynn reached down to stroke a hand over Elias's head. It still boggled her mind that Elias would, someday, take Sander's place as king. The boy had even started to resemble Sander more, hair lightening to a soft brown, features resembling his father's.

“I couldn't resist. I haven't seen her in two days or so!” Wynn said, as if the time lapse was a crisis. “I wouldn't want her to forget her auntie Wynn.”

Chey plucked Elias up off the floor and bobbed him a foot in the air, catching him with ease. “You're such a goose, Wynn. She's not going to forget you. You're her favorite aunt—just don't tell Natalia.”

Wynn cackled. “I'm her favorite aunt because I make funny sounds when she pats my cheeks.”

“Ninn, Ninn, Ninn!” Elias squirmed to get down.

“Elias, Elias, Elias!” Wynn parroted the little boy, adoring his 'nickname' for her. In Elias's circle, auntie Ninn was all right.

“You know, it's funny. We're supposed to be doing girly things and having bachelorette parties, and yet here we all are, up with the kids,” Krislin said as she entered the room. In her arms, her own baby girl babbled and chewed on a soft toy.

Wynn laughed at the same time as Chey. “We're suckers, what can we say. Helllooo, beautiful little Alissa.” Wynn cooed at Krislin and Gunnar's daughter, a spitting image of her daddy if Wynn had ever seen one. Blonde curls covered Alissa's head like a cherub sent from heaven.