Part 22 (1/2)

”We need to talk about this dress.”

”You don't like my dress?” she asked with a look over her shoulder.

”What there is of it is fine. There just isn't much of it.” He ran his hands over her exposed back, tracing the edges of the wide circle.

”It was designed by that new young Sezynian designer Enrique Vellini.”

”Enrique Vellini?”

Anastasia shrugged her shoulders. ”Don't judge Roman. You're a bit cranky tonight, aren't you?” She met his eyes in the mirror.

”I didn't get to dance with you tonight,” he murmured.

”You looked like you were making out fine with Sebastian's American.” She gave him a slightly haughty look and he responded by slipping a hand past the edge of her dress and curving his fingers around her bare hip.

”You know, it's quite hard to be in love with one of the Royal Twins. Not an easy place to be.”

”You think they are in love?”

”You don't?”

”They don't,” she clarified, slipping the dress from her shoulders so it dropped to a pool at her feet.

”Ah, to be young and in love,” Roman murmured, placing a kiss against the back of his wife's neck.

”We're young and in love,” Anastasia countered, stepping away from him and slipping into the bathroom.

”No, I married you for your money,” he joked, removing his suit jacket and unb.u.t.toning his s.h.i.+rt.

”I'm sure you did. . . . Do you think he'll get married in time, Roman?”

”I wouldn't bet against him. Your brother is as stubborn as you are.”

”I'm serious,” she said, reentering the room and slipping into bed.

”So am I.” Roman draped himself over her and placed a kiss against her jaw. ”I don't know why you care so much my love. It's not like it matters.”

”What do you mean it doesn't matter? The future of our country matters.” She pushed him away and stared a bit mutinously at him.

He laughed. ”Whether your brother or your cousin is named King, no matter. They both want to be King but neither of them want to rule a country. They just haven't realized it's the same thing yet. Neither of them ever had much interest in the things going on around them. Their first problem they will come running to you and you will help them. Until the first person makes a joke about you as the would-be queen. Then they will not ask for advice in spite of themselves, get in way over their heads, and either cause an international incident or rise to the occasion.”

Anastasia just pushed him away from her. ”Sleep over there,” she ordered, turning her back on him.

”Ah Feyalka, don't be like that.”

”Yes, I be like that,” she replied, continuing to growl at her husband in annoyed French. He laughed but she just ignored him. And tried very hard not to believe the wisdom in his words.

Chapter 21.

Kat had just managed to erase all traces of the glamorous party girl dress removed, make-up off, hair in a sloppy bun and crooked on her head when there was a knock at her door. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was the gaggle of Sezynian men whom she wouldn't be able to understand. Then again, if she didn't answer they might think she wasn't there and come in. She definitely didn't need that tonight.

She wrapped her robe tighter around her and opened the door a crack. Sebastian lounged on the other side, leaning a bit provocatively in her doorway. She didn't want to admit it but her knees weakened just slightly at the sight of him, messy tie, cufflinks off, s.h.i.+rt just hinting at untucked. The feeling was fleeting, leaving when possible reasons why he looked that way followed ”What are you doing here so late?” Kat spoke in a whisper, as if her voice would raise the castle.

A grin slashed his face, his teeth startlingly white in the darkened hallway. ”Isn't that a philosophical question?”

”How so?”

”What are any of us doing anywhere really?”

She opened the door a tad wider to get a better look at him. ”Have you been drinking?”

”Why not? I'm not driving.” At that he laughed. ”Please let me in.”

”Why?”

”Why? Why?! Because it's tradition. I have a date, we have a nightcap. It's the way this thing works Kisa, you can't change the rules now.” After a moment's hesitation she opened the door wide for him to enter.

”Doesn't look like you waited for me to have the nightcap.”

Sebastian was about half a tumbler away from being Drunk, the kind of drunk that college frat boys dabbled with every weekend. He hadn't gone this far since he was one of them, doing handstands on kegs the night he and Anton finished school. It wasn't just anything he drank over now.

”There's a lot to celebrate, isn't there?” Celebrating was not why he'd kept refilling his drink. Misha was.

Kat had been right Misha was perfect. She was exactly what he'd told her he wanted, right down to the blond hair and long legs. She had actually dabbled as a model before starting her career in journalism. She could not have been any more flawless if she'd stepped right out of his dreams.

Was that what he even dreamed of anymore? He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a blond lurking there. Those women had been replaced with chocolate hair he couldn't resist touching, eyes that rolled at everything he said, nicknames tripping off the ends of tongues drawling in American accents. What the h.e.l.l was happening to him?

Tonight it had all become real. Sebastian talked to Misha for hours. He would break away to mingle, not appear improper or rude, search for Kat in the crowd to no avail, but kept finding himself steered to her side. Every single thing he found out was exactly what he should have been looking for Kat had found him a wife.

A wife. A wife? A wife! He didn't want a wife!! He needed one, dear G.o.d curse the heavens he Needed one, but he didn't want one. Part of him thought that Kat wouldn't succeed. He'd already been rehearsing arguments in the back of his head, reciting lines on the best way to convince Baba he was still King material, even if he spent more time thinking with his d.i.c.k than his head. That's what Kat had accused him of, right?

He'd been his ever charming self at the party couldn't turn that part of him off even if he wanted, engrained since he was old enough to walk it seemed. And Misha, why wouldn't she want him, all of that charm, who could resist that? Kat could. Kat could resist that. Kat did resist that, resist him.

So Sebastian had charmed her and she was perfect and, ever the gentleman, he helped her on with her coat, showed her to the door. And Misha had kissed him. Of course, why not? He was the Playboy Prince, he was looking for a wife, he'd spent all night with heads bent together and freshening her drink. Why wouldn't they kiss? Why wouldn't they?

But he didn't kiss her, couldn't. She'd kissed him. And it hadn't been bad, not at all. It just hadn't been good either. It wasn't right, she didn't taste right; she didn't feel right. In his arms, like she'd blow away any second. Like a little tree, a sapling, he'd need to be careful not to break. Like a snowflake, too dainty, too precious, don't breathe too hard or it would all disappear.

”She looks like Violetta, doesn't she?” Sebastian asked Kat in a haunted whisper.

”Okay, enough with that,” Kat said, taking the decanter of scotch from his hand. He didn't even protest. She hunched down in front of the chair he'd collapsed into. ”Sebastian,” she began, putting a hand on his knee to draw his attention.

”I like the way you say my name.” And before she could respond or move, or think even, he reached for her. He leaned forward, his hand cupping the back of her head, drawing her close. And then his lips descended, confident, a.s.sertive, demanding.

He tasted like scotch, like scotch and desire. She liked it, sweeping her tongue against his to drink in more of it, remembering that kiss hours earlier, finis.h.i.+ng it without Sergei there to interrupt. He kissed her again, murmuring incoherently in Sezynian between the brus.h.i.+ng of their lips, the sound causing desire to pool low in her belly.

If he hadn't moved, she might have given herself to him right there, crouched before him as the fire died, before she even realized what was happening. But he did move his hand at the back of her head skimming along the edge of her scar. It pulled her back to reality, reminded her that she was not in a fairytale like nothing else would have been able to do.