Royally Screwed Part 22

"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 shirt.

"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, shirt 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, finishing it without Sergei there to interrupt. He kissed her again, murmuring incoherently in Sezynian between the brushing 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.

Kat pulled away. Sebastian looked at her searching eyes for a moment before dropping his head in his hands, continuing a stream of words she couldn't understand.

"Sebastian. Sebastian. Sebastian!"

"What?"

"Speak English."

A shadow of a smile appeared. "I was congratulating you. You might have done it. Found . . . her." He didn't look up, staring at her feet on the floor, and couldn't bring himself to say 'wife' out loud.

"You sure are taking it well."

"How else should I be taking it? I am celebrating." He waved a hand at the alcohol she'd taken from him.

"With booty calls and booze. Yeah I've heard that before."

"Does that mean you're going to oblige?" he asked, trying to regain a measure of control. He leaned back in the chair, a practiced attempt at nonchalance.

"Sorry Charlie. You're a little too drunk, dressed-up, and engaged for me."

He stood suddenly. "I'm not engaged." A devilish smile rent his face. "I'm getting more sober by the minute. And the dressed-up? That we can definitely do something about." With quick ease he was out of his suit jacket, throwing it forward for her to catch. By the time she lowered it, his shirt was already halfway off.

"Stop, stop!" she said, grabbing his hands. The Prince tried pulling her close for a kiss but she just laughed, slipping his jacket over his head instead. "You need to go to bed."

"Yes please!"

"Your own. Alone!"

"You told me not to sleep with anyone at the party. You weren't offering yourself up as an alternative?"

"No." Kat led him to the door and held it open for him. "Definitely not. Now get back to your own room. Some of us need our beauty sleep."

She closed him into the hallway but instead of leaving Sebastian slumped against her door. Just what he was afraid of she'd felt perfect.

Kat was starting to like getting lost in the halls of the castle. It made every morning seem like an adventure. She never saw the same artifacts of Sezynian history twice if she didn't know better she'd think people were moving them around just so she wouldn't have any landmarks to navigate by. She knew she'd get it eventually; if she could figure out the New York subway system, she could figure out a castle.

By the time she made it down to the sunroom, Roman and Anastasia were saying goodbye in front of it. The Princess placed a thermos in her husband's hand, kissed him playfully on the cheek and pulled down the edges of his wooly cap before shooing him away. "Where's he off to?" Kat asked, sidling up to Anastasia's side.

"He's off to work."

"Really? Where does he work?"

"Roman owns a winery. He grows and bottles grapes. Oh!" the Princess gasped, "You should come and see it while you're here. It's absolutely breathtaking. I love it there it's where we feel in love."

"No talk of love," Sebastian barked as they entered the room. "I just ate."

Kat just rolled her eyes at the comment she'd heard it multiple times before. But the Queen and Princess weren't as lenient, giving him two disapproving stares. "Such talk," the Queen murmured.

"Such lies," his twin piped in.

"Let's not gang up on me all at once." His eyes popped up over his paper to glance at his sister when he noticed Kat just a step behind her. "Good morning," he said with a grin. "I trust you slept well."

"As well as can be expected. And you sir?" He tutted again at her formality as his eyes danced in amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I sleep like a baby when I'm at home, like always."

Kat couldn't resist. "Yes, I'm sure the alcohol had nothing to do with it."

"Well," Anastasia drawled, dropping back down at the table, "tell us Sebi. Did you meet anyone interesting last night? You did seem to be spending a lot of time with that blonde in the blue dress."

His eyes darted to Kat before answering. "She shows promise." He hid his face behind the paper again. "We're having dinner tonight so we'll see." The royal women exchanged an enigmatic look that drew one of puzzlement to Kat's face. Shouldn't they be happier about this?

"And how did you enjoy the ball, dear?" the Queen asked.

"It was very lovely, thank you. Roman is a very good dancer."

"So that's why I couldn't find you."

"You must not have tried very hard Sebi. They were dancing in the middle of the ballroom!" The last place he would have looked she was still very good at avoiding him at parties.

The Queen's a.s.sistant walked in then and Anya and her daughter started conversing with her in rapid-fire Sezynian. "You should have saved a dance for me," Sebastian whispered to her.

"You should have asked for one. You were preoccupied anyway. As well you should have been."

"I couldn't find you."

"You always seem to be able to find me when you need a distraction." Kat meant for the words to come out mischievous, but there was the slight edge of bitterness that she couldn't quite get under control.

"Don't I still owe you a shirt?" he mused thoughtfully.

"Yes, you still do."

"There you are," Roman murmured, dropping down to kiss his wife's upturned face.

"Here I am."

"You look thoughtful as ever." Anastasia answered him with a rueful smile. This siting room just off from the throne was where she came when she was pensive. Portraits of her family hung on the walls she liked to stare at them, wonder what they did in the castle, if she would measure up. She liked to believe they looked down on her with quiet grace, giving her advice if she was only silent enough to hear it.

"I was thinking about what you said the other night."

Roman laid a kiss against her hairline. "Well of course I'm always right Feyalka you should pay attention more often."

She shifted slightly, pulling him down onto the chaise alongside her and wrapping his strong arms around her. "We don't agree very much."